


DA041: Fiercely Cold

by Briala, Rhion



Series: Woven Songs - Tattered Towers (metaverse) [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family, Het and Slash, Living with trauma, M/M, Romance, Slash, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 510,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briala/pseuds/Briala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ferox Cousland was a cold man, from a cold country, with a cold heart. Once he was only one of those things. Then everything was taken away in a fiery blaze and he raged across Ferelden, venting that frozen, wintry fury upon the Blight. With cold calculation he fought to bring Ferelden back from the brink, no matter the toes he stepped upon. All the while the only person he could rely upon remained by his side, plotting his own plots and sowing his own seeds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude and Confrontation

**Author's Note:**

> (As an aside: We have beta'd and combed over this to the best of our abilities. If there are errors - and there are no doubt - please feel free to PM where those are, or, if you are some kind and loving soul who would be willing to assist, we would love you forever.)
> 
> Rhion: This story is the first of so many, Briala's idea spawned a cascade of ideas between us. Back in November 2011 we first posted this, but then got sucked into the whole world, needing to write frenetically, so we sort of stopped...posting. For us, this is pretty much where it all started in our co-writing, and since then, we've got AU's of our AU's. We would be in the middle of an idea, putting it down, and another would crop up that *had* to be seen to. FC, as it stands, is currently forty-seven chapters long, and I don't want to dwell on its wordcount. Because, you see, it's all part of a metaverse filled with timeywimey layers that can stand on their own, yet sometimes something(one) slips through, but Fiercely Cold is where it all started. Now, beyond FC, there are fourteen other stories that all have their roots in what we built for Fiercely (and what she built for Disquiet, with shades of my Guild-ed Cage and A Murder of Crows weaving - or at least influencing). All told, since 2011, I think we have coauthored several million words together. Crazy, isn't it? She and I both have very distinct and separate styles, but as we have grown and worked together, we have come up with a blend that I have been told is seamless. It's all in good fun though, and we would like to share that with you.
> 
> Briala: Once upon a time, not very long ago, a game captured our imaginations. And we wrote, not knowing each other, each of us getting onto ‘paper’, and out into the universe, what was taking over our minds. Later, after having introduced ourselves we began proofing each other’s work – I still think that Rhion carried the bulk of that burden. She held my hand, because after twenty years of writer’s block, I got my writing legs back under me, legs that were scrambling to run, but were regularly slipping and falling. Words often failed me even as the ideas poured into my skull from half formed dreams. Too many times I was drowning and in the dash to put everything on paper before it faded, capturing the voices of the characters before they stopped talking to me, I would often forget the basics.
> 
> From summer of last year until today, nearly a year, that flood has eased, giving time to experience other entertainments, to think more about where these characters and their resulting alternates are going, and what their purpose is. For me, the alternates never were alternate universes; they were all interlinked and some of them learn about each other. But poor Ferox, he was the first. Set in his ways, unyielding to the point of easily breaking, it was difficult for his mind to accept what we came to learn about them all. He wasn’t special, he wasn’t the best Ferox or the worst, rather he was a man who, despite, or perhaps because of his cracks, did what were the hardest things for him to do – he didn’t run away, he didn’t fade into the background letting others take over, instead, following his father’s teachings. Ferox struggled to watch over what he was told to take care of, the people and the land. He does this, even to the detriment of his family, Zevran, and himself. Even in old age, he is a bit unfinished and still struggling to make everything right, a monumental task, just as we writers continue to learn who he is and struggle to put the pieces of his soul back together.

Prelude:

Sten had taken dinner duty and was searing a haunch of deer while Wynne assisted in the preparation by chopping root vegetables she had located during the day. Ferox missed the kitchen at home, sitting next to the fire watching, helping when needed, but mostly listening to the chattering, the gossip of the day, of news that had arrived. The family would eat at the kitchen table when they were alone usually with servants and the odd off-duty guard or two. Stomping down the memory, he went back to checking and cleaning arms and armour. ‘Always tend to your horse then your tack, prepare yourself for the coming day, then eat and bathe. See to everything yourself; it was the only way to survive’.

The stew set into the coals, Wynne joined the girls down at the pond to bathe. Alistair and Sten had stepped upstream of the creek that filled the little body of water. Grimly, Ferox continued his task. Near silent steps behind him, a jingle of a metal belt, Zevran had not yet left camp. Ferox couldn’t seem to shake the little bastard. Just as ‘open’ and chatty as the day he arrived. _Go away. Leave me alone. I’m already sorry I saved your miserable life, because you are making mine miserable as well._ The others were trained to leave him alone, why couldn’t this pointy eared assassin learn?

For once, Zevran was quiet, just sat next to him on the fallen log and attended to his own armour. They had run across a pack of wolves and a myriad of traps... Wynne tended to the many bites, chasing away infection with a cantrip, and stopped the bleeding of torn limbs. Even those heavily armoured had been hurt as the wolves found ways to sink teeth behind knees and into joints. They were going to need better armour, all of them. His mind went to these things, analyzing ways to do better, to do more than just survive, to be able to tangle with what they had taken on...taken on unwillingly, pressured into by that old witch, Conscripted by that damnable Duncan, they could have saved Mother...could have found a healer...should have done something there in the kitchen. Something more than leave it all aflame and ruined.

A snarl caused a pointed ear to turn in his direction as the assassin replaced a broken strap on a pauldron. Maker damn them all. At this rate, it wouldn’t matter what he dressed them in, if they didn’t learn to fight together as a group, they were all going to die, going to be taken away, going to leave him... The cold anger settled in his gut and a plan began to take shape. He was going to have to master them all, to become or provide what they needed so they did not die and leave him here because he was the one who would do the leaving from now on.

Perceptive amber eyes observed a change in the Warden, as if he had come to a decision. Alistair had already spilled all of his knowledge into the listening ear, and even Morrigan had been quick to point out that the Warden sulked more than Alistair. Leliana had known stories about the Couslands and what had happened to them so recently. He listened, asked questions, and gathered the information to put it to use. The night the Couslands were murdered, the night Duncan came to take Ferox, was the night winter began to set into this man’s soul.

Zevran knew this coldness, this form of avoidance, it could get them all killed, unless it were directed. Feeling the shift in temperature, he waited for it to turn to hot rage or to dissipate, but the Warden did not move, other than to continue attending to his armour. With a side glance, the Warden’s outward appearance had changed subtly, Ferox was composed, locked down, features hard. This was unfortunate, he had hoped... Mentally shrugging, he would wait. If the Warden changed once, he could change again. Perhaps this was only temporary.

After that night, Ferox became all things to all people, a chameleon, and in doing so, became nothing. He was as changeable in nature as a spring day, crisp, pleasant, warm and sunny, wooing with smooth words, persuading gold to flow from pockets, kind and caring, a gentleman in every way...one who was getting exactly what he wanted with soft honeyed words...as changeable as any spy or Crow, a manipulator. 

When required he was a killer, efficient, cruel when necessary, quick when not. He danced with that star sword and eventually ended the life of the the Archdemon itself. And Ferox had already arranged for a soft landing at Queen Anora’s side.

Years passed.

Very few were smoother than the Prince Consort, he was a silver tongued devil becoming whatever the company with him desired, finding whatever it was that would cause them to agree to his terms. Trade deals negotiated, discussions with merchants, nobles, elves, Wardens; the Queen may have sent Ferox in with an agenda, but it became his own, always obtaining more than she thought possible. Little favours here and there she bestowed on him as if he were nothing but a favoured pet. When his temper snapped and the temperature dropped, he remained calm and made a new plan, wishing to be no one’s pet at all. 

He was always so busy controlling his own affairs, there was barely room for anyone of note in his life. He sent Leliana away to seek her Maker’s Bride, sent Morrigan away after giving her what she wanted, sent Oghren to the Vigil and gave him the family he needed, let Alistair play Warden at the Vigil after Ferox himself controlled the situation and took the titles and positions, things the King’s bastard did not want, Sten returned home, Shale and Wynne traveled and were well cared for. Loghain - _Well we can’t have everything we want. Useful man, too bad really..._

Oddly, Zevran had stayed and ran the circle of informants, ones that located information Ferox could not and began to feed him this information, causing the Prince Consort to look in a direction he hadn’t considered. Ferox knew he should have questioned this so called loyalty, but he didn’t want to consider what it might mean, else it be taken or take its leave of him. _Do not forsake me_.

The assassin had gone nearly as cold as himself, guarded and wary. Occasionally he would come to deliver interesting bits of information himself and they would discuss the ramifications. As the evening passed, and a drink was savoured, the elf would almost return to his animated self as he was at the beginning. As they said good night, he would feel as if the elf were assessing him, and Ferox, who had never removed the mask, could not stop the glare and the hardening of his features. Politely they would part, one cold and distant, the other chilling.

Anora at the beginning had started by bossing...which lasted for all of twenty minutes when Ferox twisted her around his fingers giving her what Cailan had neglected. The moment she arched gasping, her eyes shuttered and the begging want and need took over her voice, she was his. She would finish his paperwork, just to have his mouth on her, tasting sweet juices, dragging her to the edge where powerful waves pulled her away from daily cares. She lacked for nothing as she had before. Anywhere, everywhere, a quirk of a lip and suddenly the room was empty or she was dragging him from it. Unfortunately, this attention meant some delegation, something Zevran didn’t seem to mind. 

When he was called away to Vigil’s Keep to restore the building, play nice with the nobles, Zevran picked up more of the duties Ferox was unable to attend. Once the keep was secure, Alistair had been left to deal with the more mundane affairs, Ferox returned to Denerim and continued to earn favours from Anora. However, in order to obtain more power, Anora needed to be busy with heirs, and every hag in the place asked each month...gossip that it was the Prince Consort’s problem, a ‘Warden’s difficulty’, not the Queen’s, it flowed in conversation. Daily he attended her, often twice...with the sniping of the nobility, the situation was deteriorating after five years of marriage with no signs of a secured bloodline. Ferox was becoming frustrated until his very useful assassin, who had become indispensable, heard of a Dalish healer who frequented Kirkwall.

There, in Kirkwall, he met disturbing reality, and questioned his own. But it was only a brief moment before Ferox twisted and landed on the balls of his feet. He would master this situation too. The way a familiar face and eyes stared straight through him, as though he were not truly there had been discomforting, as was the fact that Ferox and the macabre elven duplicate were of the same height. Every which way he twisted, the disturbing mirror that stared back at him only sharpened, there was no way to understand, and each assessment he made of character, each time he thought the duplicate’s personality was pinned down...some other bit of information changed it. The way the Dalish healer stood near him, the way she leaned into him, caught his eye and the way the Crow’s features softened, near imperceptibly, still hard, but there was fierce gentleness there.

The frozen Cousland shoved those things away - it didn’t matter. None of it was real. Even if the way the Crow stood over the slight healer with the ferociousness that Ferox’s mother had shown in the kitchen...his last vision of Mother and Father, and the old dreams of secure home. No. It was just a figment. A fragment of some other reality. He had come for one thing, one thing only, and he had gained it. When Ferox left, they exchanged gifts to seal the deal of promised heirs. Unknown to Ferox, not all of the gifts he received were tangible.

Through Anora’s wretched pregnancy he would stare into the empty hearth in the middle of the night, seeking to banish those stirred up images he had seen in Kirkwall. And Anora, who was used to having everything her way, now pregnant, was a constant grief and weight on his shoulder that was unrelenting. It nearly made him question the wisdom of the course of action, of the path, he had chosen. She was abysmally horrid. Zevran remained close, amazingly appearing just when the Consort thought the cold fury would overtake him and cause him to take some unwise action. The assassin would distract the Harpy with some bright bit or bauble, massaging her feet, or telling her tales to entertain. 

In the light of day, or when in Anora’s presence, images of a hand lazily and familiarly grazing the apple of a dark bronze cheek, a green leaf tucked under an ear, would flee. But in the night, when it was quiet, quiet as any castle ever truly was, it would come back. How the sight of the duplicate Crow with the tiny elven healer plagued and stung Ferox, but he couldn’t put his finger on the ‘why’ of it. And worse, the mocking present folded in a box, thick spun silk threads, nearly invisible in the sort of light a puppeteer would use, took on other meanings. The duplicate said that the box was for Ferox’s Zevran. Ferox had never given it to him, recognizing the way the dark laughter and the evil twist of full lips on the duplicate’s face meant grief for him if he had done so. No, it was a message, and one he didn’t want or believe in. Time and again during Anora’s last months, as she waddled gracelessly from task to task, Ferox debated throwing the strings into a fire, just to be rid of the despicable items. 

It didn’t matter which way he twisted, he couldn’t get away from them, just as he could not get away from the complaining Harpy. Or anything for that matter. And when Zevran found the box, he took one look at the contents, and did what Ferox had been unable to, and yet he still could not escape. Even when they disappeared, a pouch of ashes replaced in the box, some further odd symbolism that Ferox couldn’t force himself to dwell on, they still haunted him. Time to time, he would awaken strangling, or rub his wrist as though something was too tight and binding, jerking him this or that way. 

XXX

Finally the screaming quieted, only to be accompanied by a fresh squall, heard even from his office several doors down. Ferox raced, as that was what he was supposed to do, as that was what everyone expected of a dutiful husband and new father. To the door he was moving with frantic alacrity and excitement, and gaining admittance snatched a small swaddled bundle quickly from a midwife. If his hands shook more than he had planned, then no one thought it abnormal. Tiny, scrunched features, red with newness, hideous the way only a newborn could be, it didn’t matter. Something still moved, and Ferox was transported back in time for a brief instant. A nephew, passed over to him by his mother, who carefully adjusted his large and still growth-spurt awkward hands to hold the newborn properly. 

He could not still the odd stutter in his chest, but only used it instead. It was what everyone expected, so the strange feeling was hid and safely tucked away. Anora was haggard, waving the infant off to the waiting wetnurse when Ferox sought to pass their son to her. He said the necessary things, brushing sweat clinging blonde hair off of clammy cheeks and told her she was beautiful, amongst other things, while praising the robustness of their son. These were all the important things a husband should do, a Prince Consort, from a good, noble background, so Ferox was able to master all of that, presenting himself as he should be.

The first night Calenhad Ardel Mac Tir-Cousland, was asleep in his nursery, Ferox waited with an amazing amount of impatience for everyone to go to their own beds. His son’s name was an atrocious mouthful, but as Ferox was nothing more than Prince Consort, the fact that he had that much say at all in the naming of his son - that he had _sacrificed_ much for just to have a chance at conceiving - was as much as he could hope for. The door was closed and unguarded, after all this was the Royal Wing, and his associate had watchers where necessary anyway. With a push, he eased it open so as to not awaken the assigned wetnurse, desiring time alone with his offspring and the newest addition to the Cousland name. Earlier he had done the new-father act, gloating over how strong a grip on his finger the boy had and the lusty abandon with which he suckled milk. Now he wished for something quieter, something...only for himself.

When unarmoured, Ferox was a particularly quiet man. It came of sneaking into kitchens to grab hot rolls and a crock of butter or honey in times past. In times not so distant, it was a skill employed when ambushing the unwary. Now it was put to use to slip past the snoring wetnurse on her cot to slide in near the crib. A very empty crib. Coldness slammed down over him, and the flash of ice stabbing, sharp in his breast, was quickly washed away too fast to notice. His associate was the first one he could think of, the only one who would have a list of possible perpetrators. No need to alert the castle that the Heir was suddenly missing, until or unless it was absolutely necessary.

The halls close to Zevran’s room were populated with more guards, but all were silent. Ferox glided along at a normal pace, plans spooling out. No need for anyone to find out that his son was missing, and if the infant could not be found quickly, a replacement could be gained. His associate no doubt knew of some likely infant to match the descriptions if necessary. Deep in thought, he entered the assassin’s rooms as quietly as he had the nursery. He paused as he heard accented words, clearly there was some form of...company being entertained. 

“Yes, and we will have to make mud pies and raise unholy terror,” a quiet chuckle. “Ah, how your parents cursed you with such a name, aie. We shall have to use something else, _da’len_ , yes? Ah. Wait, I know just the thing,” the soft musing brought Ferox to a halt, and he tucked himself close to shadows, listening intently. “‘Len’, it means child. Yes, and it matches well with your name, Calenhad, hmn? That could work...” There was a burbling coo, while Zevran paced near the fire, babe’s head tucked against a shoulder. “Well then, Len, considering how all it is here, you must have someone around who can care for you properly. What with the harpy-hag your father wedded, and he himself nothing but cracked glinting obsidian golem, whatever shall we do? Hmn? You must have someone at least who views you as more than a mad grab at power or insurance to a dynasty...”

There was a heavy sigh, and with shocking tenderness, Ferox watched the elf rest his cheek on the downy head. The cold fury was still in control, but the need to assess bought time, allowing the urge to reassert dominance and regain what belonged to _him_ to fade. What took its place was confusion, pressing on all sides, a terrifying and startling thing, the image superimposed of Fergus doing the same thing with Oren in the night. Shuddering, fists clenched at his sides as he drew a tight rein on himself.

“It has been a long time to get you out here to greet the world, small one,” the warmth and gentleness were no mocking mask, and the younger Ferox wondered wildly if this was the real Zevran, the one who existed before the living through the Blight and the immeasurable loss returned to control the situation. “Glad I am that you are here, but sad too. What games will you play that are natural for a child? None of us are particularly good models for you to be around, such poor influences for you to choose from...”

Grimacing, Ferox made himself turn and slipped quietly away. He needed fresh air. Else he would do something particularly ill advised.

It was a nearly nightly ritual, Ferox would go to the nursery, see Calenhad gone and go to the assassin’s room. Where of course he would silently enter or stand at the door, to watch, to see Zevran doing some particularly mundane activity. From a diaper change, to using a modified waterskin to feed the boy milk, or simply brushing soft fabrics and describing the simplest word for the fabric. The entire time the Antivan would talk and muse to the boy, radiating a calm and warmth that Ferox was wary of identifying. 

XXX

Late one night, as he ate a solitary evening meal, and was left to his own devices, Ferox heard a knock. “Enter.”

“Ah, more plain fare,” his associate glanced over his plate. “If there was little fear of Crow activity, I would suggest bringing in a cook or two from Antiva. Actually, hiring a Crow to _be_ the Head Cook would work, no one would dare poison the food, and he or she would be familiar with all of those pesky matters...”

Setting his utensils down, “The status of the kitchen is not something I expected would hold your attention.”

Zevran sat and poured a glass of wine for himself after topping off Ferox’s, “Good food always holds my attention, as well as your son’s.” A sip of wine, and a mild tone, “He is growing well by the way, pity you do not spend any time with him.”

“And when would you suggest I do that, given his busy schedule?” Returning quickly as the chill began to settle on him, “As his nights are so frequently spent firmly ensconced in your room.”

His associate set his glass down, “It has never occurred that a preemptive acquisition of time was more than available?” Zevran waved a hand as he shrugged, “I take him four nights in seven. Did you believe the three were meant for a personal break? Since you so often enter my chambers as well, did you also think that the door was unlocked for carelessness on my part?” Lips twisted into a faint frown, “My door has ever been open to you, yet you have not taken the time to connect those dots. Very well, will you like to take Calenhad tonight, or shall I?”

That look he knew, the tone was the same too, and he almost flinched away from the vision of the cruelly superior duplicate’s acerbic judgement. Catching the temper in a slow breath before it chilled him past where he could not act, “Len looks forward to his bedtime stories.” Pausing, wanting, needing an excuse, any would do. Uncertain, “I think perhaps your stories need more...local flavour.”

A tension flowed away that was only noticeable for its absence, “By all means, I know little enough of these Ferelden things. Other than mabari of course, but truly, that is mostly _all_ that Thedas knows of Ferelden.”

“Next you will be telling him that we live in igloos like the southern Chasinds; someone must be there to stop that,” Ferox snorted lightly.

“Auck, you mean they do not? Lies! Lies that silly historian told me!” 

Muttering, “You walked around enough of it...”

An old laugh broke out, one of those ones that sounded warm and nearly honest, long lost, Ferox had thought to the time before. “How true!” Another chuckle, “And my feet are _still_ unhappy. What I would have done for the socks the horseclans weave of camel hair! My friend, you have never had socks until you have had those... They make even such trudging, dreary miles feel as though you walk upon spun air!”

Brown eyes rolled to the ceiling as he set a boot on a nearby stool, “I believe that I have already overheard this discussion between you and Alistair. While you are negotiating for a ‘proper’ cook, it would be a small matter to obtain a pair of suitable, err, ‘wonderful’ footwear. But, that does not answer the question of why you didn’t bring them with you to begin with.”

Normally some quip would be used as a rejoinder, for the assassin was as quick as any rogue could hope to be. Instead there was quiet, as though he had to debate and weigh options in fullness than with the speed of the easy kill. Ferox glanced up to see Zevran staring at him intently, “Because I did not believe I would have much reason to continue walking. Why bring the best to a dog’s funeral?”

Had the hound not been at the child’s side, he would have whined. “So why did you? Keep walking I mean?”

“You spared my life,” he shrugged and looked away. “And I had no reason to return. I thought that the very quest you were on was a death sentence, but at least it would have been one that had served something better and grander than myself. If one has little will to survive, when presented with two options - die uselessly, or die usefully - someone who has never had the opportunity to be truly useful, might choose the latter over the former.” 

Bitterly, “It _was_ a death sentence.” Rubbing his forehead, “I said that you didn’t have to stay, your life was, is your own, that you didn’t need to be up there. I made the offering to Morrigan.” Temper slipping a little, Ferox growled, “No one **else** needed to die.”

“And who was likely to be strong enough to haul _you_ from the bowels of that great carcass if not myself?” he took another sip of wine, made a face then drained it. “You made the offering while still intending to make sure you would not walk down those steps. I looked into the same expression in the mirror far longer than you did. If you were going to make me learn to keep walking, then _jodeme_ , I was going to make you do the same,” fervently. Waving a hand about, “And look, everything has worked out neatly for you. Prince Consort, a bevy of people to order about, and insurance to make sure nothing else is ever taken from you that you do not give.” A pause, “Or trade, actually. Besides, that is not the point. My life is not my own, it never has been. It has always belonged to someone other than myself. Now it belongs to Len, and will until the day I die. It is all quite simple.” He watched Zevran scowl and rise to pace, hands clasped behind his cream and hunter green coloured tunic covered back. “He smiled for the first time last night, his eyes all crossed. Have you any idea how _odd_ that looks? But he smiled and you should have seen it.”

If Ferox had truly intended to stay on that tower he would have... Why did he stay? To save Alistair...snorting, _I don’t think so._ To marry Anora...hardly, although that was the first plan. After his stay at the prison in Fort Drakon, it became the backup plan. He wanted to retort, to give that reason, to argue, but Zevran was deflecting that sink into coldness...the elf should give lessons.

Ferox hadn’t seen the child’s smile, that is true, but he saw the smile’s reflection the other night. The light on the bronze, tattooed face and the laughter it caused in the golden eyes, as if a light was lit within them - Ferox _had_ seen that. Instead, as if to pretend it was no great and meaningful memory, “I was holding Oren when he smiled. My mother went silly ooo’ing and ahh’ing. The women were unbearable for days trying to make the poor child smile for them.”

“Yes, women will do very odd things to gain such a reaction,” a hand ran through his loose blond hair. “However, I of course do not have to do anything odd at all. A wiggle here or there, and he smiles.” An amused grunt, “Also, his eyes cross when he is about to make a mess, at least when changing him. If I had known his aim was so good, I would have sooner learned that an extra drape of cloth would protect my vision.”

Without a word of explanation, Ferox got to his feet, did not look anywhere other than where he was headed, closed the door behind him and ducked into the farthest room down the hall to laugh until tears ran down his face.

It was always wise to have an extra cloth on hand, as he well knew, because every Cousland male was under strict orders that if they were holding Oren and he needed changing, they were doing it. _Period. End of sentence. Do not look at your mother that way, young man. Do not make faces if it is bad. Do not quibble or whine. Simply man up and do something about it._ Years later, Mother’s voice was still heard with that bit of no nonsense.

But it was the _image_ of Zevran’s surprised expression. No doubt similar to one Ferox had worn himself on a particular occasion. Holding himself up with one hand braced on the wall as he laughed, shaking his head, Ferox had to wonder briefly if the assassin had ever _changed_ a baby before. Then again, he had held Len securely and familiarly enough. What were the Antivan customs for such matters, and would someone born in a whorehouse even know them? Ferox still couldn’t get away from the idea of Zevran finding out just why women would put an extra nappy over a boy’s nethers when changing them. Every time he thought he could, the vision of the normally composed and good humoured elf twisting into a scrunched face declaring that he was affronted and amused in one breath, popped back into his mind. Biting his fist, _A new phrase for battle - I hope I do not get pee on me again!_

Sliding down the wall, reaching for the mask of composure he had worn for so long, Ferox had a jolt and realized just how much he hated it, before stilling himself and firmly replacing it. Something had cracked and he wasn’t certain that he liked it and yet was...relieved? Calmly, coolly, he stepped back in to finish his dinner and to try to enjoy the wine, which was fine until his little assassin did not approve of the quality of the vintage. Afterwards there would be story-time and somehow he would move beyond the doorway.

XXX

That night when he went to the assassin’s room, Ferox knocked before pushing the door open. He had never really bothered knocking before, always assuming that Zevran didn’t care who barged in on him, and trusted to his instincts to keep him safe, if the person entering was an attacker rather than a friend. Ferox had believed that his associate was seeking to supplant him and had been careless in letting him see those actions with the newborn. Ferox had been debating and was completely undecided on what action he had intended on taking against Zevran, if any, if the elf thought he would be a better parent. At least it would have freed up Ferox’s time to deal with ruling Ferelden from behind Anora’s shadow. 

Yet the scene before him was one of a different variety entirely. A small bucket was close to the fire, but not too close, and Zevran was beside it with sleeves and cuffs rolled and shoved up, hair pulled up into a haphazard bun atop his head. Rocking back on his heels, “First bath, and a hand would be appreciated. Len is being particularly squirmy, and I have only so many hands myself. Of my own that is, I believe there are some mummified ones elsewhere laying about...”

Eyebrow raised and the hurdle of the threshold was not so large. Rolling up his own sleeves, he crossed the room without thinking of it. Looking to see that towels were close by, soap, and a cloth, all the things he remembered from Oriana bathing Oren in a washtub. “How would you like me to assist? Hold or wash?”

“Take your pick, oof,” head snapping back a little when a small hand wrapped about a lip. “Len, come now,” mumbling at the boy and jiggling him gently, “it is warm water, you liked your feet in it earlier. It is not cold,” Ferox tested the water himself to see that Zevran was correct, and that it was also not too hot either, “and it will feel nice. Come, come it will be _nice_. Oh, why must you be so fascinated by eyebrows suddenly?” The last was accompanied by a grunt when two hands grabbed at the elf’s face.

“Earrings...they’ll be next.” Wetting and soaping the cloth lightly Ferox cleaned milk crusties behind ears and under the multiple chins eventually finding Len’s neck.

Zevran winced, “I already found that out two nights ago. And it was not my earring he yanked.” The way his arm shifted to rub an elbow against his chest made Ferox nearly wince in sympathy. “It is almost enough to make me question the wisdom of Antivan body modification. Which would be why I am not shirtless for this endeavour. Changing clothes while juggling him is definitely a game of reflexes not for the faint of heart.”

Other eyebrow raised considering this disclosure, as the folds of baby fat were cleaned of milk residue. “Are you certain that he actually swallows when you feed him, or is it just a milk bath?”

“Here now, I have no teats or milk of my own to feed him, I cannot help that the nipple is not correct on that,” he jerked his head towards the small table. “It is close, but he keeps grabbing and squeezing the body of it...” this was nearly sheepish in its delivery.

With no more eyebrows to raise, Ferox shook his head instead, and tried to stay intent on the task of washing someone who clearly wanted to be elsewhere. And it wasn’t as if Len was not eating...he had the folds to prove it. Wrinkles behind knees, elbows, thighs, and seriously, how many chins? The babe was putting on weight at a very healthy pace. With a finger and a light touch he washed the tiny face rinsing it as he went, holding back the laughter at the disgusted faces to only a quirk of the lip. 

Lastly, he soaped his head, gently over the soft spot. “Ready?”

“I am, whether he is...?” good humour thrown with a smirk as Zevran leaned with the infant down.

Feet touched water and kicked, then were quickly submerged up to his behind, and Zevran’s hold shifted as Len’s face went through several expressions all at once. The wide one with the pursed lips and crinkled brow was familiar to anyone surprising a baby. It was the place between indecision on whether to yell out that something had changed, or coo that the surprise wasn’t so bad. Ferox splashed water over Len’s back and shoulders, then cupping it over his head, while Zevran supported the bobbling little head that was seeking to understand the sudden difference. 

“Ah, yes, cleanliness, this is something that you will find not all Fereldens have,” conspiratorial ‘whisper’, “particularly of the noble class. Excluding your father of course. He is a paragon of sanitation, and never once missed washing between his toes, not even during the Blight. Why there was this one time, when it was snowing up to our hips, and he said that it was time to get clean, and no matter that we had to wade through a frozen river to do it!”

“Do they actually have water in this great metropolis of Antiva or is it just dust baths?” Grabbing a towel, as Len splashed a little bit on his own. “You need an apron...”

Zevran made a dismissive sound, “We have large cisterns, and plumbing and running water. Things this country knows little of. Great aquifers beneath the ground, actual ways of draining away sewage...” He watched as the assassin let little droplets of water slip from fingertips in front of Len’s eyes who watched entranced, even as one eye slid towards crossing itself. “It had best be a pretty apron then, with ribbons and frills. Something similar to Alistair’s tastes for dancing the Remigold in.”

“Your wish...” He definitely did not tell that story, granted he wasn’t really speaking then, until long after they picked up Sten, Leliana, and Zevran. Alistair always needed to talk, so he probably told that damnable story to them. 

Even when he was quiet, Alistair was talking. When he was sulking his way out of the Wilds, he was talking...to the dog, to the trees, probably even to Morrigan. Ferox remembered wanting to kill him. So what if that would have left him to be the only Warden, at that moment he hadn’t cared. 

Ferox had forgotten when he decided to stand up and fix it, to move them forward, to protect...was it before or after the Circle? Or was it the werewolves? Dwarves were last, so it wasn’t then. He nearly asked, knowing that the assassin would have taken note. Zevran was always there sitting next to him back then. 

The assassin was there nearly always, even now, making himself constantly indispensable, his presence there not just in the shadows. Even after Ferox had managed to escape his cell in Fort Drakon, the lone companion who arrived - after all, who would take note of an elf? - was him. It had seemed natural. The one who could slide into places quickly and away just as fast was the only one to send for such a mission. 

Len was deposited in his towel draped arms, “I will need a smock once he takes solids, so I hear. Something head to toe no doubt. At least Len is nothing like Alistair, so no worry of food flying everywhere during a desperate and mad grab to shovel more in. It is good he is a Cousland instead.” A thoughtful pause, “Unless of course you were that horrible as well. Then it is simply too bad that we can not stick him to a teat until he is five the way the horseclans do.”

Blinking back to the present, he quickly covered the squirmy wet infant and folded a corner on his head and kept Len facing towards the fire so he would not be chilled. Painstakingly, he dried every wrinkle, crevice, and fold of skin that had just been washed just as carefully and thoroughly. “I cannot speak for myself or my older brother, but since we were not allowed in the dining room with guests, until I was twelve, I would guess that _Fergus_ was not very neat,” exaggerating.

A philosophical shrug, “Better than being fed poison and not being given any form of antidote if our manners had been lacking. Antivan food requires a certain neatness,” gesturing with scooping fingers, while the thumb rolled as the wrist twisted his hand towards his mouth, “and the dexterity to do it as gracefully as a high ranking feeder of the particularly rich. One thing that you Fereldens have over Antivans is the presence of utensils at all meals.”

Nodding as he worked his way through diapering, it had been many years since he last had done so and it took a couple of tries to remember how to fasten it securely, especially before bed. Finding the clean clothes he started with the feet and worked his way up. Not catching chill was something his father drilled into his head. Dry clothes, warm socks, hat, layers, all very important. Probably because they often walked on the rocky beaches, even in the winter, because there was little snow there on the beach, but much ice and bitterness in the wind.

Zevran had remained silent, watching each of his movements, and if Len drowsily looked towards the elf, he would make a face. Eventually the assassin leaned in, ears flapping, which got crossed eyes and a smile. It was a peculiar act, but also a thing that was warm. Ferox had never realized that the assassin had that much control over the appendages, a twitch here or there, but never the completely horizontal curling he was witnessing. A huffing sound that was trying to a laugh exposed toothless and pink gums. 

“Ah, there you are,” fingers came down to brush a fat cheek. “I knew you would come out and say hello to your father.” 

A satisfied sigh and the assassin pulled away leaving the boy in Ferox’s care as the elf puttered around, quietly whistling through his teeth, putting away the used and now unneeded items. Ferox stared down at his son, who stared right back curiously before twisting with a mighty yawn. He felt something loosening, just a little, and expanding deep inside. It hurt, but it felt good as well, the familiar weight of a tiny life in his hands. Shifting Len up to his shoulder he rubbed his child’s back in slow circles, queerly amazed that he had created this being. 

Stretching out on the rug before the fire, he propped up his head on a cushion grabbed from one of the assassin’s fanciful chairs to look at this creature that he did much to obtain and took a good look at his features. “I hope you don’t get your grandfather’s nose. Other than that, look like whomever you will.”

“Or his complexion,” Zevran pressed his hands to his face, stretching the skin out and down, eyes rolled to the heavens. “Weathering is all well and good, but no need to look like one was accosted by the mountain of doom and gloom. Whatever would your subjects think then Len? Hmn? Though, it is true that people tend to only remember tyrants. A good king is one that the common people never particularly notice, the taxes do not go too high, the bandits are not too bad, and there is no war.”

“You are...” he begins. Stops and begins again, “You are...” trying to remember the exact words he overheard, sternly, “...a public menace.” 

Zevran flopped into the embrace of a large chair, indolently lounging. The chair was one of those oddities the elf came across time to time, battered, in good condition, the fabric carrying a faint sheen to the ancient pumpkin cloth, “And here I thought nothing less than witnessing your son’s aim for a mouth or an eye would garner anything even resembling a smile from you. However, dutiful assistant and friend that I am, I would have taken one for the team in the name of being a good sport.”

It was not the time, at all, to give into the urge to tell him the battle-cry Ferox had crafted. 

That word, ‘friend’, had not been used by Ferox again after that night in Highever, and the slight quirk in his cheek relaxed as he considered it, looking away. None of the others from the Blight and since were. Certainly traveling companions, a shrug acknowledging the closer relationship of a fellow Warden. When you can track each others’ movements, it’s hard not to feel a connection. When Rory died, Ferox hadn’t looked for a replacement of any role the redhead had played. Was that a reason Zevran stayed? They were friends? Trying to remember when that happened, he drew a blank. What did he do other than be the drill instructor, wheedler, and all around conniver? All he wanted was for no one to die. When did that warrant friendship?

Focusing his gaze on the face pressed to his chest was easier. Len clearly didn’t know that, or much of anything, as he had fallen asleep. Nearby, the assassin had made himself comfortable in his chair, a leg thrown over the armrest, slouching into it, head tucked to the side, dozing like an over-large feline dressed in sun bleached or undyed creams and serviceable browns, so he could not be questioned as well. 

Laying his head back, he considered the evening. Uncomfortable, not unpleasant exactly...but a part of him wished he had locked the door during dinner, the rest of him wasn’t unhappy that he hadn’t. It all made his head hurt, and he briefly desired desperately for a long walk...without camel socks...or whatever those were. Hair, not hide. How odd.

He was trapped, it was all a trap. Sighing, as he was tired as well and recognized that part of his mind was working his way out and was making contingency plans. For the moment, it would have to do.

A grunt, and then a real pillow landed with a soft ‘whump’ near his head, “If you insist on thinking so hard, best not to do it with nothing beneath it.” 

Rumbling back, “I am certain this floor is very solid.” Grabbing it with the arm not around the boy, he tucked the pillow under his head.

“So it is, so it is,” mumbled agreement. “And it is far too unyielding, even with that rug, at least for a tender head that does much thinking. However, it is also Len’s favourite place to sleep, I know not why. It is not as though the bed is hard. But he has been fussing badly near dawn of late, and so beside the fireplace is where we spend most of our time. Sitting, pacing, sleeping.” 

The Antivan sounded mostly asleep himself and Ferox lifted his head enough to watch Zevran roll in the chair until he was nearly upside down, one leg _still_ over the armrest, the other over the chair’s high back. “It is all a man can do to take a nap sometimes.” 

Making a mental note to find more rugs...or just throw the mattress on the floor, that would be a good plan. He was glad they weren’t on the first floor with the flagstones. Meetings tomorrow...and he wondered if he mentioned where he was to any of the guards or pages who may come looking for him in the morning? 

_I’m sorry, I’m afraid that if you want your silly meeting you will have to come here and whisper, very, very softly, or I will be forced to have someone kill you, or give you what I have been told will be a fussing child...take your pick. ___Continuing to imagine ways out of this trap while defending it at the same time, he slid into sleep.


	2. Thorn In My Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, we are human, and no doubt have some errors in this. And, again, if anyone would like to take pity upon us and do a couple chapters here or there, we would be eternally grateful. Otherwise, we have both done the best we can on edits, typos, punctuation, and grammar.

Apparently he needn’t have worried over his meetings, as just after dawn Zevran tapped his foot. “It is time to take Len to the nursery before that poor woman awakens and raises some sort of shrieking alarm.”

Ferox narrowly avoided jerking and snarling awake. “And you wonder why the poor boy wakes crying,” complaining as he kicked weakly at the bare foot nudging him.

“Well it was that or risk being tackled by a fairly large _shem_ when I snatched the baby from his arms as he slept,” it was mild as Ferox’s associate quickly did exactly as he said, sticking a knuckle deftly into Len’s mouth before he became too startled himself and settled in to suckle back to sleep. “Him I do not wake up, and usually after he is settled once more, he passes right back out. Unless of course he hears the nursery door close. _Then_ he screams like a banshee. Ah but there was a reward, this evening he slept straight through, and all three of us gained some rest.”

“If the guards...” of course they knew. “Did your charms not work on Len’s Nan?” Sitting up, he repressed a pained wince, _Definitely more padding is needed for this floor_. “Do you want permission?” as he rubbed sleep from his eyes.

Watching as Ferox stretched the kinks out, Zevran shrugged, “The guards posted in the halls were all hand-picked by yours truly, for their loyalty to you, their ability to defend both yourself, Len, and Anora. And also for the fact that they owe me favours personally, so will not mention my comings and goings unless _you_ press them. They understand how to be discrete and cover any tracks of yours as well. As for Sarah, I have let her be as she was picked by Erlina. Best for me to not be seen meddling in that arena.”

 _Ahh, Erlina, no wonder._ There would be no better person to ship home. Ferox had often wondered about her loyalties. Some days she did a little too much for a lady’s maid and he had been guarded in her presence as well. The permission he offered wouldn’t get very far in that case. The nurse seemed like a nice enough girl, but he had not spent much time with her other than a greeting.

“Found anything on her yet?” meaning Erlina or the nan, probably both. Slowly, creakingly getting to his feet. _Another pillow too, perhaps several more._

“She owes Erlina everything,” Zevran sighed, pouring a cup of tea one handed then holding out to Ferox. “Saved her from a life of begging just to feed her own baby and care for her old mother. It is a regular sob story, yet the girl is impressionable, and already believes the worst of myself, as well as some grimmer take on you. Buying her would be easy, and then she would immediately go to Erlina and tattle it all into a little tale, yes? However, if stupidity and loyalty are her only faults, then they are not so vast as to be worth dealing with her. As for Erlina,” he shrugged. “It is not true that all Orlesians are bards, but one should always be wary of pretty, elven Orlesians. They might not be bards, but they are certainly spies for someone if placed anywhere fortuitous.”

With nod of thanks, Ferox took the mug, “Smells bad to me, has since ‘rescuing’ Anora. What a load of...” he bit his tongue on what he really thought. “Erlina needs to find other employ.”

A truly dark laugh came out, the sort that was warning that Zevran had come up with something particularly thorny and masterful. “The documents of Cailan’s, you recall the ones, where he was planning on setting Anora aside for the Empress of Orlais? Pray tell, do you remember _who_ was listed as a contact? And how easy it would be to...change it to something else...?”

“If everything was drug down from Soldier’s Peak, it may have been stored in the Wardens’ stash...which really needs to be secured by more than a couple of bookcases.” Rubbing his forehead, “Why haven’t we hidden them...oh I remember, Arl of Denerim. Has Anora replaced him?”

“No, though there are times when I almost think Bann Shianni would be perfect, she runs the Alienage as a very tight ship,” a second cup of tea was poured and he blew on it several times. “I say that not because of being a fellow elf, but because she does run it the way a captain would. However, one to further the goals of Wardens would be wise also... Arl of Denerim is a high profile position, yes? So much so, that there is the possibility that when combined with the status of Amaranthine... My friend, I do not counsel that. There are enough precarious positions for all that putting someone...unique...at a much coveted place could bring down the ire of others.”

Yawning, “I didn’t mean for me or any other Warden to be arl, I was coveting their basement...dungeon, only. The warehouse district is...” Searching for an apt description, “So flammable,” even after it had been sort of rebuilt in the intervening years since Urthemiel’s rampage. “But putting Shianni there, we could do both - have an ally and someone who knows what they’re doing. Somehow I don’t think Anora is sufficiently distracted for that, however. But if we are slow to act, she will find someone and-” Grimly, “I don’t think she’d choose an elf.”

Zevran looked down at Len seriously. “You have an Heir. Do you need a Queen?”

Ferox grimaced briefly, shook his head, then accepted a refill on the dark, strong tea, “I want at least one backup plan and made arrangements for that while in Kirkwall. It is not something I look forward to, but, as you say, it is insurance. Hopefully the healer has not moved on and the work will not take as long on the second time.”

“Then we reveal Erlina’s deception, and then Anora owes you a far greater favour. Not only have you given her a child, the great pleasures of the marriage-bed, a city that has slowly regained its footing, a country that is going to become a great power, but also you have revealed the viper that lay so near her breast,” he pointed out reasonably. “Tell her that for the duration, that until you find the right person to fill that role, that since the palace is right here in Denerim, that such duties can be shared out between yourself, with Eamon or I to take care of the smaller details. Tell her your ability to choose the correct person for such jobs is the only boon you request in this case, so that the country and herself are best served, for you only _live_ to serve, yes?”

“Last I checked -” refraining from rolling his eyes was a narrow thing, “- it is what we _have_ been doing up to this point...to persuade it to continue a bit longer should not require too much sacrifice.” _Will not shudder,_ but Ferox didn’t look forward to pleasing the Harpy. “It is too early for this thought. Come, put the boy to bed and show me your famous light steps.” Setting the mug down and moving to open the door he almost teased, “Trap anything?”

A snort came with the canted smile, “No. I find that most are aware of my former profession, and they all find my unlocked door...disturbing. As though I am inviting them to find some horrid twisting and agonizing death. Possibly because I have been known to discuss the seven stages of lanthrax poisoning...and how it only takes the mere prick of a needle to deliver it.”

Ferox remembered Alistair’s face and reaction. Leliana laughed behind the gullible Warden’s back and Morrigan ‘helped’ with the descriptions of the death throes as he recalled. Opening the door, with a gesture of ‘after you,’ Ferox closed it quietly behind them and strolled down the hall at his side until they neared the nursery.

It was, and would always be, difficult to be close enough to observe those who were sneaky when he was supposed to be the loudest one. Unless Ferox was in the lighter armours like at the beginning of their little adventure, he was unable to be nearby, even after having Master Wade muffle the dragon plate. Quieter, certainly, but never satisfactory, even in the leathers made from the Archdemon’s hide, he was never exactly silent. So it was rare to see Zevran move so silently up close and personal. Everything around the assassin suddenly seemed muted, even the door opening and Ferox’s own footsteps - so long as he stuck close. Into the nursery they walked and then Len was placed in his crib, tucked in, and Zevran kissed a thumb before touching each of Len’s lids, as though in silent wish for good dreams. The action had the peculiar rhythm of practice and long familiarity, like an Andrastian kneeling to receive a blessing. Or a fighter reaching for the hilt of their blade - as though to be sure it was there. Just as quietly as they had arrived, they left, and once they were halfway down the hall, their steps once more resumed a more normal level of noise.

Or at least normal for Ferox, as he found himself wondering at how much noise Zevran _did_ make. Watching from the corner of his eye, he realized something with a start. Each step had a faint resistance, as though he had to tell himself to move like a normal person. Each breath, each small movement was the same. It was somewhat fascinating. 

As they neared Ferox’s room, he felt compelled to make a gesture, a connection, but he hadn’t done anything natural in a long time, without thought and planning or for the immediate goal of obtaining something. The mask of composure was still there but the crack extended into his vision and consciousness. Had Ferox been anyone else, even an earlier self, who had been shown lapse and how to begin the path of fixing it, he would have hugged the elf, or at least said a thank you. Instead, he squeezed Zevran’s shoulder before entering his rooms to prepare himself for the day.

For the first time that he could clearly remember, they did not part with wintry chill spanning between them.

XXX

Between meetings with Eamon, the commander of Fort Drakon, and other minor affairs, Ferox made arrangements for several large, thick and padded rugs to be delivered outside the assassin’s room and penned a quick note asking if assistance was required, or even wanted, to move furniture.

A prompt response was received, _The presence of a friend is always welcome,_ with the usual little swooping ‘Z’ at the end. Ferox slipped it inside a hidden pocket to pick over later.

Steps wanting to drag, he approached where Anora was ‘holding court’ with tea and delicate treats, wishing to be almost anywhere else. Waiting patiently in a side room he reviewed the documents waiting for her signature, many having gone through his hands, others not. Eamon had several proposals for various arlings and banns, which were left vacant. He pocketed those to discuss with Eamon before it caught Anora’s eye, as most of those proposed were Eamon’s debt rather than the crown’s. The arl was making another grab for power...well continuing his grab. A few other items of interest, new trade negotiations to open - Anora would put Ferox’s skills to those, and others that were completed. Something was off about her desk though, missing.

As he eyed it, unable to identify what was not there, Anora deigned to finally end his wait. Probably concerned with what may be visible or available to his gaze. A cat with the cream smile and a Cousland on a leash in her hand, she enjoyed this game when he would like nothing less than to strangle her. Pleasant, keeping his cold anger covered, he gave a summary of his morning activities and accomplishments, and felt as if he was reporting in for his morning pat on the head. Politely, he inquired of her schedule and arranged to meet for dinner together, which she neatly penned in the little book she always carried. Ferox would like a look at that, usually he just slid it under the door to his associate and placed it back when he was done. Arrangements made, appropriate ‘fond’ gestures exchanged, Ferox made his escape as soon as reasonably able.

Making his usual lunchtime rounds, he stepped by the nursery which always seemed to be bustling with chattering women at this time of day. Len must be awake, or a very heavy sleeper. Shaking his head, turning on a heel, he continued his walk. Greeting and giving greetings from the battlements to the kitchen, his destination, he stewed and adjusted plans. Settling in his corner near the fire he listened in on the kitchen gossip as the servants gradually forgot he was there. Ferox enjoyed this part of his day the most...simple, no expectations, no masks to wear or change for the company he was faced with. He sat back with a start at that thought, that realization that slipped in. He had enjoyed something simple, something that was nothing more complex than merely existing quietly.

Getting to his feet abruptly, shaking these thoughts and undeserved peace from him, he grabbed the heel of bread from the dish and continued his rounds by way of where his assassin tended to be this time of day, to pass him Eamon’s note. In addition, he wanted to ask about the desk. Zevran was looking over the lists of servants and duties double checking to see that the castle was in working order. Ferox’s customary stride was familiar, the tread of a confident step on flagstones covered in runner rugs was as natural and normal a fixture in his life as the sun rising and setting. 

Pulling out a small sheaf of papers, Zevran gestured with them, “The usual dalliances, leave-taking, change in order, and supplies purchased. Sadly, not a thing out of the ordinary. One of these days a true seneschal will be needed, these unending lists make a man’s eyes feel old.”

“I wish Varel had a twin,” trading him for him Eamon’s letter.

“Howe,” one word, one name. “I hear he is rather detail oriented. And having another Warden around might open new ground...hmn?” The letter was glanced at briefly, “Ah, interesting reading.”

“He is not personable and they,” vague gesture at the unwashed horde outside the window, “would not deal with him. Otherwise, he fits the description.”

Zevran shrugged, “He would know enough of how to act as though he were remotely personable. Besides, I only want him around so the morning wash will be done _without_ me having to ensure the weekly roster is filled.”

A nod indicating he had heard. While considering it, “Have you been in to see to Anora’s doings?”

“The usual mob of those petitioning favours or this or that gripe, let us also not forget the grand stories and advice for new mothers,” casually said and offhanded, Ferox still detected the hint of sarcasm. “All of which is graciously received and well employed.”

“Something is missing and I cannot place my finger on it. I will look again this evening before dinner with Her Majesty. In the meantime, prepare the summons and you can try out your Howe, as you wish.”

The thought of Zevran doing the laundry as a last resort combined with the requested frilly apron nearly quirked a lip, because the elf would, if pressed, and be fully capable and unflustered in the activity. Howe, imagined in that same circumstance, looked completely ridiculous, out of place, and unwilling to participate; and thus he was an even better candidate for the thought. It was a regular comedy play that might be put on for fair days that Ferox hadn’t been to in so very long.

A thoughtful expression, “I will look into it if you like. Your instincts have always been of great service to those who pay attention.”

Such a clever delivery the assassin gave much away by its very perfection, Ferox had to hide a pleased smile at what it meant. Whatever Ferox had been wanting to plan was already in motion is what it all indicated. _Good, that is as it should be._ Instead he only nodded.

“If you find yourself without entertainment this evening, there is a new book I would like to lend you tonight,” face carefully blank.

“If you have time, certainly I enjoy expanding upon what I know of local flavours,” Zevran waved a hand, nose in his ‘lists’ as he walked, checking over the small details of a maid bustling past with a lazy glance, an armload of linens weighing her down.

“Provided my time is my own tonight. It would be good to review that guest list at the same time. I would hate for the surprise to be ruined prematurely by an overeager party. His schedule is fairly busy this week and unless he unexpectedly drops in, which is unlikely given his adherence to protocol, there is time,” the idle, unimportant chitchat that spilled from Ferox was filled with words that said nothing and everything, breath with no meaning beyond a facade that had to be maintained.

He had forgotten something. At the splitting of the corridor where they usually parted, instead of taking his usual route to his office, Ferox retraced steps to the kitchen and the laundry to look for and take a large steel flat bottomed, oval wash basin that Len could lie in until he could safely sit. It would be safer than dipping him in a bucket, especially when Len was so squirmy and uncoordinated. Later he could sit in it for bathing, and it would still be plenty deep enough.

Carrying the tub back to Zevran’s room, he set it on top of the rugs that arrived earlier, rolled and stacked in the hallway. In the tub he placed a mini keg of one of the dark beers that the duplicate preferred, perhaps his assassin might also enjoy it. After scrawling his FAC on the top end of the keg, Ferox headed back for the afternoon meetings followed by endless paperwork before dinner.

Late that afternoon, when a carefully worded summons came across his desk for Nathaniel Howe’s transfer to the palace, effective immediately, Ferox did not delay the signing. Immediately, it was sent downstairs to a horse and rider in a sealed satchel with the other Amaranthine and Vigil correspondence he had just completed. The sooner that summons was served and fulfilled, the happier his associate would be to return to what he actually liked to do. Thankfully both messenger, message, then Nathaniel himself would arrive with far more speed than in times not so distant, as Ferelden had been trading for some horses the last several years.

As any day was supposed to be, it was productive.

XXX

Freshly shaven, bathed, perfumed in the wretched scent Anora preferred, his hair was neatly pulled back and braided. Dressing carefully for dinner Ferox emptied his pockets, unwilling to hand Anora something else inadvertently. Looking at the signed note he had received earlier from his associate, he smoothed it out before tucking it away, hidden - unsure why even as he did it. Then, checking each letter Zevran had prepared, Ferox updated his mental script before tucking them away safely. The last letter, one to be given reluctantly later, was put in a separate location.

Delaying, he removed and cleaned the heavy gold ring, a physical representation of his bondage to Anora, before replacing the shackle on his finger. Stilling the urge to just pick up a blade and cut every string that held him, he attempted to breathe and ended up choking on the stink he carried. _This game is vital; calmly, coolly it will be done, it will be won. One way or another, this ‘groveling’ will end. Taking one of Anora’s Own, the one who isn’t a mindless pawn, will do much to reduce the pressures, and to lead Anora to begin to truly depend on me._

Strolling to Anora’s private rooms, shuttering himself off, Ferox found his role and knocked lightly before entering. Calm. Cool. Collected...humble and pleasant, one with offerings for his goddess. _If this doesn’t work, I’m going for a walk off Fort Drakon... No, no I’m not, taking a ship, perhaps, after a bath, but I am not taking that way out today._

“My dear, how lovely you look this evening, such a beautiful colour.” Ferox pressed a warm kiss to her proffered cheek. He did not pull away from the weirdly foul scent she wore, one that apparently complemented what she liked him to wear. He wasn’t averse to scent per se, but these were truly terrible, and Ferox longed to scratched it from his skin, removing that too if necessary, wishing he could claim an allergic reaction.

Keeping the conversation light as dinner was set at the table, he gave every social nicety, offering an arm, pulling out her chair, attention to every tiny detail as if he thought of nothing more than her person. Alone again, he gave another report as to his afternoon activities after inquiring politely to her own and receiving less than satisfactory answers...vague and hidden. Her little book sat on the table near at hand as she noted interesting details he related. 

Drawing her attention back to the meal, and away from his activities, by refilling her wine glass and praising the delicate greens grown in the palace greenhouses, he began to lay the groundwork for what rested against his chest. It was taxing, it always was, even with the years of practice. She would ask question after question, picking at this or that, devouring ceaseless details, never understanding that not every detail was needed. _End this, please._ Cousin Molly’s third son, Ned’s best friend with the red dog, was the one who had last seen the wooden spoon from the left drawer, wasn’t an important thing for anyone to know or remember. At least, not if it was a person in power. Too many of those things left a body blind to the forest, too stuck on the leaves, unable to even see the trees.

Eyes shifting, as if there was something else, he made polite, but distracted noises as if encouraging her to continue. Appearing like his mind was elsewhere, he heard every word...unfortunately, as some of it was interesting, perhaps useful even in some cases. To make matters worse, reading non-verbal communication was not Anora’s forte, so, he carefully and gradually amplified his distraction until finally he did not respond to a question she asked twice as he stared into the flickering flames.

The way her silverware clinked with over-polite precision screamed ‘concerned’ aggravation, “What is on your mind, dear? You’re very distracted.”

As if he were called away from deep thought and lost himself for a moment, “I...” Clearing his throat uncertainly, “Pardon me, I was quite rude. I was wondering, working rather, on a disturbing issue. I’m afraid it has weighed most heavily in my thoughts today.” Straightening, his manner pretended to be like a man seeking to put something bothersome behind him unsuccessfully, “What did you ask, darling?” ready to ‘drift off’ again, if needed. _Not your cousin’s sister’s son’s paternal uncle’s aunt on his mother side fiance’s daughter’s baby._

She lay a hand over his, “If it is something that worries you, then I no doubt must know of it.”

Allowing the physical irritation and mental anguish of her prior ramblings to show through, he used them as a catalyst for this supposed discomfort. “It is not something you would wish to hear, I’m afraid. Please, go on with what you were saying. I think.” Hesitantly, “I mean, I hope...” Ferox looked down at his plate, hardly touched as if he were unable to eat with this hanging over him. And with a Warden’s appetite to combat, that was no mean feat. _Oh Harpy, guide this young and inexperienced one on the path he must take._

“Oh don’t be foolish, if there is something that abysmal that it bothers you so much, it must be weighty,” Anora was prim in her delivery. “And if it’s so weighty that you are uncomfortable in even discussing it, then no doubt it is something that has great bearing upon the nation. I’ll not have any risks within and without.”

Again making a show of deciding to move on, to handle it himself, anything to drag her in deeper, yes, he risked her anger for the greater good...his greater good. A doubtful expression, “You’re still healing my dear and I would not wish to press this matter upon you at this time, because I wouldn’t want to risk your distress. It would be irresponsible and selfish of me...” he trailed off, a pained expression.

“Whether I’m dying or healthy, I am still Queen, Ferox,” the hand withdrew, and she became chilly. “I have duties and if your hemming and hawing over my ‘delicate’ state doesn’t stop this instant, I’ll be most put out. If you are unable to handle whatever the situation is, as is so clear by your distraction, then it becomes my responsibility.”

Touching a hand to his inner pocket, he caused the paper to crinkle slightly, acting like it hurt him to do so, with a defeated sigh, Ferox was a man who had been backed into a corner, he pulled the multiple pages free. He even took a moment, gaze on the pages, before he finally handed them to her, shame in the slow gesture. “It must be as you say, but I am reluctant to harm you so, especially concerning something that is most certainly in the past...” Enunciating carefully, “Cailan’s past.”

Ferox explained, continuing the little tale, “I located these when sorting through some Warden documents and forwarding necessary items to Vigil’s Keep this afternoon. These are from Ostagar, from Cailan’s chest which I discovered there. I’m grateful that I had not just forwarded the entire satchel to the Vigil.” _Fill it in, Harpy. Look at them. Think about it._ “At the time, given the nature of what I was doing, I believed them to be unimportant. However that may not be the case.”

She was quiet, her already pale skin taking on an unhealthy cast as two bright spots of colour shone under her swipes of face powder. Behind his mask a thrill of satisfaction came as her knuckles went white, making the paper crinkle, even as she smoothed and straightened out the page she was on. Her composure was in place, but it was seriously flawed, and by the time she got to the end of the first two pages, she was reaching for her goblet and draining it. Being the dutiful husband, he scooted his chair closer, lending his concerned ‘presence’, even when she leaned away faintly.

Sorrowfully, “I’m afraid there is one more and it is particularly...it looks very bad.” Using an imploring tone, one she herself used against him, one which caused distaste and creeping shudders up his spine instead of what she was attempting, “Please, let me keep this one, just this small one, it shouldn’t be used to upset you, my dear. I do not desire to have this thing cause you greater harm.” Touching, where the letter was hidden, the paper crinkled invitingly, taunting and enticing her to demand it.

“It should be destroyed, burnt, yes, then it will not be able to do you any damage.” Pushing back his chair as if the ‘right’ decision had been made, pulling it from his interior pockets as if he were going to remove this tainted thing from the presence of his lovely goddess, something that sullied her by its very existence.

Anora rose quickly, the break in her self-control shattering and cascading down as she took his hand quickly, halting him. “No. Let me see it. I must know what it holds, how far the ruin has spread.”

To hide the momentary glint in his eyes, he turned away as if unable to bear the sight of the pain he was going to cause by fulfilling her desire to know what was in the last, damning, altered documents. Throwing himself back into the chair, overacting so she had the chance of actually reading his reactions, he put his head in his hands. Oh he was the very picture of torn dispair.

“Ferox,” her other hand was held out, open in demand that he place the last, damning bit of evidence there. Favourite dog that he was, reluctantly, he gave his mistress the letter. She shivered as she read it, still standing then suddenly sat and whispered, “Betrayer,” as she stared down at the page.

Calmly. Coolly. “Let me take care of this for you, my sweet, so that you are spared this much at least.”

Anora shook her head, fighting to regain calm, her resolve firming, “No. I must deal with the viper myself.” She pushed her plate away, and folded her hands in her lap. “Please, Ferox dear, I need some time to myself. I’ll retire for the night to my rooms.”

“Allow me to escort you, please darling, let me do that at least,” he leaned forward. “Just to your door.”

“Yes,” Anora nodded her features stilling slightly, the faint hint of relief far sweeter than any perfume, “Yes, I would like that.”

Pulling her away from the table, regretfully he handed her the documents. Covering her book with a napkin, he hid his movements by interposing himself between her and it. Then offering his arm, “Come my dear, let us quit this place.” At the door, he paused, “If it will help take your mind from this distasteful discovery, there is a small matter, a boon, if you will...”

As they walked, he explained. “Eamon and I have been discussing some of the vacant positions. I ask that you allow me to interview and choose the right person to fill the Denerim seat, taking into account Eamon’s insightful advice, of course. As it will set the tone for the entire realm, it will take much time and careful thought, and if I lift this burden from you my darling,” kissing her fingers as they travelled down the hall, “it will allow you the time to do what is needed in this,” gesturing to the letters in her other hand, “sad affair.” His words was chosen intentionally, but his eyes were innocent and so very concerned for her welfare.

Harpy back to her rooms, Ferox returned to the dining room, and recovered the little book tucking it safely away and exited with a ‘lost item’ he had earlier dropped. It had been intentionally to cover his tracks, should someone’s eyes be upon him. Intent on his rooms, plans clicking over in his mind, he found himself at Zevran’s door instead, staring dumbly at it, and forced himself to knock and wait.

When the door was answered and opened for him to enter, Ferox did not move. Quietly, not quite angry, “Here is that book on ancient history you wished to borrow. I will not come in and subject you to the stink of an Orlesian _gare de triage de grange_ [barnyard] sprayed upon me. I seek a spar or a soak in the large tubs we had installed. If you care join me, you may choose the activity. If not...” a small almost frustrated noise escaped him, as if to say ‘whatever’. “It is not important.”

Zevran said not a word, his door still open as he went in to take his well used leathers from the rack, along with his blades. He pulled the door closed behind him, “Both would be best. A good warm up to get the blood pumping, then washing the filth away.” His lips pursed slightly, “And then you, my friend, need someone to work the tension out of those shoulders ‘ere your back snap of it.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Ferox stalked to his own quarters, listening to his assassin’s signature steps beside him. He was not quite able to trust, to believe that his offer had actually been accepted. But other than requesting that something be done, he did not remember the last time he offered a choice like this to Zevran.

If it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have worn any of it, but Anora needed to be wooed and that particular stench pleased her - as always, he did as the situation required to get what he needed. Ferox removed the finery, refraining from ripping it from himself, tossed them into an adjoining room which was rarely used, and quickly shut the door just to get the smell far away from him. Unwilling to be trapped in a metal barrel with a combination of stenches that still continued to cause him misery, he pulled on serviceable sturdy clothing that smelled of yesterday and then buckled on his dragon leathers. Zevran was changing behind him quickly, his own armour donned faster than dragon hide, and then there was a set of fingers finding a last buckle and finishing it for him. Ferox furrowed his brow as he tugged his gauntlets on more securely. Usually the only time he had help was when trying to get out of the heavy set of plate, or wearing the abysmally unwieldy and gaudy Prince Consort’s armour Anora had had designed. At least his state armour was more functional than Cailan’s, even if it was almost as ugly.

It was all over and done with quickly and other than the jingling of his belt, Zevran paced quietly beside him. No invitation to talk, no prompting nor asking a thousand questions, he was just there. As usual, a quiet, steady presence unless invited to speak.

The star sword was an extension of himself, the familiar pommel filled Ferox’s hand and helped to alleviate the anxiety and vague feeling of longing. He was able to pretend being calm and collected. The urge to claw off his skin and the need to turn and beat this invisible thing that held him, easing with each breath. The sword was the promise of action to be taken, of movement that required little in the way of extended forethought.

When Zevran squared off with him, Ferox had expected the usual dancing fast-paced movements. Instead what he gained was a modeling of style that allowed Ferox to land hits, and after the second one, he began to hold back. Until Zevran kicked him in the knee, smirking at him. A quarter hour in, he realized that while he was hitting the assassin, Zevran was still rolling or moving just enough to the side so the powerful blows didn’t send him flying, or tear through the thinner armour. A knot relaxed in the pit of Ferox’s belly, he stopped thinking about it, just continuing with the session until his arms and back began to ache from wielding the heavy weapon.

“Enough, I yield.”

A grunt and blades whirled away into their sheaths, “Good, I think I might need a good long soak as badly as you do.” Low groaning as the assassin doubled over, arms sliding behind legs as he folded impossibly in half, “Faugh, I need to start sparring with Cesar or Ignacio or someone who might be a challenge, because the guards are nothing special. Mph, and that is what I call a work out.”

Ferox winced as the elf flipped into a backbend while he watched, still putting his own weapon away. “Nathaniel is quick with a blade, but he prefers his bow.”

“Oh I enjoy sniping as much as the next fellow, but I have not been against an opponent who could actually fight in some time it seems like,” laces to vambraces were undone briskly so the sweaty cloth protectors underneath could be yanked off. “So I am out of practice in doing the rolling dodge where the blade slides off, rather than my usual tactics.”

They were both focused after that with cleaning up their bit of the salle, or at least helping the other out of armour. Floor to ceiling was stone, spare and bare, the wall sconces jutting out to hold torches, soot having long since stained the ceiling and parts of the walls. Nicks and gouges were smattered across the floor, just as it should be in any good Ferelden salle. Wooden weapon racks held both live and blunted gear, dented shields... Really, Ferox didn’t spend enough time in the familiar setting. 

Once they were finished, the halls were traversed, each of them carrying satchels with changes of clothes, their armour left behind at the salle after having given orders to servants to take the gear to their respective quarters. Banners and wall hangings or bare walls greeted him and his associate as they quickly made their way to the large set of baths that had been installed, since it was easier to deal with than having people tote a bath around followed by a bucket change for water that would rapidly become tepid. Ferox hadn’t overseen the change, he hadn’t even requested it to be done, just signed the order he supposed at some point. What had been put in was grand by his experience, at least in that there were four wooden oversized tubs in the room that he was certain had once been an office, as there actually managed to be a fireplace. These days, sets of rough pipes brought up water, and he didn’t know by which method it had been managed, but hot and cold came from those pipes to fill tubs as needed. Heavy screens were available to grant privacy if it was so desired, even so, the four tubs had been separated into pairs, set close together. Probably for the very reason of friends chatting or devising plans.

Mildly, as they entered the damp, muggy bath with the crackling fire across from them, and wooden benches for changing, with baskets beneath holding clean towels, “I wanted you to come to the Vigil and regretted that I needed you to be here.”

A shrug was given as the Antivan sat, beginning to strip, “It happens. I would have been there if circumstance allowed it. Times seem simpler when there is a foe that you can defend against with blade and boot rather than blackmail and bribery. Or piles and piles of paper. Ugh, the paper.”

“Careful, your arch-nemesis might give you a papercut,” Ferox found himself teasing, removing his own garments after having flicked the spigots to fill the closest pair of tubs. “And think of all the fun you’ll have bringing Nathaniel up to speed... Nate’s temper is very cold. That reminds me, I should like to see Fergus, and if you discover that my paperwork is off, I’m certain you can smooth that over for me.”

“I can deal with cold tempers, I have survived Ferelden thus far,” glossing and waving it off. A satisfied moan as he slid into the water, “Ah, sweet relief. As always, you can rely upon me to smooth over anything you desire. A bit of paperwork is no trouble.”

Slipping into his own tub, steam rising from the water, _Hot, hot, hot...oh that’s nice._ “Although, if I waited until after Nate got up to speed, you could come with me to Highever, if you like. Or go elsewhere if you’d rather...”

A lolling head rolled his way, “I would rather good company wherever I go, so that does mean I am most likely to follow you rather than fumble around and try to find such on my lonesome. Besides you at least are civilized, as to what can be said for others nearby? Oh, wait. Len. Except he does still have the tendency of releasing excrement into his drawers and the conversations are more one-sided.”

Ferox pulled the braid out of his hair and dunked his head purging himself of the last of the perfume. “This reminds me,” coming back up for air, “I should show you a rock, or rather a rune. A list of ingredients was provided. Add to that the hardest thing to obtain, one talented Tranquil, and apparently it will fund an enterprise, or so I have been told.” Leaning back, brown eyes closed with a sigh, Ferox was able to admit to this little thing, “Zevran, you didn’t say outright, but I have _not_ been good company, not when we met, not during the Blight, and not in the years afterward. One night sharing childcare duties doesn’t change that I was wrong.”

A washcloth was tossed so it landed on his chest with a wet plop. “You had lost everything and been thrown into an untenable position. You did what you could, and that mattered. Just because you did not respond in words, did not mean you refrained from responding with action.” The words caused Ferox to look over at the elf curiously. The other man was busily lathering up a disc of soap into foam between long boned hands, “How many chances did you have to tell me to cease and desist and did not? Or to shut me out and leave me hanging for the Crows? How a person deals with a wound and the healing process is different from person to person.” The water sloshed as the elf shifted with a humming sigh of his own, scrubbing foam into the ink painted limbs. “You were as present as you could be. It was enough.”

Ferox checked Zevran for sarcasm, but couldn’t detect any when there really should be some, after all, the man was adroit at poisoned words and sarcasm, it was just pointed away from Ferox. “To this day, I want to throttle Alistair.” Snorting, “Well, not right now this moment, he’s not here. Talking. Endlessly. But it took time to realize that even though Alistair was older in years and experience as a Warden, that he too, had lost nearly everything that dark night at Ostagar. You yourself, Sten, Wynne, Morrigan, Leliana, Oghren, even Shale - we all were in that position of great loss and each of us dealt with it differently.”

Maybe later he would wonder where the insight and urge to actually discuss those matters had come from. For now, Ferox viewed it as a way to maintain his associate's loyalty, since all evidence pointed to this as being necessary for it. And unlike many actions he had undertaken over the years to continue to get the best out of others for his purposes, this particular thing wasn’t too much or too bad.

“It is a wonder sometimes that I have, how a band of misfits and morose laggards managed to survive,” soap was vigorously scrubbed into dark skin, sandalwood and strange spices wafting over with the motion, intense yet mellow. “I was always taught that laughter was the best medicine, but it was a commodity lacking unless I wheedled and wheedled.” The disc was waved about emphatically, “Ooufh, you all were a hard bunch. Except Oghren, he, and if you repeat this ever I will be most put out, was actually consistently entertaining. A disgraced drunk and a killer whore were the only ones with senses of humour it seemed like some days.” A chuckle before Zevran lowered his voice, “‘By the soddin’ Ancestors where’s yer dress, girl? Yer knickers are in a twist! Don’t you worry, I’ll get’cha unbound - in my tent! Hurr hurr hurr’.” After the first word was free, Ferox was having a hard time not swallowing his tongue and choking at the perfect impersonation. Voice returning to its usual manner, “And no matter how many times the Chantry boy told Oghren I was male, it never did seem to sink in. Ahh, good times.”

He had to say something or risk actually revealing real laughter, Ferox grasped at straws, which led to a bit of epiphany, “So you’re saying that the amount the two of you tortured each other...?”

A hand locked with the opposite wrist and the assassin reclined, resting his wrist on his forehead, soap and cloth set aside for the moment. “Mmnhmm. On purpose. Wynne was a good laugh herself, except I do not think she grasped what I was truly seeking to do. Being serious and focused is all well and good, but to be so day in, day out, for years without relief is...unhealthy. Even you - of course your humour has been fairly caustic and pointed the time I have known you - were able to crack a joke time to time. Morrigan and Sten, oh that was some of the best. And here I thought the Qu’nari were incapable of humour. A hot poker to grab his attention in case he attempted to nuzzle. Oh, that was _priceless_ , almost as much as the Witch’s expression.”

Ferox’s lips twitched. What had promised to be a completely uncomfortable conversation flowed naturally instead. Seriousness was present, a deep undercurrent beneath the usual rambling musings. He did not feel taken to task for his shortcomings, no matter that he did it on his own.

Beside him, his associate let his body rise up, floating in the deep bath, held in place by the weight of his head on the edge. What had at first seemed like useless chatter back then, took on a new light and weight. Zevran’s eyes were closed, what Ferox could see of his face serene. He wondered briefly how he always managed that, that constant rolling with the strikes, feeling them, but not internalizing them. It was obvious that Zevran felt things just as deeply as others, but relinquished the control of situations while still mastering them.

“Shall I gather Len up tonight?” broke the silence casually.

Thinking it over for a moment as he used the bar that had come with the cloth earlier, Ferox breathed deep to gather his thoughts. The disc of soap smelled like it had come from one of the Crow’s stock, but woody, earthy half drowned in fine whisky instead of the mystical scents from foreign lands the elf favoured. Pausing finally in his scrubbing, Ferox nodded once and rumbled, “As you wish.” 

It was still a trap, but it would be one he intentionally stepped into. He had ‘acquired’ this valuable thing, this conversation, this 'friendship', this...something, and he did not want it to fall by the wayside, forgotten. His father would not have approved losing this thing and would have hit him upside the head sooner than Zevran had. Truthfully, Father would have taken him to task long before Ferox was ready, before the groundwork was laid. He vowed quietly that he would not relinquish whatever it was, now that it was at hand.


	3. A Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gone over and cleaned up as much as we could catch. If there's anyone willing to lend a hand at betaing, we'd love you forever. Otherwise, as it stands, this is the best we got! Hopefully any fubars don't detract overly.

Later, in Zevran’s quarters, which were only one modest sized room, Len was busily making noises at pauses Zevran left for him to ‘talk’. How the assassin could say those ‘conversations’ were one-sided seemed odd. Suspecting that was not what the elf truly meant, seeing how they had a rapidfire ‘talk’ going on, some discourse half in Antivan, the other half being Ferelden, about the benefits of vegetables and yogurt, Ferox leaned back, watching, his current reading material resting on a knee. 

Boy and elf walked slowly around the room, the window well shuttered, the bubble glass throwing back light from the small lanterns the Antivan favoured made of even lower quality glass inset in wood or metal frames. Unlike most areas of the palace, there was almost no visible stone, either because it was covered with shelves and bookcases, or because of tapestries. Then again, Zevran was from a reportedly much warmer place, so everything that could be done to make the room warmer, had been. It was a hodgepodge room, where the bed was off to one side, shoved up against two walls, thick double curtains of wool ringing it, and directly at the foot of that bed was a trunk with a few pillows on it to act as a place to tug boots on. Farther down that longer wall, was the armoire, oversized and it looked like it could easily be twisted and shoved to block a door with a shoulder put into it. It was in the shadow of that armoire and the almost ‘foyer’ created by a second massive armoire on the same wall as the doorway, that Ferox had hid to watch Zevran with Len. The second armoire provided shelter to some bookshelves that wound up barely leaving any room for the slanted scribe’s desk on the other long wall of the room. Or at least the bookshelves didn’t leave much room for the well padded but short backed leather chair to scoot out from under the desk. All of that left the rest of the long wall holding the fireplace, shelves, and the densely packed racks of gear the elf favoured. All of it fairly normal, except for the way it was all dutifully maintained, frequently carved or pierced more than the norm, and certainly if it was something to hold a body for sleep or sitting, it was padded within several inches of its life.

Remembering his father and brother with Oren, he saw them in the easy speech shared with Len, the slow steps while holding the babe, imparting wisdom about what each of them knew best. If they had been pulled away, Oren was placed in his lap with a hand to his head or shoulder, a touch which passed the responsibility, the torch, the task. Within a short time, he too picked up this habit back then. He tended to relay whatever he was studying at the moment, to help him review and prepare for the impending recitation to Scribe Aldous.

These days, his knowledge was not appropriate. He wondered what there was to talk about, so that he too could share in this activity with his child. There was always the care of one’s equipment, tack, arms. Sigh. He had been down to the library and gathered everything he wanted to read the first day he had an hour or two for himself...and the history books sat on the shelves in his room. Just the act of reaching for one made him tired... His intentions were good and the desire was there, but at the end of the day, even the most interesting topics, ones Ferox truly wanted to read, had him dreaming within a paragraph or two.

One night Zevran simply solved the problem, plopping Len in his lap and squeezed Ferox’s shoulder, “Tell him of Calenhad. It does not matter what you say, merely engage him, pause so he can ‘reply’, and leave it at that. This is how they learn language and to read people.”

Large bluish brown eyes stared up at him, small rosebud mouth pursing and unpursing and thin scrubby brows all raised up, as though to prompt him. Nearby Zevran was sorting his papers, lounging on the otherwise unused bed. No further assistance would come from that quarter unfortunately. It had been a long time since reciting such great lengths of history that had been memorized. With a start, it occurred to him when others had told stories ‘round fire, he had some too, although at the time he did not care to remember or recall them.

Begin at the beginning, he remembered Scribe Aldous instructing, ‘always cite your source’, “Brother Herren, a Chantry Scribe, The Legend of Calenhad 8:10 Blessed.” Confident in the subject, he reached for earlier days to find ground on which to stand, to reacquaint himself as to why this was important. Putting himself in Aldous’ place, he continued and gave the instruction he would have to a new scholar...or one who had been particularly distracted, “Always give credit to the source, before and after a recitation, as the listener will at first be advised then reminded when you are done.”

This was more difficult than just relating the history and course of events, although incorporating the instruction made for pauses and breaks for conversation in the retelling of the tale itself. “Prior to the crowning of King Calenhad...” Pausing for a particularly interesting face, “Yes, I know that this gives away what happened, but this is written history and is therefore already known, so giving away the ending at the very beginning reveals to the listener the subject on which the speaker will recite.” Nodding agreeably as though Len had spoken, “That is true, which is why I did not begin with ‘Once upon a time.’”

Clearing his throat, to regain the attention of his listener who suddenly was finding a bit of embroidery particularly fascinating, “Prior to the crowning of King Calenhad, Ferelden was little more than a collection of independent arlings and teyrnirs that warred on each other constantly over petty matters.” He listened to the burbled response, “It is true, they still do this today, but whole armies are usually not called into play. Mostly the weapons are words or a bit of strong-armed ‘negotiations’. However, as they tend to be related to their neighbours these days, it is less likely that they will have an uncle or their favourite sister who married the next door arl killed or harmed. This helps...sometimes. I have noted it is the families who have female children, who tend to be the most stable and have the most connections.” Another pause, “Yes, you may be more social than most and this may work to your advantage. However many young men experiment in displays of dominance, one over another and this is usually when trouble begins...” He did not get very far in the relating of the tale, but there would be more for another night.

One of those peculiar frowns of deep concentration had come over Len and Zevran swore, “ _Que haces?_ Aiegh, I _heard_ that.” Papers shuffled even as Ferox was laying his son down for a changing, “Forget the darkspawn, what comes out of your bottom _mijo_ is foul enough even to make them run in terror.”

“Cows’ milk,” muttered Ferox, laying the blame.

A gusty aggravated sigh, “Camel is better, or even mare’s. Or at least I never noticed Antivan babies smelling quite so foul.” Even so he was pouring a little bowl reserved for the purpose full with a mix of warm and cool water and dunking a cloth in it. “It is enough to make me _almost_ wish one of us had a set of udders to deal with this.”

They worked in tandem, when before Ferox was used to doing it on his own, but the extra hands were never in the way and Zevran’s constant faces and noises kept Len focused and amused enough to not whine over any coldness on his bottom. “I hope not, because I won’t be the one to do it - I wouldn’t want to throw my back out.

“Is the bath water ready? He could go straight in, having nearly insisted with this mess. Probably desiring to try out the new thing.” Zevran dipped a toe into the tub while tying his hair back, “Never minding of course the fact that it was time anyway. Mph, not too hot.” A moment to adjust the distance from the fireplace and bank it well, “Ah, there we go. Time to make a civilized boy of you and get you clean for all the women who fuss over you during the day.”

Ferox was unable to catch his own expression or the angry snort, but quickly reassembled his features as the face that looked up into his was startled at the anger. “Zevran is correct, little man, women are drawn to sweet scents and not sour milk behind ears or stinky messes.” Without looking up, feeling the thoughts behind the amber eyes, Ferox said lightly, “I will take this out, why don’t you start,” gathering the residue and cleanup supplies. Without waiting for a response, he exited the room.

When he returned Zevran was sitting with his legs around the tub with just Len’s head supported as he lay back, splashing water over him and humming. Len was clearly enchanted with all the water and splashing, but upon hearing Ferox’s entrance, his little head bobbled in his direction, a half-expectant hoot issuing.

“Good, that looks much easier for one person to use. No more precarious managing of child and bucket, although you are quite talented, my good man,” and he placed a hand on Zevran’s shoulder looking down at Len. “I would have made a mess of that entire setup on my own, but then, I cannot juggle.”

“Manageable yes, but holding, soaping, rinsing and entertaining him all at once is still not an easy feat for a single person,” looking down at Len who was still squirming as he stared up at Ferox. “Besides, I believe he is looking forward to his father taking care of his chubby little face and soft head once more.”

“Couslands have always been a handful and a half,” kneeling to assist, sleeves already neatly rolled up.

Snickering, “I will file that information away securely, then.”

Len absorbed their attention then his joy at simply squirming and splashing in the water with nothing but a hand to keep him floating. The assassin mused, “Children are often taken to the fountains and learn to swim there. Little babies with their heads supported by an older sibling or some other child there while the mothers do the washing, keeping watchful eyes upon them, is a sight I miss sometimes. It is so strange what comes to you randomly, things you never paid particular attention to, never aware that it was a daily activity you relied upon seeing every time you walked down the roads. The young dancing and playing in the street during a spring storm, the sound of water rushing down drains. Lovers giggling as they walk arm in arm trying not to get too wet, or simply stopping to turn their faces up to the sky.”

A soft grunt of acknowledgement, although he had not shared, memories of ‘before’ had occurred more often since the Blight had ended. Perhaps because the daily activities were less physical, mostly mental gymnastics these days, which led to other thoughts and not necessarily ones on the topic at hand. He was still equally exhausted at the end of the day as he had been back then, it was just a different kind of tired.

Slowly Zevran withdrew his hand from under Len, until it was only fingers supporting him, and Ferox tensed ready to step in until he realized the boy was floating easily on his own. “Ah, that is how it is done _emm’len_ \- _bien, bien._ Very good little one,” warmth and gentleness before his hand slid once more fully under the pursed lipped and curious baby. “You have had your fun, yes? It is then time to get you nice and cozy for another, no doubt somewhat sleepless, evening.”

Towels and clothing nearby, Len was quickly dried and dressed before the warmth of the bath faded. A foot in his face, Ferox blew on the toes before stuffing the pudgy foot into a sock. “Watch it, those toes might be tasty,” a bit of play sneaking in the rumbly voice.

The assassin snorted mid-hum as he unrolled a few blankets, adjusting a few pillows, then tossing a single light sheet onto his favoured chair. “They are. Especially as they have a tendency of shoving themselves into one’s mouth during changings time to time.”

Flicker of thought and the look he returned was very devious, “I know who to blame should bad habits be acquired.” As he saw the separation of space, of withdrawal, he rolled the thought around, but no answer he liked was within easy reach. Setting it aside as he sat on the rug, Ferox began talking to Zevran, but looking at Len, “Find anything interesting in the history book?”

“Other than she is boring, not particularly, no. That and the fact she is aggravated by the fact that Erlina had hared off once more... Seeing as she had still not been cleared for...company of a masculine sort, she would have been more than happy to fall back on company of a female instead,” rolled eyes accompanied the statement. “Pretty elf attending a person of power, tchk, honestly why anyone is ever surprised...”

“She is very boring in every way, I assure you; why I would vainly hope that her notes would be different, I do not know. Perhaps, it is because she could be very useful in the right place, but she is not in that place...imagine a housekeeper...or better yet as the seneschal, noticing tiny insignificant details might be helpful in that position. But Maker, the woman gives me a headache, doubly so when combined with her blasted perfumes. I would venture to say that she is drenching her clothes in it. Is there some style in Orlais that has them doing this? It’s becoming harder to concentrate in her presence because of it.” Although his voice was quiet, it turned sharp, cracking with icy anger. It was as if Anora did it on purpose to throw him off, unlikely as she wasn’t that perceptive...Erlina on the other hand...

As sleepy eyes turned towards him, Ferox stopped. He had already snapped once. Reaching to the familiar lazy speech patterns in a tone to reassure and soothe, even if his words themselves would not have, “If it is Erlina’s doing, that matter will shortly resolve itself now, won’t it? Close your eyes, little one, I will let it go,” Ferox’s hand rested lightly on Len’s stomach before turning him over to stroke his back.

Zevran came around and his hands went straight to the tight spots in his shoulders. “All will be well. And once Erlina is gone, it would be no difficult task for some random gift or other of something less despicable to show up - lovingly addressed along with small treats, from the dutiful and worshipful husband, all in the attempt of _easing_ the passage.” That didn’t comfort him, which the assassin clearly knew by how he sighed. “It can be done, it will be done, it must be done. These are things you say often, which are true, but instead why not schedule yourself time to yourself each day, and at least one day where you are not Consort? Where you are not Commander of the Grey. Where you are merely Ferox. She does this for herself, why should you avoid it? We can look at the schedules later, see what place and time you can gain.”

“Such jokes you tell to lighten the heart, when I see Ferox, I will be certain to tell him.” There was no time, and very little desire to even look for the man, even as the cracks appeared, making him more visible. Titles upon titles, shifting from one to the next, he had lost track of himself. Bottling the humourless laugh, the circle of comfort was not lost on him, however. He soothed Len, as Zevran did to him, who did this for the elf?

The kneading paused, the fingers going lax before resuming. “As you say then. I will shuffle whatever needs shuffling so that you may have what you require.”

Ferox glanced back wanting to reassure but not quite knowing what to say, “This is good and what I need for now. We should prepare for Nathaniel’s arrival and time away won’t allow me to do that and take a trip to Highever afterwards...dragging you along behind me, away from what keeps you so entertained here.” 

Zevran’s eyes were closed as his hands continued their work a simple, “Mmn,” the only acknowledgement that Ferox’s words had been heard.

Softly, “Come, save Len from rolling onto the hearth and yourself from the twist that chair puts in your neck. You are tired and there is plenty of room.”

Something flitted over his associate’s expression but it was too fast, and Zevran turned away quickly, banking the fire that always seemed to be lit no matter the season. Len was plucked from his lap neatly, who made a fussy sound until he got a kiss on the cheek and a whispered word, then was placed gently on the pile of blankets, a simple shirt that Ferox realized suddenly was one of his, drawn up for a blanket on the boy. The assassin tugged the sheet he had tossed on the chair over himself, wrapping in it before curling towards Len’s already fast asleep form. Ferox was left to blow out the oil lamps the Antivan preferred and find his own way towards a modicum of comfort on the spread bedroll, noting how most of it had been left to him.

In the relative dark, Ferox listened to the comforting sounds of Len and Zevran’s breathing. This was good, the most peace he had found all day. Stretching out on his back, he looked up at the light on the ceiling, mulling over the situation, at a loss.

Was that distraction or frustration on the assassin’s face? Ferox didn’t want time to himself, didn’t want to be alone, company of the hound or no, and he didn’t want the ‘gift’ of such time, because it wasn’t. Or, was it reluctance, as Zevran gave in?

Eyes closing, he recalled that he had forgotten to share the other news of the boon, it would wait until morning.

Beside his shoulder there was a fussing huff, a deeply indrawn breath as though ready to turn into a wail, and Ferox found himself awake instantly, rolling over so he could properly tend to Len. Only to realize that there was a leg tangled with his, and another pinning him, even as a sleepy croon came. Knuckling an eye he watched Zevran shift Len around for a moment, murmuring a long shushing cadence of Antivan while a thumb rubbed leaking tears from the side of a cheek. When that didn’t seem to work, Ferox found enough maneuverability to shift himself and join in which caused the fussing to taper off to a disgruntled huff that turned into an infantile snore.

“I think he gets angry when there is nothing interesting going on as soon as he blinks awake,” groaned in the still heavily accented Ferelden. “He needs no changing, he is warm, he is safe, and he would not eat even if we offered him the milk. ‘I am awake - entertain me!’ he says, oh yes, no matter that a tired man is not so entertaining...”

“And how long have you done this?” Keeping the disapproving rumble to a minimum as he reached over to make deliberate contact. If this was repeated night after night, it could explain why the assassin didn’t move as quickly as usual. In which case, Nate couldn’t get there fast enough.

A grunt, “Three, four times a night most nights - since the day he was born. This was not his hungry cry, when he is hungry, he will kick. If he is frightened it will be very quiet while crying, or if he is uncomfortable he sounds like a shriek. Then awake before dawn, take him to the nursery, then if I am lucky a few cat naps here and there. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes. It does not matter. I swear though, I can hear him across the castle, and all I want to do when he starts up, is to go in there and translate. Aiesh. Then again, sometimes he just wants to give his lungs a workout. It is agonizing, because it matters not what you do, he just screams for ten, twenty minutes, then stops and starts giggling like nothing happened.” Mumbling, “Tonight was a good night - just this one. Maybe another in an hour. And the last nights - not once. Oh, that has been joy.”

Squeezing the shoulder, or arm, it was hard to tell when his eyes had already closed, he was unwilling to fuss himself about where the rest of Zevran lay. “Last few nights he slept on me.”

“A comfortable, heartbeating bed, yes, except I read somewhere that that is not so wise...something about babies falling asleep and not waking up because of neck position,” a rambling mumble. “That is why I put him laid out flat, and why the crib is the same. No matter that I slept on someone’s stomach I am told. Or latched. Whatever it was, supposedly, not a good place...ah...thinking. Not so good on that part of things yet right now.” Motion from a rotating foot bouncing against his hip, “Midwife books. From Antiva..eeehu...fourth shelf, over there somewhere. None from Ferelden, there are none to be found.”

“Peace, Zevran. I do not doubt you.” Shifting slightly, he sighed, searching for a new solution to a new problem, ransacking his memories of stories his mother would tell about him and Fergus and then later memories of Oren. Something interesting, entertaining, there... his breathing deepened and he didn’t remember drifting off.

Waking with another start as the cry sounded again, he had been dreaming of the beach, skipping stones on the Waking Sea, a day when it was placid and still. He had looked up to seagulls overhead turning in the sky. Grasping the shreds of the dream, knowing it was important somehow. “Seagulls, remember seagulls,” was all his sluggish mind and sleep tangled tongue could form.

An acknowledging grunt then random Antivan that Ferox didn’t know, as Len was tucked and cuddled around between them in a small nest. Too soon Zevran was moving purposefully and waking Ferox. At least it wasn’t a random seeming tap to his foot, but fingers rubbing his forehead from an out-flung arm.

“You can stay, I must return Len, it will not take long,” the information worked its way through Ferox’s mind.

By the time he was aware enough to have made heads and tails of it, Zevran was stumbling back in and plunking on the floor once more. How he dealt with the constant broken sleep and still got all of his duties seen to, Ferox was not entirely sure. As soon as he was on the floor, the elf had a leg thrown over Ferox’s chest once more, back twisted and an arm at a distressing angle.

Words slow, “You cannot continue this way,” not bothering to hide the rumbling disapproval this time, nor further opening of his eyes.

Muffled, “I will do what I have to, that is how it goes, how it always is for one such as I, yes?”

“Pretending to be me will not improve my mood either.”

“I pretend nothing in this case. Until he can sleep the night through, that is how it is. His nurse, the poor dull woman, deals with him the bulk of the time. There are even nights I leave him there so I can catch up on any work I might have missed,” deflection, always deflection. “Everything is taken care of, that is what matters, correct?”

Sorting through sleep slowed thoughts, while grabbing the tail of a snarl, he still saw the slowness in the one usually so quick. “No, it is not.” Letting the growl fade, “You have said that this is how mistakes are made.” Struggling to sit up, moving the leg holding him down, tangled in a blanket, frustrated, another growl took the place of the first. Giving up, he rolled over instead.

An unhappy groan, “ _Hamin, emm’falon,_ let me sleep. I think my first meeting is at eight, and I know yours is not until nine.”

“Sleep. Exactly. Stay there...or on the bed. Don’t move.” Kicking his feet free, Ferox pushed himself to his feet and grabbing his boots, growled again, “Stay,” before opening the door.

Several words that were no doubt foul were growled before Zevran rolled over. And the last image he saw was of the assassin making some crude gesture to the ceiling. Followed quickly by a rapid fire rant that cut off as the door closed after the assassin covered his head in a pillow.

Grabbing the closest guard to the door he probably gave him a death sentence, “You. Stay here. If he comes out, remind him that I told him to stay in there. I care not the excuse. _Remind_ , do nothing else.” Ferox knew he looked a sight and was probably sounding drunk, “I do not care what meetings or whatever were planned.” Straightening his back had become a daily effort of will as his spine did not like the floor, rugs or no rugs, he looked the poor man in the eyes, “Understand the message?”

Rousting anyone who was anybody, his foul mood proceeded down the hallways ahead of him, not bothering with his usual slickness and complements, there was no time and somehow it took too much time to play the games. Shake them up, and give them something to gossip about for the week...a month probably, from they way they jumped. At the end of the hour, the acting seneschal’s calendar was re-arranged, covered, or otherwise re-routed. One of the kitchen girls, one with children, was pressed into nursery duty, he then took her by the hand and marched there. Returning to Zevran having shook up the entire palace in less than two hours, breakfasts in hand, the guard not bleeding upon his return, Ferox was triumphant.

The look he got was perplexed, and annoyingly, he was fully dressed for the day. “Ferox, my friend, I have that meeting with the miller who makes the deliveries...and sometimes comes in with other information...”

“Tomorrow. Eat and don’t argue.”

“And here I thought I was an orphan,” and when Ferox shot him a look, Zevran held up his hands in surrender. “I must say, Mother, you are looking rather spry. And quite lovely what with that large platter of food and unshaven chin.”

Setting the tray on the bed as there was no way he could manage the floor again so soon, Ferox made himself as comfortable as he could. “Come, I have little time. You, on the other hand have a day and I suggest you use it by sleeping,” wryly. “Having turned everyone’s perceptions of myself on their head...my head...?” Still tired, “Everything has been taken care of. Should you make any arrangements and attempt to do any of the work for me, I will use it by sparring with you, properly, in armour, no remorse.”

Zevran made a face as he paused in shoveling the cheese covered potatoes in his mouth, “I was trying to make sure _you_ had a day off, not myself.” Sourly, “All this because I have been standing still - well, stiller, wait, is that even a word? Tchk, Ferelden is so trying sometimes - so your hits landed? Faugh.”

“See? Tired, as I said,” Ferox punctuated with a jab of sausage.

“No good deed goes unpunished,” a hand rubbed at his temples.

Softly, “Zevran, peace for one day. My bearish actions have frightened the salmon, and Anora is entertained with Erlina today, there will be much fun for you tomorrow as the gossip of it will not die quickly. Please sleep, and do not harm one of the kitchen girls I have brought up for the nursery. She is sensible with experience and a child or two of her own. I have watched her for some time. Agreed?” Gently, “Let me win this one, my stubborn elf, you have done much and cannot continue doing any of it without sleep, please.”

“Your wish,” relief and upset in the two words.

“Thank you.” A hand touched Zevran’s briefly before grabbing a last slice of toast, “I am off and will see you during lunch.”

A nod, “The door is always open for you.”

A quickly scrawled note in his own hand, directing Nathaniel to make no delay at all in arriving, lyrium seal affixed, he took it to the stable himself for immediate delivery - along with the admonishment to not harm the horse - not wishing to hear _that_ lecture twice from the self-professed local ‘expert’. Jogging back upstairs, he enjoyed the extremely quiet and polite meetings of the morning, amused that word of his tantrum had reached the gate already.

XXX

Meetings, interviews, and other appointments never went so smoothly. Ferox nearly got cramps containing his laughter and on two separate occasions cleared his office so he could shake with suppressed snickers. They, of course, assumed that he was absolutely furious and in need of time to contain his anger. Lunch he ordered up from the kitchens and after popping down the hall to Len’s very quiet room - the new girl was playing on the floor with him, talking and singing, happy and peaceful - then carried lunch to Zevran. With a kicking knock, he ‘rapped’ on the door.

The door swung open and he was greeted by a vaguely rumpled Zevran who was still pulling on a shirt, “Yes? Oh - oh, hands full.” Swinging the door open farther, the assassin plucked a tray from him and kicked the door closed behind them. “You look as though you had a most pleasant morning, hmn?”

Throwing himself onto the bed, Ferox laughed until tears came, then laughed more, howling while trying to explain what happened. Sighing, still with a stupid grin on his face, he asked, “So, did you sleep?”

“Sleep is a premium commodity,” his hands moved over the plates eschewing the utensils for once. “Consider me well indulged.” An amused snort, “Though I feel as though I missed out on seeing the faces of those over-starched pompous weasels that fill the days so frequently. However, you in good humour? Worth a great deal more than sleep or the images. I do not think I have ever seen you laugh like this.” Licking his thumb clean of some jam while refilling his cup, not looking at Ferox, “It is good to see you that way.”

“I am certain they will come bouncing to your door tomorrow to tell sad stories of how I have snapped, how madness runs in my family, how my second cousin thrice removed was bundled off in haste to see mages late one night after drinking...oh, I don’t know... Much hay will you make of today, of that I have no doubt.”

A rolling chuckle issued as the elf stretched out. “And I will nod with sage curiosity and tell them that I know of such happenings, but usually they only happen during full moons. That the only way to stave off such lunar attacks, those around them must gird themselves for pleasantness.” The faint sipping of air sucking in and drawing tea, “The house-staff and guards are the ones who will need the reassurance most. And they will be the easiest, a word here or there that when such ‘fits’ occur they need only to protect you from the unwanted attention of those sent to aggravate.”

A snickering laugh before he sighed. “I do think you will like the new girl.” Ferox gave the elf a sly grin, “You look well enough to have a peep in the nursery, if you like. But do me a favour and get her name...I may have frightened that out of her when I hauled her off the breakfast line...although I was very pleasant...to her.” 

“The breakfast line?” A large sigh accompanied by a half-pout, “Auck, you realize that now we actually have someone who knows what they are doing with Len, that I will have less of an excuse to steal him?”

“ _You_ will not need an excuse, I have already started that ball rolling down the hall to the Harpy. You ser, deserve a medal, so act properly humble. And yes, she knows what she is doing and Len likes her...he has good taste, must get that from his other father.” Eyes still laughing even though the rest of him was nearly back to his usual self.

“Here I thought I deserved a medal for gaining a shot straight to the eye,” amused. “Mph, maybe a padded crib board. No, he likes wiggling in his sleep even. Like a little happy worm. And he would be more difficult to scoot to this or that side. A crib though, for when he needed to be held still or whatnot.” 

Able to eat without choking with mirth finally, Ferox rolled to his stomach and scooted the tray closer. “Anything else?” between bites. 

Shaking his head, “No.” Pressing a fist to his mouth as he burped from the rapid pace he had eaten, “However, I think you might need some sleep today yourself. _You_ were muttering about seagulls this morning, for several minutes. ‘Seagulls - Zevran, remember the seagulls’.” 

“Birds...” waving a spoon in the air as if trying to find the thought. “Mrm, lay back and look at the ceiling like Len would.”

The Antivan, legs still folded beneath him, flopped back, “And?”

“Seagulls, on the beach...Oren had a string over his crib, just silly things attached to it that he would look at and make noise at, trying to touch when he woke up. Drawings of flowers, birds, bright things. Would that work to distract Len when waking in the night?”

A grunt, a hand going up as though to swat at something, “Something with a thin piece of shiny metal too. Reflect the fire’s light, to wink at him.” His fingers wove into an arch, “A small stand with holes drilled in them to hang the little pieces from that can be set up on the floor. That might work. We will not know until we try it, yes? Any chance that something might, should be taken. We lose nothing for trying, while gaining much if it works.”

“Sanity and sleep. Although the lack of both has led to an excellent playmate for the boy.” Taking another bite, “Ready to be released or will you be offering to assist the Maker in His husbandly duties, again?” Ferox was unable to stop the quirk of a lip.

An indelicate snort, “Since when do you speak Antivan? Eeeyah, I will have to teach you anyway, otherwise Len will have a ‘secret’ language to keep you from knowing what mischief he is getting up to. No, I believe I would enjoy seeing Len during the daytime, which might come as a bit of a shock to him. And of course to check out this new girl, make sure that she and the wetnurse can get along and work well towards displaying proper female affection and attention to him, as otherwise, it is unlikely he will learn it.”

“So put your boots on and I’ll sneak you past your prison guards.”

“Oh, what shame that these impenetrable fortresses have fallen into!” a mocking hand pressed to a forehead before rising and belting his tunic properly and yanking on the boots Ferox had stumbled across, clearly re-soled so many times and worn well down to familiarity. His appearance more casual than usual, Zevran cut a relaxed figure in very fitted trews - more like leggings in how they hugged his legs - and a fencer’s open necked shirt, and a powder blue suede leather vest. “And let us hie away to freedom, O My Saviour!”

Snorting and slapping together a sandwich, he ‘escorted the prisoner’ to the nursery which wasn’t really so close as would be convenient, a flight of stairs and several halls separating where Zevran’s quarters were, and the long room that was Len’s residence. After sticking his head into the room, to lend authority, Ferox left the other man to his own devices. Afternoon meetings would not keep and Ferox was double booked all afternoon, thanks to his ‘fit’. The rest of the day did not prove as entertaining as the morning had been, which was too bad really, he had enjoyed himself for the first time in a very long while. In addition, as he had the usual piles of paperwork to review, Ferox was glad he had not said when to expect him that evening.

Late that night - or was it early the next morning? - he drug himself to his bed, the high of the morning having worn off many, many hours before. 

As Ferox clambered in, barely paying any attention, he heard, “Careful of Len.”

“What?” realizing he had forgotten, gotten buried, had just fallen back into an old automatic habit and had not stepped down the hall...to either end, to check in.

“Do not worry, I believe he is well tuckered from his big day with Moira and I, walking outside and such, lots of new sounds and colours. Just do not flop in the center of the bed,” it sounded vaguely sleepy. “But he still has slept best with you near, and I have found much to my chagrin that just a shirt or pillow case does not do for him any longer. So I put him down to bed here. Apologies, I meant to warn you, but I fell asleep as well.”

Ferox had not expected Zevran to be in his bed. With or without Len. Sighing, or was it a grunt, being more careful, he found Len’s hands and toes before slipping in the covers, keeping the warmth in. “Moira, the girl from the kitchen?” Adjusting his pillow, _Hurrah! no floor!_

Fingers moved over his lazily while stroking Len’s stomach. “Yes, a rather sweet girl. Took to Len immediately and he to her. She told him all about colours, then about outside, so then we simply had to show him. Grass fascinates him.”

A snap of cold woke him up, “You what?” Ferox asked evenly, an unfamiliar roiling in his stomach as he went still.

“Mmn, she had the window open and I was holding him, while she pointed to things. However it would have been unsafe to take him too close, so we went down to the gardens,” the fingers were still touching his briefly every few moments, the repetitive motion was almost soothing. “And I had to carry him facing outwards so that Len did not miss a thing. A nice sunny spot with a bit of green, and we plunked ourselves down and he played in the dirt a little, or as much as someone who cannot sit up entirely on their own can play. Much grabbing of it and when I lay him on his stomach he tried to eat some whilst laughing.” The Antivan had slowly stopped stroking Len, his voice easing into the deep burr of half-asleep, but his thumb was still rubbing a spot between Ferox’s knuckles, “It is remarkable how the simple things please him so.” 

A rumbly “harrumph,” as the cold seeped from him, hearing the unspecific statement, _Simple is good_. “So she receives your stamp of approval then?”

“Hmmn? Oh, yes,” there was one of those creeping limbs as somehow a foot wound up on his side of the bed. Actually, all the sides were his, but it was a moot point currently. “I think the poor girl is in love with him. Little flirt that he is.”

“Again, takes after his father.” Straightening his spine and tossing an arm over his head on the pillow. “How tall are you to stretch all the way over here?”

The foot scooted away slightly. “Shorter than your average whorehouse elf. But all it really boils down to is how one sleeps.”

An eyebrow raised, a look wasted in the relative darkness, so he sighed instead. “Shianni, we need to talk to her before the Harpy reconsiders. I have forgotten to tell you twice now and time is fleeing. I also need to collar Eamon to delay the discussion of that subject. Send him home or something.”

“With the Erlina business, Isolde being Orlesian is not going to do anyone any favours, that would be a good implication, that he should go home and provide an alibi for her,” mumbled in the darkness, and there was that foot again. “You want him away from the castle first, you know his opinion on lowly knife-ears.”

Another grunt, “I like it.” Ignoring the persistent and wandering foot, Ferox scooted himself to be properly and truly flat. “And I am grateful not to have missed Len tonight...this morning.” Eyes closing, the warm touch still on his hand, he was content.

XXX

“You are beautiful,” the soft words woke Ferox up, and he realized that there was a gentle stream of them. “Everything about you is absolute perfection, even when you are cranky. There are times when I wonder if there are enough words and ways to say ‘I love you’.”

Ferox was not sure if he was still asleep and felt himself tensing with uncertainty. Until he heard a soft kiss but did not feel one. Then an equally soft little burble and he relaxed instantly. The words weren’t for him, not directed at him, it wasn’t anything he would ever have to deal with. Good.

Prying open a sleep sanded eyeball, the light from the window was most unwelcome. Pulling the pillow over his head, he pictured his schedule for the day and tried to make room in it to track down Eamon, who would need to be appraised of the latest news...news he had probably not heard as it was not even palace gossip by late last night. Apparently the Harpy could be discrete in cleaning up some messes. Good to know. 

Poking his head back out and rubbing sleep from the other eye with a yawn he looked over at the cheerful pair, wondering where they found this energy...no, happiness, so early in the morning. Ferox moved closer in the hopes that some would rub off on to him, only to of course realize that there was somehow a leg thrown over him once more. What was it with Zevran and his limbs being all over the place at so many unnatural angles anyway?

“Why?” grabbing the nearest foot, which was attached to the leg, which was thrown over him.

“Tchk, how could I not? Look at these eyes and that fat face, it is the most lovable combination in all of Thedas,” a little head was turned towards him gently and Zevran plunked a kiss on the downy crown.

Tempted to bite a toe, Ferox complained, “No, seriously, why this? What have I done to deserve this?” dragging a fingernail down the arch of the brown foot.

Gold eyes crinkled as the foot scrunched in response to the stimuli. “It is comfortable. And I am nowhere near as bad as Rinna was. A knee in my ass, foot in my face, drool on my calf, and with Taliesin added to the mix, there would be a crotch by my ear, a hand or elbow in my armpit and his head on her hip.” The other leg jounced around partially between his, “With me, you only need worry over a leg, or possibly a shoulder. Unless I am feeling particularly friendly, then all bets are off, and one would just wind up with me plastered to them.”

“Poor Len,” sarcastically. Trying to disengage, Ferox wondered how blankets could get this twisted, as he hardly moved. “So, three of you, in a bed sleeping like a pile of mabari puppies.” Giving up his struggle with a growl, “Sounds rowdy...wild.”

Throaty laughter, “No. Nights like _that_ we would be too sweaty and sticky to sleep so close. Mostly we usually wound up with Taliesin on the floor, Rinna half on, half off the bed - generally her upper body on it, and myself somewhere at the headboard, my legs up against the wall and my head not quite on the mattress.”

“How?” A sigh. The exhalation was becoming a habit, and one he detested as it made him feel old and sound impatient, “How does anyone sleep like that?”

“Comfortably actually, when one spends weeks in small cages as an apprentice, the ability to stretch out is...novel and firmly embraced. Or, it is by some,” casual, offhand, and Ferox remembered the statement that Zevran once made about being packed in like crates. 

He hadn’t realized that it might be literal. Internally he shuddered, knowing that the oubliette comment was true as well then, no matter the rapid denial about it and festering wounds. 

_So, Len and Zevran have become fixtures and I had better start liking feet. Didn’t know that was in the contract, must read closer next time...or ask questions. Note to self._ “Breakfast?” Scratching his head to put off the need for air, space. 

_Wait, that didn’t answer the question...!_ his mind finally catching up. _Do not pick a fight without food first, armed only with a little sleep. It never turns out well._

“I will have someone send you some, as I need to get this splendid boy who slept nearly the whole two hours before you came to bed, until only a few minutes ago, to his milch cow so he can get something in his rather robust stomach,” Zevran was half crawling as he spoke, slipping free of blankets and sheets like they weren’t even there, Len in hand. “You stay and sleep a little longer, you should have at least another hour before you were ‘supposed’ wake up.”

When the door closed he made a rather unmanly whimper into the bowels of his pillow. Then unable to rest tied into knots, unwound the sheets from his feet, blanket wrapped around him, and another...growling and snapping as he untwisted everything and smoothed the sheet before stretching out diagonally. _Better,_ and closed his eyes again, snagging the pillow Zevran had used. Inhaling the elf’s scent, he released the frustration in the exhale. _Now that is much better._


	4. Forsaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on bringing stuff up to date on Fiercely as best as I'm able. But, as was mentioned in the first chapter's copious notes - there's forty-seven chapters completed at this time. That's a lot to wade through!

_Ferox should set up a booth at the market, telling fortunes,_ Zevran nearly laughed as the fourth person came to him to ‘check up’ and ‘sympathize’ over his ‘ordeal’. 

“Ah, it is good to see you up and about,” Ser Geoffry nodded a greeting in one of the lower halls. He was a robust sort, toweringly tall, freckle faced and pale skinned to the point of easily burning, the close cropped hair upon his head was a bloodied carrot’s kind of red. The very picture of a nice farmboy turned guardsman who happened to be noble enough to get a knight’s title and a chance at a decent post.

“It is good to be up and about,” Zevran acknowledged. “The only times I enjoy being laid out are usually while in soft company.”

Which was true - a soft bed or blanket was all the company he was used to keeping more often than not. The floor wasn’t so bad, he had slept in far less comfortable places, in far, far worse company. Yes, Len could fuss, but had done it rather minimally, and Ferox was a snoring weight that sometimes Zevran wanted to run from and alternately tackle to the floor, striking his head repeatedly on flagstones in the hopes of knocking some sense into the man. Except he neither ran, nor beat anything into Ferox. It was more that the assassin let his friend do the beating, to a degree, allowing Ferox to vent the years of pent up frustration and anger and pain so that it could pour out at something he _could_ strike. Which didn’t mean that Zevran sat still for the sparring, just that he made sure to give the appearance of taking a full strike without actually taking it.

The redhead smiled slyly, “Well I have heard that at least the new nanny is comely.”

“I suppose, but I prefer my own kind,” shrugging. “Granted, a nice tall _shemlen_ woman has everything in all the right places, especially for use as a pillow,” smirking at the fact he was the perfect height to simply lean in and use many a Ferelden woman as an upright mattress for a nap, “but it does make for requiring a certain...flexibility.”

“Speaking of that,” Geoffry ‘interrupted’. “I had heard that the sparring you and His Highness have been partaking of has been rather...vigorous.”

Shrugging, the assassin waved it off, “He is not so bad as facing down a dragon. That sword of his though does have a tendency to throw one. I am still bruised from impacting the training wall.”

A sympathetic wince, his grey eyes earnest, “Well, part of why I wanted to speak with you, was to offer to spell you if you had need. Someone like yourself isn’t suited to taking such strikes, I’ll warrant.”

Wryly Zevran did his best to not laugh in the knight’s face. “While I am most grateful, perhaps you forget that I was atop the roof at Fort Drakon myself. I will say of a certainty that being stomped on by a dragon, thrown in the air, hit with a tail, and getting up again - repeatedly - hurts far more than a few strikes by a most vexed and very large Warden.” But Zevran wasn’t going to throw such a kind offer away or discount the knight’s desire to help. “However, that is not to say that it does not hurt either. I am sure that he could use someone who can trade hammer-blows against large metal chunks of armour for practice. That is - if you are still willing.”

“Why has he been so agitated? It seems so sudden,” shaking his head in disbelief. “Perhaps if the root cause were found...”

“Oh, that is quite simple, he is a new father, and there are still many things that must be attended to constantly,” Zevran shrugged. Clapping the burly knight on the shoulder, having to reach up to do it, because the man was even taller than Ferox - who wasn’t as tall as Alistair, who was also not as tall as most Templars Zevran had seen, “It is all a rather new and trying time for him. But if you assisted in providing a larger, far more sturdy than myself, target time to time, I would be appreciative.”

Geoffry nodded, “Of course. My family has always been happy to help the Couslands when and where we could. I can do no less than the same for His Highness. Being a new father and the further duties he has, it’s no wonder he has had such a sudden temper. I would be happy to help how I can.”

“I am sure he would appreciate that as well,” he found himself saying, reading only genuine helpfulness and concern for a liege lord that had stood by their teyrnir for generations.

A laugh, “Well, you know, I used to go whenever my mother would take us to visit and I would watch all the guards, and His Highness and my cousin sparring in the marshaling yard. I always used to say that I wanted to grow up to be like them.”

“You should grow up and be like yourself, not someone else,” Zevran stopped in the hall to look up at the fair skinned, and faintly scarred face. “It is good to have those you use for role models, but in the end, the only man you can be, is the man you are. Follow in others footsteps, but make them your own and put your own mark in the tread.”

Surprise flashed over him, “Wise counsel. No wonder you have so many duties yourself. Thank you, Ser Arainai.”

Parting from the rather earnest young man, Zevran watched him leave. Unlike most of those who had come to offer sympathies and sound him out, Geoffry had appeared to have much more honest motives. At least that was what his gut told him. It would probably do Ferox some good to have someone he didn’t instinctively hold back from pounding on, accessible. One day if Ferox didn’t learn how to let go, he would get himself very hurt - possibly in a physical way, but more likely a deeper psychological wound than his friend was already suffering from. For now, all Zevran could do was help him vent and go about his daily duties to the best of his abilities.

XXX

Stepping up to see her Royal Harpyness, between appointments, Ferox was informed that she was ‘out.’ _She never goes out. Everyone always comes in to see her_. Entering her sitting room, and sitting at her desk to ‘leave her a note,’ nothing screamed appointment outside. Neatly printing, as she hated his ‘scribbling,’ he left a polite inquiry, a few mundane details that she would enjoy but meant nothing...news on that dog’s new collar - _Thank you, Zevran_ \- and the kitchen gossip he overheard on some noblewoman’s servant’s child’s newborn. Rolling his eyes, he scribbled his FAC, remembered to go back and insert his fond thoughts above, letters caught in his signature. Then left it unsealed and unfolded for her to find upon her ‘return’. There was nothing in the correspondence...it did not matter except to maintain his tie to her. 

_How soon? A year before he could try again?_ Sighing. _Another year of this...of standing still, of not breaking anything...anyone...of only able to do little unnoticed things, or if they were big things, they’re in Anora’s name and all to her credit._ He didn’t need the glory, but to watch her gloat and take the all the praise after how many nobles were swayed, the ground purchased, the foundation laid, everything they did to make something happen for the good of the people, of Ferelden... _Father always said a man could live with his hand in a vise for a year. Didn’t know he meant figuratively did you, Ferox? Another day, I will see this one through too. It can’t be worse than any others that have gone before._

The visitors to his office that day continued to be very quiet and well behaved leaving nearly before they had arrived, so when Eamon arrived there was plenty of time to ‘visit.’ Able to advise the old man on the goings on, before they became actual knowledge, gave Ferox a certain degree of wicked glee. Eamon immediately saw the wisdom of protecting his precious Isolde and they discussed how to handle other upcoming business items, ones Ferox wanted a hand in anyway. 

Lunch found him on his usual rounds, first to gloat over the change in the nursery, up to the battlements, and eventually down to his customary corner in the kitchen for lunch. The kitchen gossip was very interesting, he wasn’t aware that he had a twin brother, threw Zevran through a wall, or lifted a girl over his head to carry her through the palace then forcefully eject everyone out of the nursery. Nor had he doubled the guard there...Zevran might have, but he didn’t recall that either. But the chill stopped all suppressed laughter when the gossip turned to his assassin and the new girl, their actions outside rolling in the grass and the fact that the laughter had carried quite far. He didn’t hear much else after that, as he tried to pull back the same anger and churning from last night, lunch turning to a weighted stone in his belly. 

When the topic turned to other things, he quietly got to his feet with the intent of returning to his office. He was able to keep his face blank except for the jaw which clenched and released in concert with his fists, trying to give release to the fury. Distracted, however, he found his steps had taken the more familiar route, steps that led to where Zevran usually waited.

He didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that he was relieved when the assassin wasn’t there. By the time it was their now customary hour for sparring, Ferox was in a steady burning cold rage that could not pick a direction. It would be good to vent it in some fashion, but with how much a revitalized Zevran could dance around, he wasn’t sure it would be satisfactory. Never mind the fact that the Antivan had said he had been holding ‘stiller’ so that Ferox’s strikes could impact to a degree, he was sure it was just the customary deflection to hide the potential weakness of fatigue. Tonight he had the sneaking and dreading expectation that the blasted Crow would be sitting up on his shoulders laughing fit to beat the band.

When he got there, Zevran was already limbered up and bouncing around like some bizarre cross between a rabbit, squirrel and what he had heard described once as a ‘monkey’. Or, most aptly - a child ‘hopped up on Saturnalia treats’ as the Crow had said of himself on several occasions. But he wasn’t alone. At first Ferox didn’t recognize the knight in heavy scale, there was no shield declaring clan affiliation, and the helmet covered enough of the knight’s face that he was unremarkable. Yes, there was something about the style as the assassin and the knight took a quick, weapon flashing warm-up bout, but Ferox couldn’t quite place it.

“Ah! There you are!” crowed as Zevran broke away. “It seems someone is eager for punishment - willing and ready to take a beating. Shall I wear you down first, or shall Geoffry?”

Everything went still inside Ferox at the name, then the helmet came off as a bow was given, “Greetings, Your Highness.”

Red hair. Fair skin. Geoffry wasn’t the spitting image of his cousin, but it was too close for comfort. It was like a blow to the already roiling gut, leaving him nearly breathless and sick. _No. Not this. Anything, but this. **Please**._

A glance at Zevran, whose open expression indicated he was pleased, said this was no cruel Feastday prank. 

With a stiff proper almost bow, “I have been neglectful in writing my condolences to your aunt for far too long, Geoffry. I should rectify that immediately.” With a frosty snap, “If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” he turned on his heel, shoulders climbing into his ears to block out any response behind him. 

He did not run, though the muscles of his thighs and calves begged him to, forcing himself to keep to a stroll, until he was out of sight. _Why? Was it because I thought today could be no worse than any before? Was it because I found some tiny thing to be happy over in spite of the pressures? What have I done? What foolish thing betrayed me to You, Maker, that makes You wish to punish me so much? Have I not born enough?_

Back to his rooms, locking every door, and shoving a hard backed chair under the latches, then closing and locking the shutters just to be safe - he knew that if the assassin was of a mind he would come in that route. Shuddering, gasping for air, and with shaking hands, fingers fumbled at buckles as he removed his armour. Its weight was no longer comforting, feeling far too much like a cage. When he went to lay on his bed, the faint hint of sandalwood rose up along with the softly sour milk and honey of Len, striking him like another blow. Quickly he launched himself free of the supposedly welcoming embrace of his own bed, grabbing his own pillow and went to stare at the empty fireplace. At first he was in his chair, an unopened book in his hand, but eventually he could no longer tolerate sitting up, setting aside the distraction he could not force himself to look at, found himself doing the unthinkable - laying down in front of his hearth.

Except his wasn’t lit and cheery, and there were no baby snores or coos, there was no room that was nearly stuffy with masculine scents and perfumes. No malt beer or various teas, no plush rugs from a hot foreign land. No oil lamps flickering about, or the newest lantern Zevran had found so recently at the market, pierced metal with panes of coloured glass to hold a candle stub or another little bowl of oil with a wick, that threw fantastical rainbowed shadows on the wall. No, Ferox’s room was draughty and cold in spite of the season. Even his small room in Highever had been homier, serviceable but welcoming. 

Here, there was a large bed, dominating one side, the curtains drawn back, a couple chairs by the fireplace, some trunks and stands. They were all oversized, imposing, meant to put forth a carefully rough hewn noble image. Similarly, everything in his office was large, heavy, grand wooden affairs ‘befitting’ of a royal queen’s consort. He would give almost anything in that moment to hear Rory’s voice once more, or feel him nearby and stretched out, snoring like a bear. Anything for warmth. _Do not forsake me._

And because it must, a knock came. It was hours later, so Ferox suspected, not that he could be entirely certain with how he had shut out all indicators, and couldn’t be bothered with looking at a candle to take a guess. He ignored it. But then it came again. And again. Then the lock began to click, but the door couldn’t open because of the table.

It would be childish to yell out for his associate to leave him be. So he didn’t do that. But he did grab up the pillow that still smelled of Zevran, then realizing the sheets smelled of him too, Ferox gathered those as well in quick yanking motions as the Crow slowly eased the door open as far as it would go without scraping the table across the stones.

Saving him the trouble, Ferox shoved it with his leg, yanking the door open, and threw the linens on the floor. “Not tonight, Zevran,” by dint of will, Ferox kept from snarling, maintaining an even tone. 

“Len is fussing - I - he is unaccustomed to not having you there in the evenings anymore and misses you,” Zevran was eyeing him and Ferox wanted to slam the door - or his fist - into the elf’s face and block out the images in his mind. 

“I’m not fit company at the moment. Leave it.” Seeing the assassin begin to protest anyway, Ferox released a dark snarl, yanking off his tunic he violently tossed it and the sheets in Zevran’s face, “Use these and leave me be!” 

With that, he slammed the door, re-engaging the locks, and pushing a chair under the handle so even if the Crow unlocked the door, there would be no easy way of him getting in. Snatching up his pillow from the floor, Ferox slammed the whole weight of his body onto his bare mattress. Wood and leather creaked at the abuse, which brought a faint dark smile to his lips. It would feel good to let loose and rip it to shreds, to smash something, anything, to kindling. He would have to settle for a bit of creaking protests. But such satisfaction and distraction was short lived, leaving him yet staring off into memory and distance that he couldn’t bear to look at, nor look away from. 

Covering his face in his hands, dragging the slowly softening hands now that he no longer fought every day for hours on end, over his cheeks. As though he could wipe the memories away. Or perhaps it was the pain. Or the fact that as Rory had bid him leave, it was that his entire world had been brought low, leaving him abandoned, just as he abandoned his friend and lover, his parents, his Nan, and all the people who had made Highever a home...and for what?

For what had he forsaken _them_?

His chest burned with the way he repressed the howl, only issuing a low, forlorn moan. A hand crawled from where it was clenched in his hair to his neck, squeezing to keep the rolling howls that tried to escape from doing so. Each time one did - was as a long, low moan - his other fist stabbed down upon his chest... As though he could reach in and rip out the traitorous and leaden weight of his heart.

Just as he had left them, he was left in turn. And it was all thrown back in his face. There was no excuse for it, Duncan rapping him on the head and hauling him off, Rory begging him to go, his mother pleading with him, his father ordering him to exact justice and protect the realm - just excuses.

Apparently, he had already been the one who had always done the leaving, shirking of duty, forsaking them all.

When he dragged himself out for his morning meetings, he found no one there. Numbly he sat at his desk, staring at the note that was sitting on the empty center of the wood expanse, _There is news of a group of Tal Vashoth that have been taking ‘liberties’ with farm women not too far from here. You can thank the flock for the information later, but a handful of seasoned veterans and yourself would make short work of the brigands. I have everything else under control. It would be good to have the Hero of Ferelden give a good accounting of himself._ A small sigil of a bird stooping was beneath it. Clever.

Had he not been clear? He was certain that he was **very** clear. Fine. Better than having an actual temper tantrum. The only boon was that he would not have to be gentle or hold back, he would be able to smash and plow through whatever was before him for once in ever so long. _Fine._

XXX

Zevran watched the small warband leave, no colours flying. _All I can do for you is help you direct it, **querido**. Until you find a way to relinquish it, that is still all I can do, until you can let me help you... I am so sorry._ The assassin settled in for his customary long days, to wait until Ferox returned, hopefully restored to something approaching normal. If he was lucky, and Zevran wasn’t going to count on it, having long since learned that he was not a particularly lucky man in that arena, Ferox would come to his senses in some fashion.

XXX

As they returned that evening and approached the bridge to cross from the market, Ferox tossed a pouch of coin to Everett, his temporary second in command, “Take the men to the Pearl, but see that you all mind your manners. Those who wish to partake, feel free, otherwise, they can go home. Just do not get too rowdy.”

He didn’t stick around to hear more than the surprised and grateful agreement and rode the heavy horse that Zevran always made annoyed sounds at, calling it little more than a ‘graceless plow nag’, back to the palace. Ferox was in need of a long hot soak, and after leaving the well-behaved beast at the stables, made his way to the bath, unfastening buckles on the way. Controlled, he had stopped snarling, had nearly fit everything back where it belonged and had his mask repaired to the best of his ability. It was not perfect, but he did what he could to smooth over the gaping holes, to protect himself and to set aside the knowledge that he was the one who had done others so wrong. _There must have been a moment at the beginning, where I could have said no. Somehow I missed it._

He didn’t have a plan and didn’t know what to do next...other than write that letter, years, almost a decade, late, knowing that another day would not matter. Dunking his head, he acknowledged that he was unable to go back, and did not know how to move forward other than the course he had already laid out before yesterday. Yesterday didn’t change anything, trying to convince himself, the only thing it had done was to place the blame where it had lain all along.

Clean in body at least, he hauled himself out of the deep tub, threw on a set of clean clothes and followed the path. Hesitating at his door, he continued to Zevran’s room and knocked before entering. It was empty, the hearth was even cold. The fire was _always_ burning in Zevran’s room, but not tonight. Questioning, he chilled further, when he tried to peer in his own room and forgot that the chair was still under the latch. Unable to open the door, figuring that the continued presence of the furniture blocking the door answered the question of whether or not they were in his room, he ended up at the nursery.

Soft voices reached Ferox’s ears and his steps slowed. Moira was laying on a cot, her back to the door as she rocked the crib steadily. That was as it should be. Except she was not alone, Zevran was on a thick mat, a child using him for a partial mattress while he played with the long, wavy brown hair, and spoke to Moira. Using the doorframe for a support as the thought struck like lightning, _They look like a family._ All breath was stolen from Ferox, leaving him feeling even sicker than before.

Rolling away from the door to the wall, his back to it, he was glad that the guards were not too present as they made their rounds. No need to see him like that. There was a fire lit in the nursery too. Zevran had spent the other night there and obviously as much of the day as he had free. Sighing - more of a moan, really - Ferox shoved away from the wall, not stumbling, but almost, back to his own room, entering via his office. He was too tired to do anything but collapse on the bed.

Perhaps he dozed, or perhaps he had just stopped noticing time going by as he stared at the ceiling, “Len has been inconsolable without a hint of your presence.”

Jerking, he heard no steps, heard no warning, and thankfully had nothing on hand in the moments it took the mind to register the voice to its face. “He was quiet just a minute ago,” snarl in evidence.

A tiny mewling whimper, then a shushing before, “I had to dose him with a thimble of brandy, and even that did not work for long as you can see.” The Antivan came around the corner, Len in his arms who was thrashing weakly, reaching grasping and hitting with little fists. “It has been like this since the other night,” he sat on the edge of the bed, near Ferox and then lay the baby down beside him. “He needs you, Ferox, there is only just so much that others can replace, or distract him with, when what he wants so badly is his father, whom he loves so greatly,” as Len was twisting up to stare at him with those odd blue-brown eyes, arms outstretched, small fingers grasping at air in emphasis.

A strangled sound, _Trapped. See, I warned you. I tried to tell you._ Ferox scooted to the other side, still growling, “Fine. Come.” _I give up._

Zevran sighed, his hands folded over his knees as he leaned forward and away from the bed. “He needs you, not I.”

Flailing, as a wave of panic swamped him, Ferox reached over Len to grab the assassin’s shirtsleeve, as if to save himself from drowning, from being drug under by the weight he was chained to. The whimper was unmistakable, “Please. Don’t go.” Every word drug from where he had just put everything away. “I can’t do this. Not any of it.” _Not alone._ Gasping for air, “Not today. Not yesterday. And definitely not tomorrow or next week. Please.”

“ _Como desees. Cansado. Solitario sin tuyo presencio,_ ” boots were toed off and Len was scooted up towards Ferox’s side as Zevran lay back, murmuring words Ferox thought he knew, but could not be sure of. [As you wish. I am tired. It has been lonely without your presence.]

Maintaining his knotted grasp on Zevran, his head rested next to Len’s which had twisted to press a tear moistened cheek to his whiskered chin, heartbreaking mewls easing at the contact. Each breath was agony. Across from him the assassin had a completely careworn expression, one not born of physical fatigue, making him look older, bringing out the furrows at brow, the laugh lines and crows feet starkly staring, even as the lids slid closed. On the mattress, an arm curled up, and around, and Ferox felt a hand land on his crown, the thumb coming down to rub at his temple, while the other curled around rather than over or on Len.

For a time, he breathed in the sweet scent of baby and as the choking panic receded, began to murmur back to the babbling, finding where he left off in the story, finding something familiar as the rest of him was thrown out to sea. “With Lady Shayna at his side, Calenhad was unstoppable, and by 5:42 Exalted, the war for Ferelden had come down to one final battle against the collected forces of Simeon, Teyrn of Denerim and the most potent nobleman in the land.” 

Soft burbling, “I do not know if potent meant that he had many children. I was led to believe that it had more to do with power, but that is an interesting question.”

“Babies _are_ power. They control sleeping and waking and everything else,” a grunt. “Turn them loose upon your enemies and watch the havoc they rain down. Or, more like poop out, yes?”

If a coo could be sarcastic, that was exactly the sound Len made.

“Smart boy. We could keep him for his other skills however. His lullabies are quite nice,” Ferox commented dryly

“Particularly the one about the one eyed whore with the peg leg who gave the drunken sailor the clap when he did not pay her well,” the sleepy comment so deadpan Ferox wasn’t entirely sure if it was truth or not.

“I don’t remember that one...”

A grunt, “If you understood Antivan, you might realize it is the one we sing when he is in the tub.”

“I was only humming it.”

“You should learn it to croon to the wife some time, we could change the words a little for greater amusement, and she would not understand a word of it,” fingers dragged through the back of his still damp hair, working it loose from the remnants of its braid. “She will never know the difference...”

“Leliana was right - you’re evil.” Sobering, because he was in no state to see the Harpy, and, as she enjoyed regular reports, would not let him go for long. _It truly would have been easier to step off the tower or make Alistair marry her...although nothing would have been done right._

And there was also milk sweetened breath puffing against his face that would not be there otherwise. As much as it pained Ferox to admit, no handful of sarcastic assassin. Or fingers weaving in his hair, no doubt tangling it to an unrecognizable mess.

Ferox made himself ask, “How is Geoffry?”

“Worried that he had done something to offend you, or that he had stirred up too many bad memories,” it was soft, and Ferox cracked a lid to see that lambent gold eyes were watching him. “I had not known that his kinsman was there that night. Or that there was a filial resemblance. His intentions were only to serve the Couslands as faithfully as the Gilmores always have. I am sorry as well that such a reminder of loss was thrown your way.”

Halted by the sudden influx of pain, Ferox worked the words free, “You did not, could not, know, as I would not talk of that night or anything like that. I...I did not expect to see him there. Geoffry is not the same, but their mothers were, are, so alike. The cousins looked like brothers; the boy was so much younger then. But, I would no more strike him than the other... Certainly, Geoffry was here, but not _here_.” Fumbling, the chill long gone, but the sorrow very present.

The bare foot had shoved its way under the hem of Ferox’s trouser leg, somehow curling around his ankle. He didn’t know why the assassin was so mad for contact, how he could touch like that all the time and so carelessly, like it was the most natural thing in the Maker’s world. Fingers pushed aside hair, then ventured to his eyebrows, as though to smooth away the tight furrows. 

“Still a shock, no? I understand,” thumb rolling down to press Ferox’s lids closed as he had seen Zevran do to Len many nights, but there was usually a kiss placed to the pad of the thumb. “Sleep. I will be here.”

A sigh, not frustrated, not angry, just giving up. “As you wish.” His hand still firmly knotted in the fabric, unwilling, unable to let go.


	5. Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep on keepin' on, last check throughs before posting is slow going! As always, we're human, there's no doubt errors. Hopefully they don't muck everything up too much.

Scented and dressed, calmer than he had been in years it seemed, he had been invited to, received a summons to attend, tea... Torture was more like it. Head up, confidence restored, he waited politely to be ‘announced.’ _But Maker, to announce your frelling spouse?_ only narrowly refraining from rolling his eyes. However the Summons and the Announcement - _Complete with important capitalization, must stress that_ \- only meant that Anora would be keeping score. Fine. Only the Finest and Best Behaviour then and quick dancing - good thing he wore his favourite boots.

With a calming breath and a pleasant smile he entered Anora’s personal sitting room that was attached to her apartments, to see what mud, politics, and household complaints he would have to dodge...and of course, his little tantrum. It should be interesting. _Father did always warn me not to live in interesting times... Too late._

Her face was serious, causing him to pull back slightly on his intended greetings, but didn’t withdraw the cordiality he had already extended. Instead of leaning in to kiss her cheek before sitting at table meant to serve up to three diners, Ferox pulled out the straight backed chair and sat as he smiled at his wife, “My dear, I have missed you.” _Like I would a broken rib._ “You look beautiful today.”

“And you appear far more composed,” the severity of her tone was probably as close to ‘concern’ as she could come. Her large blue eyes staring at him far too intensely to be comfortable, resulting in a feeling of being examined like a bug. All of this was beneath hair so perfectly coiffed it could have been carved from stone; and above a heavily starched, high and tight necked dress, that encased her form like an armour made of fine linen, wool and enough starch to feed a family of five for a week. All of this defeated the purpose of presenting a caring, accessible woman, crafting her into what she was - as inflexible and stern as her father.

“But of course. It is amazing what a good night’s sleep will do.” Ignoring half of what she did and didn’t say, in the interest of finding out what she did know.

She ‘hm’d while pouring tea graciously for him after herself. “The last several days, you have been most peculiar I have heard, much to my distress. An uproar in the palace is never a good thing, particularly in light of the betrayal that I have finally put to rest. It worries me that you did not notify me of your goings on, and that I had to find out secondhand.” Anora took a dainty sip from her cup, a gift he had given her - one Zevran had put forth actually, a glazed green tea set from Antiva - the small porcelain vessel clinking softly as she set it down on its gently curved wafer shaped saucer. “As for that information, it is garbled at best, so I hope.”

“I had hoped to speak with you earlier myself, but unfortunately I was informed you were indisposed, so I took to writing brief notes, with the usual,” refraining from gesturing to the vicinity of her private office dismissively, “correspondence and reports. Speaking of which, was the child ever named?” 

“There are times when I despair of you ever learning how to treat the staff you order about,” her lips pursed. “Harold is a healthy boy I hear. Yet, in light of your recent activities it doesn’t matter much, now does it? What of this news I heard about the pet brigand you keep running ragged and you having some sort of...altercation?”

Ferox couldn’t help a tiny, relaxed laugh, “My dear, sparring is hardly an altercation, otherwise we would have no soldiers, Templars, or palace guards.”

Her expression sharpened, “Then what of the healer that was snuck in?”

Cutting his salad into smaller, ‘appropriately gentlemanly’ bites as he spoke, “No healer. I would be happy to offer you the unvarnished truth, instead.”

Anora arched a finely groomed brow, “Then why didn’t you offer it outright? You know I am under too many time constraints to dance about subjects.”

“Truly, I had wished to speak with you earlier. Zevran, who has kindly taken on the duties of acting Seneschal, Chamberlain, Head of Security, and other various miscellaneous duties he somehow accomplishes while being my personal assistant and secretary, was also taking on the added nightly duties of protecting Calenhad.” Ferox would rather a nice mince pie, but for a starter, the present leafy greens and greenhouse vegetables wasn’t too bland, and the oil and vinegar dressing hadn’t been slathered on it this time. “This came to my attention rather suddenly, and I’m afraid that I may have let my temper slip...slightly. When he learned that the nursery staff had been hand picked by...well.” Pausing delicately, “He became very concerned. Unfortunately a man both you and I rely on heavily was not getting any sleep.”

The mask of concern was not actual, but the one she used when it was meant for ‘public’ consumption. “And how long has this been going on? And why ever does he not have any _help_? It’s unconscionable that he has been forced to take on too much. How could you have allowed such a thing to happen - good, reliable and...trustworthy...help is difficult to find.”

“For far too long, I’m afraid. However, I believe I have come up with several excellent solutions, the first being to the Heir’s safety. The wetnurse’s credentials were checked by a third party and confirmed. She is no threat. In addition, a young mother, Moira, who came with excellent recommendations, has taken some of the burden of Calenhad’s care. She has already made much progress towards his physical development and coordination. In addition, the guards have been increased in the wing.” 

“I have seen you both in action before, so I don’t doubt his prowess as a protector, so this makes me wonder why you haven’t had your vassal moved closer in all this time. His room is too far from yours for you to easily call upon as needed for the secretarial work.” She finished the last sip of her tea and Ferox reached for the teapot before she could, helpfully refilling it as she nodded her thanks. “As for his work securing Calenhad’s safety as well as your own, the distance he is at, could be the difference between life or death.”

“That is an excellent thought, my dear. One that should be acted upon immediately.” _Because you stuck him in that corner, woman! That’s why he’s so far away!_ “The second action, I propose - one that should mend fences in Denerim, as well as remove the burden of acting Seneschal from Zevran’s shoulders - would be to appoint an actual Seneschal, and I have found just the man.”

He could practically feel her claws coming out, ready to sink into any tender tidbit he offered up, the action masked by her switching her plate for the heavier soup meant to be the final repast of the day, which was rather light for Ferox’s preferences. He would need more after this meal. “Not another elf I hope? Having so many in positions of power isn’t exactly well received by the Bannorn as you know. First that woman, Shianni, and second, your Antivan.”

 _All two of them, of course, we wouldn’t want the second class citizens to get illusions of equality, now would we?_ Shaking his head slightly, “No, not an elf. We need someone used to being in a position of authority, able to give direction as needed to anyone at the palace. So, I was considering a noble."

A brow arched, her spoon slowly sinking into her soup bowl as her unwavering gaze fixed upon him, “Consider me intrigued, dear Ferox.”

Ferox dawdled a moment, catching up on his portion of the meal - didn’t want another lecture on his table manners about how it was impolite to eat so slowly as to be a course behind. Never mind the fact that he had been doing the bulk of the talking, which caused him to eat at a slower pace. There was always something to knitpick.

With a small smile and dipped nod, he accepted the large soup bowl, traded for the salad plate, then quickly dabbed his mouth on the napkin. Like Anora’s clothes, it was also overly starched, scratchy and a pristine white, save for the precisely embroidered monogram in her favourite salmon pink thread. “This gentleman has been away from court for some time, so he would not have any questionable ties, has an excellent eye for detail, understands politics, and has no personal ambitions that would get underfoot and disagree with your own. He is a bit of a stickler for rules and regulations, cleanliness and polish being a particular concern of his,” avoiding the wince in remembering Nate after his muddy boots. “In addition, he knows how to spot spies and dissent as well as various intrigues, which the current acting Head of Security would appreciate.”

“With such a list of praise and skills, it makes me wary that you have yet to put a name to this paragon of usefulness,” her brow furrowed faintly.

Blinks, as if trying to remember, “I apologize, my dear, I thought I said. The gentleman in question is Nathaniel Howe, of course.”

“...I’d almost rather another elf,” a wince and sigh, hand going to touch just below her throat, indicating she despaired over the perceived troubles Ferox caused her. “The Howe name is still reviled, and of course there is the small matter of his being a Warden, while of course not even mentioning the past history of our families and the Howes.”

“Thankfully Nathaniel was away that entire time and had nothing to do with it, yet, he wishes to put himself in the service of the Crown.” _Or he will when I’m finished with him._ “And not only that, his only personal ambition is to do what it takes to _legitimately_ restore his family’s honour, to expunge the stain of the line’s prior misdeeds. As to him being a Warden...I too am a Warden _and_ Commander of the Grey,” he pointed out. Though he didn’t also add the other title of Arl of Amaranthine, but he could have. Ferox just didn’t wish to further aggravate the Harpy for the moment. “Thankfully, as the Blight is no longer, we are able to put attention to other matters. Since darkspawn have been spotted in outlying areas, it would be convenient to have another close by, should need to travel or be away for a time arise.”

A delicate sigh, “Very well, you have me convinced enough. Howe as seneschal is a good choice. It will also enable your secretary to have the time to devote to his duties.”

“I am certain the poor man will be grateful and relieved to have a moment or two to himself.”

“And to his new little family as well. I had some suspicions, seeing as he _is_ Antivan -” the way she said it nearly made him frown, as though Antiva was the source of all perversions in Thedas, ignoring of course the fact that she had been enjoying fine Antivan things that had been introduced to her constantly by said Antivan “- that he has settled on that kitchen girl. Of course, I am sure she was brought to your attention by him, but if someone like _him_ can settle on her, then she must be skilled enough in the important things of dealing with children, as well as those items that men find so important. However, his displays with Moira could be...toned down...a touch. You should mention it, because an elf and a human in such public displays and compromising positions is unseemly.”

“Oh?” keeping his voice light in the face of a building growl. “That would not reflect well at all. Moira has been most polite and an excellent example to the rest of the staff.”

Anora shook her head in mild disbelief, “They were seen kissing in the gardens yesterday. With _Calenhad_ present. That must be put to a stop. What they do in private is their business, but I’ll not have my son exposed to too much of that foolishness.”

 _Maker...probably with Len between them no doubt,_ , making light as he tried to ignore the reopening of a recent stab wound. “I will see to them myself, dear, you have my word.” Tucking the growl away for later was a trial.

“Well then, I have much to do today, while I’ve missed you greatly, I still must see to those matters of ruling. The work of Queen is never done I fear,” she sighed once more. “I will have to see when we can next do this, my dearest heart, it has been too long. But I am sure you’ve much to do as well, seeing to all that we have discussed today.”

With a kiss to her cheek Ferox gladly made his escape and went back to his office knowing that most everything had already been put into play. He just had to add a few changes, see to a few details before submitting the documents and appointments for the Harpy’s signature. And ignore the fact that Zevran had been seen kissing Moira by enough people that, while true it was probably blown out of proportion, it was still also likely to have actually happened. _Happy family **indeed**._

Before his real dinner Ferox stopped by the nursery to have a small word with Moira, and was pleased to find that the wetnurse was just on her way out to deliver some laundry downstairs. A polite greeting was exchanged between himself and the woman, slightly less chilly than days ago. Small steps.

Moira was presently doing a bit of cleaning, the heavy, unbleached and undyed linen smock covering the pale seafoam of decent wool that her dress was made from. Probably a major step up in quality from what the kitchen staff would wear, and the colour - while it came from only having brief contact with a dyer’s vat resulting in only a bit of colour to it - wasn’t as easily available to the serving and lower classes. If Ferox wasn’t aware of Anora’s demand for a well presented household, at least those who had to deal with those of remotely modest standing, he would suspect the not quite blue-not quite green dress to have come from Zevran. It did suit the short woman, even if it could stand to have a bit more exposure to some woad to darken it up. Dark ebony curls had been braided and partially pinned back, leaving some of it loose around her neck and shoulders, all of it bouncing as she hummed to herself while tending to the mundane cleaning, the milk white of her skin going rosy in cheeks and forehead with the task.

Going to her, Ferox halted the busy woman with a soft word, “Moira, a word, if I may?”

Huge, round blue eyes met his, widening with concern as she straightened, a hand going to touch her hair, patting it in place, “Of course, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for not kicking me when I...well, gossip says that I carried you over my head, screaming in fear, to bring you here to the nursery,” he grinned.

Light laughter, the red knuckled hand moved to quickly be pressed to her lips, her navy blue eyes dancing with mirth. “Everyone has such imaginations!”

“Unfortunately...” said wryly with a shake of his head. Her words provided a good opening however for what Ferox needed to say. “Unfortunately, those who have nothing better to do, or aren’t doing what they ought, make up outrageous stories. Sadly, one such story is making the rounds, and I cannot believe it is anything other than innocent. Apparently word of excessive kissing in the gardens has reached ears that shouldn’t hear them, as they’re not particularly open-minded. Although I have smoothed the waters, it would difficult to do so if it were repeated in public. Can you assist me with this issue of discretion?”

She blinked a few times, clearly trying to recall, “Oh! I kissed that dear man on the cheek for having sent one of my...admirers packing. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“And no doubt he deserved it...both of them, but unfortunately something so small quickly becomes something much more. Just sparring can turn into a knockdown and someone has a black eye by morning when the entire thing was nothing more than a match that is a daily occurrence,” using his own recent rumor as an example.

Moira clasped her hands in her skirts, clearly distressed that she had caused problems. “I will do my best, Your Highness. I wouldn’t want to be the source of any difficulties for yourself, not ever! Or for any to befall Zevran, he is so sweet to my little ones and with the young Prince.”

Moving to reassure her, “Which is why I came straight to you. You see, the day I apparently carried you away from the kitchen, everything else I did that day made the rounds as well, as no doubt you’ve heard. It is amazing how quickly this happens, it’s absolute nonsense.” Shaking his head disbelievingly. “Do not worry, I believe I’ve taken care of the matter, but please do be careful. I am not concerned and very pleased with the progress Len has made during your short time in the nursery and was telling the Queen so just this afternoon.”

A blush broke across her cheeks, “It’s nothing, he’s such a happy baby for the most part, other than when he was missing you, Your Highness.” Her hand went to her mouth, eyes going wide once more, “Please don’t take that the wrong way, Your Highness. It’s just that...he was so sad. It broke my heart to see it.”

Nodding, taking the suggestion for what it was meant to be, he gave a gentle suggestion, “He was, I would not have believed it without seeing it myself. However, only one other would have noticed that before you arrived, while others would have just taken it as colic. You have more experience with children, and Len is safe and happy in your care, something that was not so before. The Queen and I are thankful you’re here.”

Moira dipped a quick curtsy, “I’m happy to be of any small assistance that I can be, Your Highness.”

“Moira, is Len awake at noon? The reason I ask is, I usually take a walk about that time, and would like to have him accompany me.”

She nodded, perking up, “Oh yes. Usually he has a nap around now - which is what he is doing currently - as he was fed an hour or so ago. By noon, he’s frequently up and about, ready to greet the world.”

“Excellent! I usually leave my office at noon, take a bit of air, then down to the kitchens before returning. If you wouldn’t mind, and his schedule doesn’t change, I would like to begin taking him with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love that,” she beamed broadly. “I know my husband doing that with our children is what has helped them be so happy in spite of having lost him. A father’s involvement helps give them a balanced mindset, that’s what my father always said.”

Another grin found its way onto his face, “Mine as well. And this should give you an hour to yourself, perhaps time with your own? You have two children?”

“Two girls, yes,” she glowed with pride. “Elissa is seven and Eleanor is five.” Moira paused, “I hope you don’t mind that they have come to the nursery before. Master Arainai said it was alright and they did serve as a good distraction for a time for His Highness yesterday. But I hope it wasn’t presumptuous.”

“Not at all, Master Arainai speaks with my voice as far as the nursery is concerned. Think nothing of it and bring them more often, please, it’s probably good for all three of them.” Raising an eyebrow, “But I must get back to my duties so I can have that walk later, yes?”

She made nearly shooing motions, “Oh oh, don’t let me keep you! Please, be on your way, Your Highness!”

Nearly laughing down the hallway at how the young nurse had danced about as she shuffled him out the door, Ferox shook his head, unable to keep the shadow of a real smile from his face. Probably excited at being able to see her own brood. She was terribly adorable and giving of care and affection - which were the very reasons Ferox had chosen her. _No wonder he spends time with her and her daughters, if they are anything like her,_ yet another deeply heaved sigh as the almost smile fell away.

XXX

After Ferox and Len lunched in the kitchen, Zevran met them in the halls, “So, I hear I am to have a change in quarters? I do hope it is not the dungeons. Unless of course there will be lots of fun involving chains and several people with floggers. Then, by all means, consider me pleased.”

“Take great care in voicing your desires, so quickly they can be granted,” meaning to tease even as his voice was stern.

“Tchk, ‘tis only a jest my friend,” amused and crinkling gold eyes rolled towards him. “And not far off from the stories I have heard flying around. You would think that I had been gutted and hung out in the square for having stepped on your toes in some fashion. Some even seem shocked by the fact that I have not yet fled!” The Antivan leaned in when Len kicked, grinning broadly, to tickle his chin. “But how could I leave this smiling face, hmn? So happy to see everyone you are! Out for an adventure with your father, I see.”

As the assassin moved, Ferox thought he heard a faint clink. _Chainmail?_ as he was unused to Zevran wearing such an item ‘around the house’ so to speak. But with Len letting out a pleased squeal, he finally put that puzzle together. _Apparently a bodyguard’s work is never finished. Particularly when they insist upon going outside._ Eyeing the Antivan as they chatted on their way out to the gardens, he spotted no less than five daggers and he was sure there were more about the elf’s person as well as other various weapons. As usual, the cut of the Antivan’s garb was a mishmash of fashions, all serviceable, in his customary ranges of yellows and reds for colour - this time it was the deepest madder red Ferox had seen for the overlaying layers, with a truly sunshine yellow for underneath - with browns or blacks for sturdy pants. If Ferox had believed he could get away with it, he would ask his associate for whomever his tailor was, because the Crow’s clothes always looked neat and comfortable, as well as playing off of natural assets.

Keeping the conversation on track, “Well, I was unable to get you a medal, but there is always Howe.” 

“That is more than reward enough,” a relieved smile. “That only leaves a mere thousand other things I have to watch over instead of the several thousand.”

“Just have to take care of that little boon…” Ferox frowned. “I wonder if she uses another name, one that might float by easier?”

Zevran’s gaze turned inward briefly, “Tabris is her family name. No one might think of that, as such folk are thought to not have such...knowledge of their...parentage.”

“Hrm, I might need assistance drawing that up and since you will be nextdoor...” giving the hint the elf had wanted as to his new arrangements.

“Of course, after this lovely walk, I do have to make sure the servants moving my belongings do not break anything, or die of fright as they seek to avoid any sneaky surprises one such as myself may have left for them,” a rueful laugh. 

A grin, Ferox couldn’t help himself. He’d laugh, but that would just cause more gossip, they weren’t ready for that heart attack. The guards in the Royal Wing had already heard a good dose of it this morning, a second bout, far out in public, might just get him several Circle mages at his door checking for blood magic influence.

Len was tickled, was met and greeted by man, woman, and yes, even beast. One of the ratters having caught his eye earlier, came strolling over during a brief pit-stop on the grass when Ferox had placed him there and the feline flopped over, purring and showing his belly. His son was ecstatic, cooing and drooling, his large head bobbing this way and that taking in the rolling purr with curious eyes. Zevran was petting the animal who tolerated it with the general uncaring aplomb of most ‘aloof’ cats, but the moment the elf stopped, a paw would dart out to swat him lightly, demanding the massage continue. 

Lunch and the walk took a little more than the hour he had guessed, which hopefully allowed Moira the time she needed as well. This could be good for everyone involved. He had meant to ask...”Does Moira live with family? Close by?” 

“They were in Amaranthine,” Zevran walked beside him through the palace’s yards, hands clasped behind his back. “She is a transplant, it was too difficult with so few people able to find work of any skill, and with her husband dead during the attack, she felt there was nothing left to do but come here. It is safer and there was some possibility she could find sufficient work. As I understand it, her family had died in the Blight and during the nasty business up north. The servants all take turns watching one another’s children, but it is not particularly easy. Then again - what is? Other than dying of course. It is the living that is so hard...”

“And what do you think of this?” asking lightly.

A quizzical glance, “Hmn? Of what in particular?”

“Is there a way we can help? I know that you think on many things and as I have not yet had the opportunity to consider this, I am asking for those thoughts.” _Saves me time_.

Shoulders rose and sank, “Ferelden is a tad classist for the idea that comes to mind.”

Rumbling, “So? Do not tell them. Tell me.”

“Then again, who ever thought a whoreson and slave would be in my position? What are a couple peasant girls raised beside a prince?” flicking his hand dismissively. “They adore him, Elissa and Eleanore are as gentle with Len as Moira is. But, you have to remember my own upbringing. In Antiva, we believe it takes a village. Raising one child or many children, it is a communal affair. Slave or aristocrat. In Len’s case, I believe it would give him knowledge of his future people, a personal connection to the working classes. Reminders that they are as necessary and valuable as any bann or arl or teyrn. They would not be his servants, but a part of his family while not family at the same time.”

“You have posed a riddle, Zevran, and I thought I already had one. What is your idea?” hand circling over Len’s back and gained a burp for the trouble. 

“Have the girls by as often as possible, in the evenings, I will begin teaching them some letters, so they have some perceived ‘culture’ to lessen some of the uproar. I do not mean have them treated as though they are a noble’s children, but as companions and such,” he rubbed the side of his nose in thought. “Once Howe is settled in, I believe I would like to see about arranging something for the servants’ children. An outdoor class, where games of tag and suchlike are, as well as stories on history. Many of the staff know such common things, but also for those who seem interested, a little figuring and letters might go a long way towards the next generation being better off and better suited towards their duties. A little education can travel quite far.”

Nodding and thinking of his mother at the kitchen fire doing those very things, elves and humans mixed freely, even Scholar Aldous was pressed into that service in those days, “I like this very much and wish it to be so. Tell me what you need, if you cannot acquire it. But you should also plan for indoors, for your children, given the weather you are so fond of.”

“The salle, when the guards are not practicing,” the suggestion popping out immediately. “It can be kept warm enough in winter, as it is as well insulated as these castles get. Appalling builders, no idea of how to use the materials available...” A short laugh, “I also know who to press into service as teachers of writing and arithmetic. Hah! He will be so pleased... I bet the old man thought he had gotten away from training little ones...”

“When you build your own _école_ [school], I am certain it will be warm...however, we need a Tranquil first before funding something like that.”

“The Circle owes you a favour if you have forgotten,” he pointed out. “You could have let it simply be Annulled, and taken the Templars in their stead. You did not. Irving knows this, as he strikes me as a fairly savvy man. From sheer gratefulness he would owe you, but as long as he is First Enchanter, he would likely assist in any way possible. You had them by the short-hairs and did not take advantage, that means they are going to be stupidly grateful and falling over themselves to help, hmn?”

Shifting Len back into the crook of his arm, a hand went to rest on Zevran’s shoulder, “Have you had more sleep? Because I had forgotten... And our trip to Highever just got longer.”

The assassin sobered, a hand coming out to cup Len’s head. “I welcome the travel, but I do not...like the idea of leaving him so long. Moira is fully capable, but I am afraid for his state of mind, no matter that he is so young.”

“I had thought the same and we all know how often he is visited by the other. Fergus’ new wife recently gave birth...perhaps it is time for the cousins to meet? Unfortunately, it would mean more of a baggage train than two escapees on horses...” musing.

Zevran frowned, bronze fingers moving over the downy crown, “Do you think it would be allowed? He is still quite small.”

“Worst answer we’ll get is no...unless it’s her idea,” mirroring the concern.

“I will have to think on that, as nothing comes to mind at the moment,” thumb wiping away some drool from the chubby cheek. “Unless you have some masterful plan already in the works as is your wont?”

“Not yet, was only looking forward to being away and forgot what would be left behind. If the answer is no, we’ll just have to take turns escaping...not my favourite choice, but it is a backup plan for now. I should return this boy to his keepers as I...we are already late for the first of the afternoons,” a squeeze to the shoulder before releasing Zevran to shift Len.

Groaning, “If only they could figure things out on their own... So many left to their own devices cannot figure out how to run things without selfishness, requiring constant direction. Why can none of them learn to work within the _parameters_ of basic logic? You see, _this_ is what comes from a neglectful and uneven education - civic mindedness and civility are utterly _lost_ on such people. No concept of place in history, society, other than who has the right to boss who around, not the _why_ of it.”

“A list, if you please.” 

“ _A_ list? I have no fewer than five _books_ of them...” Ferox feared Zevran wasn’t being sarcastic. “Tchk, when Len was first born, I would stay up and write in them every time a thought would strike... I do not want Ferelden to be Antiva, Antiva has its own myriad problems, but there are so many things that are so easy to do that would improve life for everyone.”

XXX

Waving him off, Len was returned safely to the nursery and each of them to their duties. Late that afternoon a line of people carried Zevran’s belongings from one place to the room on the other side of Ferox’s office, much closer to the nursery as Anora had so wonderfully thought of all by herself.

His large office was between the two rooms, he imagined Zevran and the unknown faces of children taking over his workspace, it becoming some sort of indoor field, running around and knocking over things or getting into them... Ferox was definitely going to have to lock his door. His child, fine. Many children...overload. Shaking the nightmare from his vision, he hadn’t lost his spine or his ability to say no, just because he had said ‘please’ and asked Zevran not to leave.

Later, before the fire, he had to admit this was a very clever plan and one he rather liked...comfortable, no hallways, no guards, a chance to read, space, warmth. Ferox couldn’t think of anything that would make it better. Nibbling on the fingers stuck in his mouth, he turned the page and continued to read out loud a book on Warden history and the elf who killed Andoral, the Archdemon previous to Urthemiel. “In 5:20 Exalted, Garahel led an army of Wardens and Anders to break the darkspawn siege of Hossberg. He then gathered more Wardens from Orlais and the Anderfels and marched to Starkhaven. There, he organized an alliance between the minor kings and teyrns of the Free Marches.”

“That is something I never thought to ask, why is it called the Free Marches...is it constantly invaded?” Pausing for more babbling. “I wouldn’t think it was because they had so many parades.” Paused again. “Protests perhaps.”

From across the room, “When something is called a ‘march’ in that context, it is because it is an area meant to act as a buffer and wilderness, because to invade and cover it, it would take many large armies to march across it. Or so that is what I was told.”

Laughing at the face made by his son, “See, listen to your father, he’s the smart one. No drinking blood for him.”

“Horse blood is very nourishing in a pinch,” it was mild. “As is the blood of most creatures. Did you never wonder why I collected it when draining carcasses? Half of those soups _I_ made came from chunks of fat that I carved off and dried hanging from my pack and a waterskin or two devoted to the purpose. If we had lived off of whatever foulness Alistair could have devised, we would all have died of dysentery, or spoiled food. Or...weakness as the vital essences were lacking from that glue.”

“Oh please, don’t remind me. I had to ban him from the kitchens in the Vigil.” To Len, “No, my teeth stay where they are thank you very much.”

Len showed off pink gums as Zevran grunted. “You poor _shemlen_ , only two sets of teeth. I have had my molars yanked out from angry masters at least five times. I think they just got bored knowing that they would grow back in a few months.”

An amused look up to the elf who was sitting in one of Ferox’s large chairs rather than beside the fireplace on a rug as was customary, “What are you doing up there? Len has two hands and can’t fit them both in my mouth, especially since he wants to hear the ending. Come join us.”

“Next you will be singing, and like any sailor at sea, I will sink my ship upon rocks, you devilishly tempting siren,” landing like a cat as he hopped down from his perch on the chair beside the desk to flop next to them on the floor.

Seriously at Len, “Then you better not sing, young man...we need more ships for trade, another for your lists, yes?” Rolling Len over to Zevran, Ferox found his place, bumping shoulders. “I didn’t know this - Zazikel, the Second Archdemon, the Dragon of Chaos, was killed by Corin....neither Dumat nor Toth have names listed.

“Probably because they were killed by someone socially unacceptable by the standards of dogma,” Zevran didn’t even glance at the book. “Frankly it is amazing that Garahel was listed at all, being an elf. Augh, Fate is such a tricky whore and cruel to us pointy eared types.”

Closing the book, he pushed it away before rolling to his back to look over at the elf. “Out with it.”

“Mph, out with what?” 

“Elves, whores, servants, second class citizens, this is on your mind. You know I don’t care what someone is. But each time we talk today, this is niggling at you. So, out with it. Tell me.”

Shaking his head, “It is not something easily pinned down or rectified. The way things are here... In Antiva, it was never much of an issue. Elf, dwarf, human - slave, Crow, free, aristocrat - in many ways, it did not matter what you were, only who you were. Here, the only thing that matters is if you are human.”

“You forgot, and male.” Almost teasing, “Which isn’t getting me anywhere today.”

A hand was waved, “Honestly, it is nothing. But hearing what was said, the sheer scandal over a peck on the cheek from a _shemlen_ to an elf... If I had been female and Moira male, no one would think anything of it. ‘Oh, just an elf, he just wants a piece,’ that... I find myself uncommonly agitated and put out by it. I knew it was going to cause mischief as soon as she did it, _mierda_ , but I knew it would be trouble just to be seen with _Len_ , let alone a human female _and_ Len. It does not matter what I do, what any of my kind does, we are nothing of value beyond our bodies. Dwarves get vast amounts of respect just because they scratch away at some rocks, but ever since the bloody Tevinter... And here you would think it was still the Magisters in power when it comes to that issue.”

Ferox grunted. He was angry when the Harpy had brought it up...for some of the same reasons...others quite different. First one was the description of those who gossip, which he had given Moira, those with nothing but time or duties left undone. Where people, humans, elves, and dwarves gathered, there was gossip, and of that he knew no cure. The other, perception and value could be changed, but regardless of what he tried to do within his limited sphere, it would take more than just his and Len’s generation to make those changes. However, the school would be the place to start, with the children, especially the young ones.

“I think your school is the place to start this change, at least for the young ones who do not have these preconceptions.”

“I know,” chin propped on the heel of a palm. “I do. It is just... I think I will go to bed now, if you do not mind.”

“As you wish.”

Gracefully the Antivan unfolded from the floor after kissing Len’s forehead, making eyes cross and left for his own room. Surprised, Ferox lay on the floor with Len for several long minutes staring at the door. Some part of him had somehow assumed Zevran would have gone to Ferox’s own bed rather than the small room across the way.

At a loss, he did what came next, because it must be done. As he readied Len for bed he found in his memory a funny song from his mother that was probably more suited to morning or afternoon and after singing it through once correctly he began to change the words, “Throw Alistair out the window, Throw Alistair out the window, As we have done before.” Throwing everyone one at a time out the windows, the doors, and any other openings he could think of, the palace and the Vigil were emptied of their inhabitants. 

Picking up the changed and tired boy, he held him while finishing the chapter, out loud but not pausing to chat as someone was already scrubbing their eyes. Keeping his voice low and rumbly he narrated Garahel through the Blight and to his inevitable, and unenviable, end. Getting to his feet, he made a secure nest for the boy in his bed, rolling a blanket so that falling off the other side was not an option, then banked the fire and put the book away. Reading of Warden deaths did not make him happy, he would find something else tomorrow, deciding as he toed off his boots and made ready for bed. Tired, sleep claiming him only took a blink...

XXX

The bed dipping and shifting had become familiar, so Ferox barely awoke, recognizing by some instinct that the movements were made by someone known and began to instantly settle back down. Until the length of body was pressing to his back, an arm sliding under his head and then down his chest, the other across his middle, pulled him back. Tensing as a face pressed into the side of his neck, the sensation of bare skin against his not quite shocking.

“What -”

“Please...I need this,” it was mumbled, more than a note of desperation there and he noticed the fine tremble in the muscles of the arms that clutched him, the line of jaw tight against the side of his shoulder, the nose behind his ear mashed in. “Just for a moment more my friend, please.”

Finding the arm, then the hand across his stomach, he threaded his fingers into Zevran’s and shifted his head slightly, breathing in the scent he usually had to go searching for. Not certain if all was right, it was better. Sleep fogged, he wanted to say something, but all he managed as the dream caught up to him again while held in the sinewy arms was, “Me too.”


	6. Drunk Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humans make errors - tired humans make more. Any fubars that were missed, we're sincerely sorry for.

The prior evening’s happenings may as well have been a perplexing dream, because the next day nothing existed to indicate it had happened. Everything went on in what had become ‘normal’, or as normal as anything could be when constant chaos was the order of the day. That night when they went to bed, Zevran was in his customary spot, Len’s little body separating them, an elven foot or leg intruding, and of course the next morning, Ferox awoke tangled as that had also become the norm. It was some trick taught to Crows to bedevil marks, that was Ferox’s only explanation as he would tug and fight with the sheets and blankets in the morning. What little time he had to ponder Zevran’s action that night always left him further confused on that odd lapse in their friendship.

The chill only came to him when he would see Zevran picking up Moira’s girls, or leaning in to kiss Len’s nurse on the cheek. There was something in how the two worked together seamlessly, that set Ferox’s hackles on end. Yet he liked how Moira treated Len, how the girls became older sisters, talking, playing, participating. A single interruption one night, had Zevran slipping from the bed when Elissa knocked on the assassin’s door, the elf having heard it from across the way. Apparently she had wanted him to double check under her cot in the nursery for darkspawn. _There are no darkspawn in Denerim, I know_, but he kept his disgruntled comment to himself.

Then came the business with Howe, who was settled in, but had not been completely brought up to speed. It was a handful, but Ferox could only feel relief knowing he would be able to escape soon. Anora had yet to be told of the planned, hoped for, prayed for, escape. He was still searching for a suitable argument that would sway the Harpy on risking the country’s only heir to travel. 

XXX

Drowsily conversing not quite to sleep yet, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Ferox expected the usual - some historical fact, some silly anecdote, or random bit of information. That wasn’t what he got.

“I love you,” it came out firm, confident, and entirely far more awake than Ferox had been feeling a moment earlier.

Quiet for a moment, Ferox dragged himself further away from sleep, “Why?”

A hand flailed out unerringly, fingers sliding through the hair at his crown, “Stop making that face, my friend. Just because someone says that, does not mean they expect you to do anything, be anything, or give them anything. You wished for me to tell you something you did not know, and it is obvious that you have not come to the very obvious revelation.”

Enunciating, “No, I asked ‘Why?’

The elf made a soft sound, “I took it as to ‘why you would tell me this’.” Len was picked up one handed and set on Zevran’s other side leaving the space free between Ferox and the assassin, who quickly filled it by rolling into him and plastering himself against Ferox. “Mph. Random fact given, answer provided.”

Growling, “That was not what I meant - and what _are_ you doing?”

“Using you as a pillow, I should think that was obvious, yes?” punctuated by the usual leg wedging itself somewhere, with the addition of an arm as well, and a forehead tucking into his armpit. 

_Please tell me this means I won’t wake up tied in the sheets..._ “Zevran, truthfully, why?”

“Pick, pick, pick, must there be some logical explanation for everything in your world, _querido_?” 

“At this point, I’d accept almost anything except ‘because.’”

“‘Because I want to and do,’ shall have to suffice,” was said with a sigh. “This is not something I can rattle off in a list. It is not quantifiable, with scales with little weights for measurements. There are no little checks and balances for you to mess with to change it. It exists, I have lived with it for quite a long time, I expect nor require anything of you for it. You do not need to do anything other than accept that it is there. What you do, or do not do...” shoulders shrugged against him.

_But, why?_ Sighing his own sigh, Ferox pulled him closer and adjusted the foot pressing on his knee. _If there was a reason, it could be taken away._ He remembered that fear. Sheets tugged when Zevran rolled over, squirming to put his back against Ferox’s side. He hadn’t been any closer to sleep after that revelation, and with the assassin moving away it slipped even further. _Well at least I know where Len gets his squirminess from. He’s come by it honestly it seems._

Growling, “Can’t you wait for me to fall asleep before wiggling around so much?”

“Well, I could just remain pressed up against you along with an impressively hard erection my friend, but that seems hardly polite,” he sounded tired. “I have foisted myself on you often enough, no need to push my luck, hmn?”

Snorting, he grumbled, “Zevran, now you are being the stupid one. Having just told me that you loved me, snuggled...well...not exactly comfortably, but close enough... _now_ why would you be hiding?

“I am hiding nothing, I am merely seeking to be slightly more polite,” and he could feel the muscles trembling again as they had that one night that may as well have been a fever dream. “It pains me to admit it, but this was all rather unplanned. I had not thought of what I would do _after_ I told you. Mph. Tchk-tchk, so sloppy. And I call myself a Crow? Faugh. Ah Zevran, never do anything without an escape route planned.”

Sliding an arm under the blond head and adjusting his pillow at the same time, Ferox held the elf as he either was, or had dreamt he had been, held. “Having already revealed yourself in telling me this thing, what else is in there that needs saying?”

A rather put out grunt, “Mph, I would rather minimize the damage, else I should sound like a tittering and whining little girl. Suffice to say that I am exhausted of something other than body, and all this seems like a mirage in an endless desert. A desert where I keep hoping for an oasis, but am no longer sure there is one to be had, yet do not know how to stop or even how I can keep crawling forward, when for years I managed off of small sips here and there from the reserves of skins I had brought, and now am all out.” Ferox felt Zevran move, a hand stroking Len from head to toe. “I can say of a certainty why I searched so hard for a solution to your Warden fertility at least. And it has nothing to do with assuring some damnable dynasty or power.”

Blinking in the dim light Ferox tried to understand what he asked to be told. “Okay, then why did I go to Kirkwall? And does that lead you to an oasis?”

“It does not. But I wanted him, so that there would be at least some piece of you that I could be allowed to love, that would actually receive it, and not constantly turn it aside. So that some part of you, my friend, at least knew that there was more to life than trudging through duty and running away from pain,” a shudder ran through the elf as he curled into a circle around Len’s little sleeping form. “So that there was something that could be protected for once, with some sort of success. Foolishly I believed that I could keep him to myself, and that I would be all he needed, as I had not actually expected you to respond to him at all, as you had not responded to anything in all these years, though I was still driven to try. For his sake, for your sake, both of you deserved me making the attempt.”

“Ah.” Quietly, “Each time you push, something good came of it. You don’t do these things without good reason, which is why I try to listen to you. I was miserable, only aware how unhappy I was, and that I couldn’t continue on like that. Just as I was admitting these failures, in walked Zevran to give me a map to a path out. Without you, I don’t know the path forward and am far likelier to walk off an unknown cliff, than see the faint trail through this underbrush. You are my scout, with wise advice, the one I listen to, my eyes and ears. Albeit with some thrashing about, I have tried to stay on this path you’ve laid out for me. Can’t you see what that means?” 

“See what it means? How can I see anything? You are locked up behind a wall, one I have desperately chipped at for Maker knows how long,” there wasn’t any recrimination, just a vast sadness mixed with old pain in Zevran’s tone. “I can read how you feel about anything. Except when it comes to myself, beyond the most basic thing that you trust me, and that you care for me as a friend, someone you allow to be there and share your son with. Not that I gave you an option on that anyway, and I refuse to. You would have to kill me to make me leave his side. And I am by far too useful for you to do that.” Zevran raked a hand through his hair, the back of his hand slipping between their faces for just a moment and brushed against Ferox’s lips. “I became impatient and was going to simply do what I did atop Drakon - drag your metal suit wearing person down the steps whether you were going to assist or not. Your route would be faster, but it was an awfully long drop.”

“It was very tempting at the time. Probably the same for you, hurling yourself at a couple of upstart Wardens with a roadblock.”

“Do you have _any_ idea how hard I had to think like an _idiota_ to come up with that plan? Do you? Honestly, it was completely shameful that a Crow who has been in the Guild for more than forty years by that point had to do such a...faugh! Ugh, it was _horrid_ ,” groaning. “When I found out it was _recruits_ , I was even worried I might _win anyway_. Honestly if I had wanted you dead, I would have not done such a poor job. Far easier to be some random rogue who goes ‘oh my there is a Blight you see and you look be in need of a hand helping!’ Or if I was feeling like actually using hand to hand combat, I would have set up an ambush as you left Redcliffe, all worn down...easy pickings, hmn?”

“And I thought for a time, that infiltrating the camp was your plan.” Shrugging, “I was hoping to die as well, after all.”

Zevran squirmed yet again, twisting to face him, a puzzle of limbs made of them, “As I had said, I had stared into that exact same expression for a good deal longer than you had. You were too young to throw it all away uselessly, while I was at a point where I was too old to try again for myself, or so I believed. I suppose I was looking to save someone when I could not save anyone before. And here I am, and here I have been, and I here I will stay.”

“So, have you found me a new path? Drawn me a new map? Or do I stand here and find a way down myself? Because I’m bound to encounter at least one bear, a pack of wolves circling my location, a harpy, and a hive of gossiping bees.” He couldn’t, and more importantly, didn’t, want to do anything without the man next to him. He wanted their hands working together toward something they agreed on was important enough to take their time...limited time. 

“Flaming wolves, tearing into your armour, making you angrier,” grousing. “Then making you _cold_. Mph. Ferelden is cold enough and makes my bones ache without the large furry _shemlen_ that should be used as a basket of warm coals, instead becoming a frost giant. In the mountains there were times when I honestly considered jumping into your bedroll just to get warm, except then you would have been more irritable, and thought I was trying for something, when all I wanted was not to be freezing my _cajones_ off seeing as I am rather attached to them. You Fereldens get so strange about your sleeping arrangements.”

Ferox snorted, hoping in vain to make a difference to their current sleeping arrangements, “I like to be comfortable, not tied up, not twisted, in the blankets properly, and not squashed. I don’t mind a head on my shoulder or apparently an occasional leg or foot...if I can avoid being crumpled and stuffed into corners.”

“Ha-ha! It is far too late for you my friend, you are my new mattress,” which was punctuated of course by the foot that belonged to the leg hooked over his hip wrapping down between his calves.

Rumbling, “Somehow this hasn’t gotten better...”

“Tchk, I had already informed you - if I was feeling friendly, I wind up plastered to my sleeping companions,” accompanied by a yawn. “Besides, it has occurred to me that if I keep an ear pressed to you, your snoring will sound more like a purr and less like a hoard of bears choking on their tongues. You never snored like this out in the field, good thing too, else the darkspawn would have always attacked at night with that racket for a beacon.”

“I couldn’t sleep at night for the dreams. It was why I would nap when we stopped and took longer watches. My time at the Vigil was the same.”

Fingers found their way into his hair, massaging his scalp. “Mmn, yes. No doubt. But it is also a warrior’s trick, one I have observed often enough. In the field or places that may or may not be safe, but there is uncertainty as to which, even the loudest of mouth breathers is quiet as a kitten. You should have taken me up on the massage sooner, I could have at least made sure you had the occasional good night’s sleep, with nothing else...arising to interrupt...”

“Can you think of a time _then_ , when I willingly let someone other than Wynne touch me?”

Soft linen tunics shifted where Zevran was pressed to him as he moved to add a second hand to his hair. “And how many stitches have I put in your side, thigh, back, shoulder, ankle and that one on your buttocks? That one was almost tempting to make into an interesting little scar as the natural line of it nearly made a ‘z’, and the reason it took so long was because I made sure it _was not_ in that shape.”

Rumbling out a chuckle, “So it is, as you say.”

“It would have been easy enough - merely check on a wound, reapply a salve, and then spread oil on some other tender area before you could do more than snarl,” a thumb rolled over his brow, tracing it. “Having braved the hag when swollen with pregnancy and enraged with nausea, then I can certainly deal with a bit of snarling from you.”

“Only a very brave man, or a foolish one shoved out the front door by his companions to feed the bear, would do this. Which is it, Zevran?”

“Neither, it is the one who wished to do something real for once,” nails scraped down lightly, pricking and sandpaper whispers along his jaw. “Though it meant my life, yes? Better to be an actual person by choice.”

“Yes, it is much better, for both you and I, even if we are drug to it. ‘Sides that,” burying his head in Zevran’s shoulder for a yawn, “I think you like snarling, otherwise you would not persist in kicking my head.”

A low hum, “Snarls mean nothing. If you were a Crow, and did not wish to be bothered, lethal force would have been used. As such, I am used to ignoring everything else as nothing but a bark without any actual bite. Rinna was far more frightening than you could hope to be in the morning. Once she nearly ripped an ear off, and that was just because she had her monthly. The scar on my right shoulder-blade is from Taliesin, someone forgot to close the curtains. He was missing a nipple, apparently I was aggravated by a particularly wretched bout of flatulence after a night of drinking, and did not wish for it to happen again. Rinna was missing both lobes - she made the mistake _twice_ of bringing coffee to bed and being unwilling to share while I was still half asleep and taunting me with coffee kisses. Aiesh, she could be such a _bitch_.”

Zevran usually alternated between telling the truth, granted he slanted it for the listener, to telling such outrageous stories that either they were fantastical or outright lies or so crazy they could _only_ be the truth.. He was uncertain which it was, and he wasn’t going to ask. But Ferox wondered why the assassin talked of these ones so fondly, ones he himself killed, as if keeping them close. Although, since Len was born, his parents and Oren had appeared in his thoughts more often as well, and the memories did not ache as they had in the beginning. 

Making a note about obtaining coffee, he would have to see to that when he returned to Kirkwall...although even there, he was certain, it would be difficult to surprise someone who always seemed to know what was going on. Only Ferox’s own actions, quickly formed and _immediately_ acted upon, seemed to cause his quick-footed assassin to be off balance for a moment.

The question of the path out was still there and he wanted to ask of it, however, Zevran had admitted being lost himself. Deciding that this was sufficient for now, he would wait for clearer heads, ones that were not tired of their daily rituals and routines. With Nathaniel beginning to take some of the burdens they carried, perhaps the path was there, but in the dark he could not see it at the moment beyond the warmth wrapped around him and what he held onto. Eyes closing, breathing in the sandalwood, it was not perfect, but it was enough for this moment.

XXX

Somehow he had _hoped_ that the morning would be different. Thrashing and jerking at the sheet with a snarl as the assassin grumbled, curling tighter, Ferox went frozen in aggravation. He wanted freedom from the blasted bedding, air, movement, _Maker!_ It seemed unlikely he would ever get any of the above at this rate. A mumbled little nonsensical sound as the hand that was in his hair tightened, turning his face towards the relaxed and closed eyed elven features, only to have that face rub against his in a sleepy nuzzle. 

Yanking the tail of impatience and panic of the usual morning sensation of being trapped, Ferox tried desperately not to snap, snarl, and bite at the unusual weight on his arms and chest. His eyes opening to the contentment next to him, _on_ him, he nearly whimpered, “Zevran, I need air. Please. Now.”

A stretch of spine and shoulders as the elf pressed closer, one of those brown feet twisting and sliding from his calf up to his hip and back down - and away. Blessedly releasing him suddenly of blankets. The sensation of being utterly free of cloth bindings other than twisted clothes and the assassin pressing a yawn into the side of his neck while rubbing a nose at the stubble there, utterly feline in each motion, was not quite freeing, but it was better than everything all at once. Zevran arched against him casually, hips pressing to his and released a pleased rumble at the morning hardnesses trapped there momentarily before arms slipped away from binding Ferox, as he rolled and stretched to curl around Len. Of course one foot was still on Ferox, wormed half under his pant-leg, and the Antivan’s back was firmly pushed into his side.

Inhaling repeatedly, dizzy as if he had not had an entire lungful of air the entire night, he caught his panicked breathing and galloping heart. After a minute or two, finding calm, he rolled to his side, and rested a cheek against Zevran’s shoulder. “Thank you,” arm sliding ‘round his waist. He hadn’t been unhappy with the contact exactly, just with the inability to draw breath.

Another sleepy arch and the shrug of a shoulder found Ferox’s cheek pressed to the elf’s, and the contented sigh. “Mph, as you desire.”

“Since I wouldn’t permit myself be to burnt...cremated...after acting out some battle, which history dictated Horse and I lost, Fergus decided that there would be a mass grave instead...consisting of one corpse...namely me. However, after winding the burial cloth around me, long bandages we had used earlier in the battle, it was not straw thrown on top of the crate, because it wasn’t realistic enough...” 

_Why am I telling this story? This is a fear. I do not share that...this..._ Ferox stopped talking and tried to relax back into that moment right before waking. As he struggled, trying to get around the panic which woke him, just then, the usual hand was, as always, reaching for his crown, fingers rubbing at his scalp.

The bent back arm kept Ferox’s face pressed to Zevran’s, who tilted his head enough so that he could feel the puffs of breath with each word the elf said. “It is not that I do not wish to know, but you do not have to say. However, I do not know how it is to have a sibling, or why one would do such a thing as even threaten to burn one. In the training barracks, well, of course many a macabre game netted results that were...gruesome time to time. But that was expected of us, encouraged even. The stupid did not survive. Or the overly cruel as we would take down the worst amongst us ourselves, or those unable to learn to make alliances as they had no group to help protect them. If you like, I have a recipe with mustard seed that can result in several hours of violent heaving and visits to the garderobe.” 

“No,” sharply. Catching himself, Ferox was quieter, “It was long ago and I am merely glad to have him returned. Safe. Brothers do stupid things, especially when angry at each other, but I wouldn’t trade him for another.” _No, not even for you, Rory._

Zevran rubbed his beardless cheek against his making a small sound in the back of his throat. “I am glad that you are safe as well, and that you have him at least.”

Tugging a blanket back up, Ferox concentrated on the scent and enjoyed morning peace before duties intruded, an arm around the elf.

XXX

Zevran and Nathaniel were looking over the many, many, _many_ lists he had made. “You’ve been doing this for how long?”

Glancing up from the drawer filled with the hanging files he had designed for the purpose of keeping things organized, “Nearly six years. There was a learning curve of a year or so I might say...” Pulling out the sheaf of documents he wanted with the names, salaries, positions and skills of staff according to area of the palace, he set it on the desk. “Of course there were months here and there where I was not present, having other matters to take care of.”

“ _And_ you’ve been heading the security?” the _shemlen’s_ stern features were furrowed and creased.

“As well as other positions, yes,” he nodded as he showed the colour coded stripes of ink across the top of the heavy leather folder and the small journal that explained what the colour indicated. “Things need doing, one cannot simply say it is too much for one person to do when there is no one else to do it.”

“Truer words are hard to find,” agreement.

They worked in silence but for the occasional question, however, Zevran was meticulous, and always had been, in the duties he was unofficially assigned, so there was little that wasn’t straightforward. He liked to review the staff of each area weekly, checking to see how they were working together, feeling them out for any discontent that could pose an eventual threat or breeding grounds for problems. As for discouraging gossip, whenever there was a group of more than three people, gossip existed. All he could do was make it work for him, be ‘himself’ continually - a listening ear, a bit of advice, a task master where needed, so on, so forth. It was all a role to play, a job. It was the longest job he had ever taken. But a very rewarding one in so many ways - how many elves could ever claim to shape a kingdom?

Looking over some of the documents, “Are you certain the Commander meant to choose me? Sigrun would have been a much better choice for these...” Finding a polite word, “Interactions.”

“Seneschals do not have to be anyone’s friend, my good Howe,” Zevran was mild as he was going over security rosters and information sent to him by Ignacio. “I have said that to Ferox as well. What we need is someone who can move amongst the nobles, so that they do not get so uppity over all the ‘intermixing’ of ‘inferior’ races that they seem to feel abounds. Speaking of which, you know, I was thinking that perhaps you should go and speak with Bann Shianni. She does not have much in the way of polish, but she is extremely adept at these matters. Except, however, I do not think she knows her letters, so it is worrisome, as we do not want the Alienage to suffer from dishonest tax practices, yes?”

The ever present scowl lightened gradually as the information was processed. “It’s a handicap to the Alienage. Guess it needs fixing if they’re to be taken seriously and able to take care of themselves.”

“It would also go far to easing the relations. There are still sore spots with how the Alienage matters were handled for so long, and to see a _shemlen_ taking interest in a positive role would do much. I have done some things, but as an elf, it is seen to be expected, and sadly some of the nobles view it as racial favouritism,” he blew the ink and sanded it to get it to dry faster then set it on one of the thin wire racks reserved for the purpose. “Ferox has some connections there himself to a degree, as he has never cared much what a person was, so long as the primary credential was ‘effective’. Except there is only so much he can do. Also, as I am his personal assistant, and long time friend, some of his actions could be, and have been, viewed as...more favouritism to his ‘pet’ elf.”

A curious gaze crossed the frown as Nathaniel considered favoritism, the current bann tossed in with Antivan and then the word pet. “I wasn’t aware that you had many connections to the Denerim Alienage, so much so that...ahh, I see.” Understanding lightened the stern features, “Conspiracies, or at least the thought or hope that one exists, because _they_ would have put one in place. Got it, I see why a noble, even one disgraced, would have slightly more success in hearing about it.”

Zevran’s chuckle was dark, “Yes. Precisely, and this is part of why I put your name forth. You will be able to get things done with a certain...aplomb, that a simple little _Antivan_ animal might not be able to do without ruffling feathers. Considering the fact that there are many things I plan to do to help this place become civilized, the less I am seen to be the face of it, the better. Or shall I say, the less my ears are seen, the better.”

“I hope you don’t mean to bring in the public bath houses, I don’t think Ferelden’s ready for that much ‘civilization’,” it was delivered dryly.

“Tchk, such a shame, you Fereldens are so finicky! It is absolutely criminal - some of my favourite kills took place in the bathhouses.” Turning serious, “No, I want schools. Sewers, clean water, some sort of royally controlled lands for farming, ways of levying taxes that are better - labour, goods, skilled services - a place where people can be ‘Ferelden’, not noble, merchant, peasant, elf. Honestly, with how horrified people are when they hear of the caste system of Orzammar, it makes me wonder that they cannot see they do the same things here. No, Calenhad will be king, and he should have a kingdom that does not have people old and broken and weary at a mere forty years of age. Where veterans of the Blight do not eat in piles of filth, vying for scraps with the rats, begging coin or a bit of bread. Where widows do not have to become two-bit whores to put food in their starved children’s bellies. This country has the resources, the manpower, but no know-how of how to apply a damned thing other than to fighting. It is time for war to pass and living and rebuilding to commence.” 

Twisting in his chair to face the Howe, “Ferox wants the people he fought and bled for, sacrificed for, to be fruitful, and not plague riddled. He wants this place to be a nation, not a fiefdom, with backstabbing and uselessness. Where it only matters on how effective the whole works. It is because he loves this country, because he loves his people, and his son, that you are here. You will help us lay the foundation, and sink it deep, so that no mindless diggers can collapse and crack it to get to the tender insides of what the bastion protects.” People expected smiles and warmth from Zevran, not unvarnished truth, but that was what he handed over, along with the hopes that had kept him running these years. “I came to Ferelden to die. Instead, I learned how to live. You came to Ferelden to kill, and you too, have learned how to live. We should teach them what we know, no matter if you are only ever remembered as a Warden, or son of a traitor. Or if I am known as a whoreson and elf if mentioned at all. Part of why you are perfect for this, Nathaniel Howe, is because you only wish to do penance for things you were uninvolved in, to rebuild your family name, and protect your people. That is where your loyalties lie, and as such, they make you a very good tool to implement these improvements. Do you understand?”

“I’m curious to know how this,” small gesture to what he was to learn and do, “affects all of that.”

“Functionally the palace provides an example, but it also is the place where people gather for laws to be made and grievances to be aired.” Zevran poured himself a large clay cup of tea, then one for Nathaniel, turning to toss another log on the fire. The air was wet today, and Ferox’s room was too large for him to dry out with the use of a busily crackling fire, so his bones ached in particular that afternoon. “Here we can convince people to do things our way. You can put forth certain advice that runs along with whatever Ferox is seeking to have done, put a thought here or there in a bann or arl’s ear. You are so flaming honest that not a one will question the wisdom. You are a Ferelden, you are a noble - disgraced or otherwise, you are a ‘hero’, and you are _human_. Because of all those myriad reasons, each little piece that gets laid in place, is another stone added to the defenses and home that is being built for everyone. Seneschal is a very powerful position, you should be aware of that, seeing as all that Varel does, hmn? Use your power wisely, wield it as you would one of your arrows, striking a small, far distant target cleanly. If you think of dealing with others in those terms, you will find it easier, I believe.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” his brow furrowed as he busily absorbed all the information. A flicker of further dry humour showed itself, “For a man with all those plans, it’s no wonder you haven’t gone mad. You should take a vacation.”

Making a face, “So Ferox says. And he also keeps saying he needs one himself. But neither of us wishes to leave Calenhad unprotected. The tricky part, is trying to figure out how to convince Her Majesty of the wisdom of allowing him to leave her watchful eye.”

There was a sputter as the Howe choked on his tea. He had been there _more_ than long enough to know how often the woman interacted with her son. Less than Rendon Howe had interacted with his family was the honest answer to _that._

Clearing his throat, “I hear that babies can be rather colicky at night. My nurse used to walk me up and down the hall to help settle me. And when that did not work, my father had me sent to a relative in a more rural area. For the fresh air to strengthen and brace my lungs.”

Pausing mid pen-scratching of his pen, the tip cut across the page trailing ink as Zevran’s head slowly craned to the side to stare at the Howe who was dutifully working. “You...you are a most...thoughtful...man.”

“Oh, look, it seems that one of the washerwomen has been graced with a bouncing boy,” and Zevran almost _swore_ there might have been a faint smile there. “Who has been suffering from a rather upset stomach it seems. I heard that you know much herblore. Perhaps some trick you know could settle him down?”

Slapping his pen down, Zevran’s head tossed back as he exploded into deep laughter. “Any other ideas that my poor, worn mind could not comprehend?”

Howe was quiet, and they both returned to work. Eventually Zevran was interrupted once more.

“Actually, I...I do have an idea,” there was some hesitance, but Zevran waved him on. “At the Vigil, there are Warden controlled fields, and some of the refugees, they take turns farming it. We get labour, and they get a share no matter if there is famine or not. The Alienage here, they need work, that’s part of why they have such poverty. Perhaps...?”

“Congratulations, my fine upstanding Howe! Your first extra duty!” clapping his hands once. “I leave the details in your capable hands, my good Howe, and gladly. Any difficulties you come across, please, bring them to my attention, and myself or Ferox will deal with them. I thank you.”

“It will give an excuse to speak to the Alienage’s bann to seek her advice on the subject as well as collaboration.” Musing, “Start the conversation.”

As he looked over map, Nathaniel marked logical locations for farms, and he made an odd almost distasteful face, “The Commander says that he is starting his luncheon rounds. Do you wish to reply?”

“Hmn, I will be there shortly.” He stood and quickly pulled out one of his ‘walking’ tunics to be worn atop the fine mesh chainmail shirt, and belted only a single obvious weapon. Since now one of his ‘actual’ official duties was to be a bodyguard, he no longer caught glowers for being ‘armed’ in the presence of the Prince Consort and the Heir when outside of sparring. Not that Len had been to sparring...more than twice. “And if he has the chance to grab one of those potato things with cheese and the beans that someone came up with, I would be happy with one of those for my portable repast.”

If receiving a message gave the Warden a strange look, sending one was even more ‘enjoyable.’ Particularly because he had not mastered sending images, only words. He was going to have to practice in order not to give away what was happening. “He asks if you won’t join them in the kitchen, Len? Has attracted a good deal of attention.”

“I believe I will, and as to you, Nathanial, I will have someone send up a good sized platter for you,” slapping the Howe on the shoulder. “Thank you for playing intermediary.” 

Wincing, Nathaniel sent the response through the Joining amulet.

XXX

Zevran wandered in from the nursery, without Len in hand. Frowning minutely at the assassin, his feet moved from the footstool he was using to the floor. “Is Len unwell?”

“Oh, no, he is fine. Snoring away happily to little baby dreams,” he dropped down into a chair, twisting about in it, hands wrapping around a steaming mug, the Antivan’s newer room large enough to accommodate an extra table for meals, which was where the elf sat at the moment. “I thought perhaps one night a week would be nice to have no worry over baby interruptions, or just before bed feedings. Horse is curled up near the cradle, and the girls are all tucked in as well. Moira sends her well wishes for the evening’s rest. Oh, and Elissa sends kisses, while Eleanor sends hugs.”

Eyebrow arched as he turned a page, “Certain you aren’t splitting your share, _Uncle_ Zevran?”

Chuckling around the mug’s lip, “No splitting necessary. I received both hugs and kisses from them before bed. After I checked under them of course. I believe it is their way of not ‘presuming’ upon your tolerance. Such sweet little girls, like spiced spun sugar gossamer candies resting on honeycakes.”

Grunting, “Too sweet for me, thank you.”

“Yes, well, that is why the filling is usually made from ground up red or green chilies and chunks of coconut,” a deeper laugh of amusement. “All the sweet is then countered and brought up by the heat. It is not exactly an acquired taste. Once you try them, you think, ‘oh no, that was not to my liking at all’, but then you decide one day that you either must have one, or that you had not given them a good try the first time...and then, like everyone else, become addicted.” He cocked his head, “Of course adding poppy juice to the honey does help...”

Eyes lifted for a moment the check for humor then returned back to his book, “I will have to trust you on that as it still doesn’t sound as if it were to my taste.”

“Oh, you will see, they who protest too much always fall the hardest,” a long stretch was followed by rising as he finished the last of his tea.

“Why is it that all ‘gentlemen farmers’ are Orlesians? And grow useless things?” growling at his book.

“Because Orlesians value things that cost much, and do little. The idea of beauty and wealth is to show that one has no worry over practical matters, as they are matters for serfs and the appallingly poor,” a shrug, undoing his belt, the rounds clinking and pulling off his boots, then one hand went to the small braids that held his hair from his face. “In Ferelden it is what looks ugliest, heaviest, and most effective for blunt force trauma.”

Ferox raised a brow, “And of course you’re going to tell me what Antivan ideals are?”

“Multitasking and grace, or functionality hidden within delicate balance and seeming uselessness,” a mild shrug. “But with that, I have to say I am rather tired. Howe has been a great help thus far, but now that the unending pressure is slowly abating, I find that I am feeling the effects of fatigue more. Plus, it truly does not help that this room is too large for a fire to dry out the damp, makes my bones ache. So, I am going to bed. If you are feeling sufficiently generous to this poor little bag of achy bones, the door is open for you as always. And I have locked the office as an aside.”

Marking his place, although what was described as being grown was of little practical use, the techniques used and the notes kept were interesting and could be helpful, he set the thick volume aside before pulling off his boots. 

Zevran almost seemed out of sorts, no, just something. Scratching his head, he followed after checking his hallway door as well. “Zevran? have you considered lowering the ceiling? Might be warmer.” 

_Achy bones?_ Some of Ferox’s ribs still hurt after the Andraste dragon, but... He also was making references to age, but then again...elves always seem to age well. Truthfully, it did not matter. Anyone who could put him in the dirt wasn’t someone who needed to be concerned about ‘old age.’

“Oh? Shall I make my room into a tent?” laughter. “Though it is not uncommon for some carpenters to make ceilings that are quite lovely that can be used to do that.” He paused, “In Antiva of course. Dear Maker, everything is in Antiva! I should shout it when joining battle ‘In Antiva We Slice And Dice With Style!’ or something like that. Except that is a bit much.” A twist of lips, “Nor has there been much battle in the last years. It is mind-boggling that I actually miss those appalling displays of brute force. Tchk, oh well, the other Crows always did claim that I was touched in the head with warped perfidy.”

“And grace.” Supplying the phrase, “And a perfectly curled pinky.”

The look he was shot was ‘unamused’, “In Orlais perhaps. Last I checked I did not wear cat urine for a perfume.”

“Is that why Anora’s vile brews give me such a headache?”

“It is likely, yes,” he shrugged, tossing his boots to one side and removing his vest. “Rotting flowers and piss. Faugh. Oils cut with a little alcohol, this I can understand. But, auck, the perfumer’s art is a macabre, rotting, and dancing corpse dolled up with paint and flowers in Orlais.”

Covering his ears, “I have to see her tomorrow, please, don’t tell me, it wouldn’t improve my attitude or actions. It’s painful enough without added information.” In an attempt to change the subject and figure out what was bothering the elf, “Would a soak make you feel better?”

One of those folding stretches, then he fell into a split before popping back up with a groan and hopped onto the bed. “It is a temporary fix for a long term issue. My bones, like any Crow’s, have been hardened since being purchased by repeated strikes and blows. It causes little breaks, so I am told, in the bone, so that when we eat foods that build them, the bone builds back thicker and stronger. Like your shoulder when you plow into someone. If you had not developed your bones there to a thicker, hardier state, it would cause you problems - with or without your armour.” Blankets were flipped back as he ran fingers through his blond locks then massaged his temples. “It makes for pain as we age, but usually not so bad as this. I think it has to do with the weather. Then again, Ignacio walks almost like he is eighty, rather than his mere sixty-five. So, I think it must be that. In our homeland, he would still be sprying about like a twenty year old, instead of gingerly placing his steps. Old buzzard has a few years on me, but even so, I am feeling it myself more and more of late. Bloody dampness.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, “Healer?”

“There is nothing to heal, Ferox,” he punched up a pillow, scooting and making room. “I am healthy, healthier than many even your age. Or even younger. Anything a healer found, would likely be scar tissue, and there is nothing to be done for that. My joints do not swell, so it is not inflammation of the humours, just the wear on the bone.”

Something irritated as if he’d forgotten something, but he considered this information as if it would give a clue. “I suppose, I know nothing on the subject, either one for that matter, healing magic or Crows.” Tugging off his tunic, perhaps less things to be tied up in come morning would help with feeling trapped, anything was worth a try. Laying back, he hooked a pillow under his head.

The now customary rolling into him happened, a hand slipping companionably into Ferox’s hair, “Mmn. Healing requires something to be broken for it to work. It cannot simply change what is natural. If one lost a limb, a healer cannot simply reattach it as one would a handle to a cup with a bit of glue.”

“Oh?” trying to settle himself, to straighten his spine. “Then explain why you thought that Len could even come about, if it wasn’t possible to change what was, and is, natural.”

“Organs, that is a different matter, I suppose,” a deep breath and yawn. “The Taint is just a poison, _querido_. Nothing more. At least, in essence.”

“Just a poison that doesn’t go away,” grumping.

Gold eyes slitted open to glower at him, “Still a poison. Disease is contagious, if it was natural, then people would be born Wardens. It is a poison, one that alters the body in a permanent fashion, however, I know of several poisons that do the same that are not Taint related.”

“Fine. Although, I can’t see why, there couldn’t be Warden children, if it was acted upon soon enough or a healer -”

Zevran’s upper lip curled quickly, interrupting, “I would no more consign a child to being forced to become a Warden than I would hand one over to become a Crow. Healers on hand or no. It is no life for either, and something that should only be entered into with some sort of _choice_.”

“Hypothetically. I’m not suggesting it as an option...although I wouldn’t put it past Avernus.” Eyeing Zevran, “What _is_ wrong?”

“There is nothing wrong, not every time I am growly implies there is a thing to be wrong,” features relaxed and smoothed quickly. 

Ferox snorted incredulously.

“Honestly, it is true, I am content. There is gainful employment, the burden is quickly reducing, a solution was found for gaining ‘permission’ to have Len away from the bloody Harpy, Len nearly said ‘papi’ today after almost saying ‘dada’, I am not expected to do distasteful things beyond the occasional diaper change, I have this, Moira is a good friend, and Eleanor called me ‘papa’ when she was falling asleep... I had not the heart to correct her. I will do so tomorrow.”

A crackling, “What does Moira think of it?” going still.

“She does not mind, however she does not encourage it either, referring to me by name, or ‘Master Zevran’, which let me tell you is odd every time I hear it... Makes me think of impolite things, ugh,” a disgusted shudder. “But it was... It was nice that at least I am able to be viewed as parental material by one little girl, when my own never knew.”

He nodded, “I wish it were so, could be so. It would be a pleasant thing to pretend with the child. Children need a father.” _Only for your sake do I wish this thing._. “Why doesn’t she know you?”

“Oh, she knows me, I am the nice man who comes by sometimes with presents, came by sometimes with presents rather. Who would listen to her talk about her horse, or how far she shot an arrow today,” his lips formed the words almost completely detached. “Being one of those that the horseclans will deal with without cheating them or killing them, has costs. For me to find my mother’s clan, I had to find the Dalish. To find the Dalish in Antiva, you need the help of the horseclans. Their price was me getting a woman with child, or at least doing my utmost towards that end. Because it actually worked, and a human female mating with elven male does not always, they felt that it was a blessed thing, and gave me two horses as well. Those horses bought me my life for having skipped out on the Crows. The clan was rather displeased with that news... If I wanted more kinhorses, I am unsure what they would require of me, but it was long enough ago, they might be willing to bargain for a less steep price than the handing over of another child.” 

Sorting the information, he wasn’t certain what to do with some of it. Wrapping his arms around him, he pulled Zevran closer. “Why are they kinhorses?”

“The best horses are considered kin, reborn spirits of ancestors. From what I witnessed, they are smart enough that it may just be true, as they are easily as intelligent as a mabari,” his head popped from his pillow on Ferox’s, so they were nearly nose to nose. “Sacred and not easily parted with to outsiders. I had the benefit of being vouched for by the whore who raised me, whose daughter I lay with to get Ani. Good thing Ani looks like her grandmother, and had her disposition last I saw her. But, being thirty-six as she is now, is much different than being the twenty-five when I saw her.” The assassin half sat up, hand reaching for his belt and dragged it from the small bench at the foot of the bed to bring it forward. He flipped it inside out, a finger unerringly going to a single round, and pressing on it making a hinge open. “She gave me her first tooth that fell out when she was seven.”

_**Thirty-six?!** She’s older than Fergus!_ “I believe you, really.” 

Why this was important and must be shown, he had no idea. Ferox thought that he had already had this chat with himself regarding age - _It is not important_ \- but apparently something about it was of concern to Zevran. It wasn’t distance, or even the desire for such, but perhaps, yes, it was giving all of the information necessary to make an informed choice. What that choice was, Ferox wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to think on.

Abruptly, “You know I don’t care, no wait, I don’t mean that... I mean, I don’t care about age either, not what you are, not what you’ve done, not how old you might feel or be, just about you.”

“Oh? You believe me unaware of that? Hmn, then I will clarify - I care about time, Ferox,” he rolled the small sharp edged bit of enamel between thumb and forefinger before putting it back in its small compartment. “Time is the one thing that can never be stopped. There are only so many things that can be done within its constraints. So much that can be missed simply for not looking around. I missed her first words, her first steps. Her first breath. She is loved and valued where she is, I am content with that. But I lay awake and realize how much I have missed, allowing life to slide right past me until it became the past rather than the present, let alone the future. There is only so much time to live, Ferox and so many of us waste it.”

Blinking up at him, “So you said when you handed me a map and laid out the path.”

“I know,” he flopped back into place a hand smoothing over Ferox’s side to his back. “Eleanor calling me ‘papa’, it made me think of the things she has missed, things her father missed. Things both missed. I am content with the hand I am dealt, but I still lay awake or stare into the distance and am saddened by such inconsequential matters.”

_And this is what you mean when you say nothing is wrong? And then you wonder why I never believe your assurances that all is well for you._ “You did say some good had come of today. What did you mean when you said that a solution was found for getting ‘permission’ to take Len with us? What shall I give her now?” Dread weighted his heart. _It would be done, I care not the cost._

“A headache, I have the tea already in her room,” metal clinked as it was tossed back to the bench and the elf slithered back into position, sharing a single pillow with Ferox once again. All while grinning boyishly at the change of subject and glowing with his mischief. “And Len will make it worse. With colic. While Moira paces the hall with him.”

Narrowing his eyes, “But...Len doesn’t _have_ colic.” 

Zevran’s own twinkled with mirth, “Oh? Then that must be why there are several other babies who do...and why they will be in Moira’s arms. On loan as I search for a solution to their colic for their mothers to use on nights when they are not being borrowed.”

That look he hadn’t seen in a long time, Ferox nearly stopped listening and just pounced on Zevran to tickle or do something, he wasn’t certain, but the urge was sudden and overwhelming and uncontrollable. Anything to keep that look there. It was as if the rain stopped and the sun came out and everything lit up at once and he was standing in the exact right spot for the full effect.

“Howe mentioned that his parents sent him away to a more rural cousin’s manor, ‘to brace and strengthen’ his lungs,” both brows twitched upwards once before bouncing back to their customary place, nearly waggling as the grin seemed to increase. “The air in Denerim is ever so poor, no wonder the little lad is feeling so ornery, and dear, thoughtful, Moira will walk him up and down the halls to comfort him... But you know, it will not be enough, he will simply have to find fresh air to revitalize him. For his health.” By the time he was done with his ‘mournful’ recitation, the elf was practically biting the tip of his tongue to visibly hold in the laughter.

_Do something, stupid. Anything. Oh Maker, just do something before he stops smiling!_

Rolling over Zevran, he hovered above him and began to search for a ticklish spot on the elf...something, anything, because he couldn’t just stand in the blinding light another second without doing something. Ferox didn’t want that moment of joy to be brief, just a quick gap in the clouds. _That’s it, you saw me, now have more rain. By the way, welcome to winter in Highever. Please let there be more._

“Absolutely. Brilliant.” And he didn’t mean the plan. Well, not just the plan that was good too, but this was everything.

A shouting laugh as Zevran twisted around in surprise, the assassin arched, his head and feet planted on the bed. His entire face pinched up with it, and an arm wrapped around Ferox’s waist, squeezing, not fighting the tickling, but seeking - albeit half heartedly he would wager - to get free of the stimuli. Ferox shivered when the laughing face buried itself in his shoulder, shaking back and forth, the open sound pealed out like a bell, filling the space around them with what a mildly coherent thought said was like being under the noon sun during an Antivan summer.

Ceasing, allowing for breath, Ferox enveloped this bright thing and held it close, unwilling to let go, grinning at himself for the gift of movement to somehow hold this light, to keep it revealed for a few more seconds. Hoping that winter was nearly over...not that spring was much better, but it was something to look forward to. 

“Absolutely brilliant!” Ferox laughed back, repeating himself.

A huffing hum, still interspersed with chuckles as they tapered off, “Well I thought so. It is unfortunate that I cannot claim it for my own. I will give credit where it is due.” Another hum, slower, lower, more relaxed, thrummed near Ferox’s ear. “Howe has a delightfully evil sense of humour. My only addition is the tea. We must not have her miss out on the joys of parenthood, hmmn?”

Ferox was almost afraid to respond to the insistent hand in his hair that tugged him back. But he was still grinning like a fool and the laughter was easy, “No, she should not miss a single instant of ‘her son’s’ travails with this sad,” snickering, “sad thing. That poor, poor boy.”

“Poor boy indeed.” Zevran’s other hand came up, callused fingertips stroked his cheek and the smile faded, but not the serenity and warmth. “I am at peace with the hand I am dealt,” sighed out. 

Turning his head slightly, Ferox caught the hand on his cheek and briefly kissed the palm before flopping back to the mattress. “Good. If this works, I will gladly take the complaints about your new seneschal’s sarcasm and bluntness and,” smiling almost sweetly, “pass them to you.”

“Oh? And what shall I do with them?” Zevran propped up on an elbow, head in hand, brow raised. “Apparently my ability for planning mischief has not been up to par lately, so do tell. I am all ears.”

Eyebrow raised, “Burn them of course. As to causing mischief, you have been very busy...but the tea should help considerably,” Ferox chuckled. “I should remember to avoid it on receipt of my next Summons.”

“No, do have some, I have an antidote to prevent the effects,” he shook his head while his free hand slid beneath the blanket running over Ferox’s stomach. “We do not wish her to suspect any difference or that there is a source other than herself for the headache. If you avoid anything she consumes, she will be tipped off, hmn?”

“Oh see, there, there’s my rogue, always thinking,” the corner of his mouth still pinched.

The assassin’s lips twitched, yet there was an odd glint to his expression. “I should warn you that I am about to be very presumptuous.”

“And?” Ferox watched curiously as Zevran stared at him a long moment before leaning in very slowly. 

It had been hard enough earlier to reach out the way he had, near mindless at that time under the weight of a golden sun’s rays, to act on the need even a little bit and keep the sun from the nearly perpetual clouds that had hung about him so long. He didn’t have Zevran’s courage, but Ferox was glad that the assassin did. Lips came down, so slowly there was plenty of time for Ferox to have moved away - if he had been so inclined, before he felt the whisper of a tongue wetting lips before they pressed to his firmly. _Thank you,_ he thought gratefully, his hand tangling in the blond locks. The sun was still there and he was delighted to find it so, rumbling happily. 

Breaking free gently, only far enough for Zevran to whisper in his ear roughly, “Precisely how much alcohol will it take to wash away any barriers, so that I can have you?”

Rumbling, “No more than I already have had. Although, let me preface my answer by warning that if you are thinking about making any plans afterwards to go anywhere without me, or without discussion first, then you should withdraw your question now. If I knew that you were making such plans, then my answer would be ‘No, thank you’, after which I would proceed to get very, very drunk – and the answer would still be no.” Ferox growled, “I wish to make myself absolutely, perfectly clear, so now is the time to ask questions and clarify, should you need to do so. I say this because I would hate for you to misunderstand me. If we initiate this and thus change our relationship, and then you leave me to wake up by myself either tomorrow, or sometime next month, when you grow tired of me, I would hunt your perfect form, mar it slightly by tearing off your limbs, and feeding you to seagulls, or ravens, or vultures or whichever animal happens to gets there first. I play for keeps, Zevran.”

A thrill of worry assailed Ferox and he struggled to not clap everything behind a large impenetrable wall as his assassin sighed pulling away to look down at him. “You really are not so good at math, are you, my friend? How long have I stayed here? Hmmn? Do you think I love Len so much just because he is a baby and needs someone to care for him?” Each statement was accompanied by a stroke over Ferox’s chest or flick of fingers over his cheek. “Or perhaps you have not thought of the fact that he is a part of you... I may get tired - but probably only enough to take a nap.” 

_How long had it been since what?_ Certainly Zevran had arrived at nearly the beginning of the whole ‘we’re off to save the world walking tour of Ferelden’...but he...couldn’t possibly mean then. _How long did he stay afterwards?_ Admittedly it had been years, and Len, as well as the planning for him, was very recent. But Zevran had also told him why he had wanted Len so badly. And, Ferox’s mind stuttered over it, as he hadn’t let himself think about it much in the weeks since it had been said, Zevran had claimed that he loved him. When did it happen...not a few weeks, not more than nine really since Len’s birth, such a short time in the scheme life, but that change from not being loved to being so, was that what Zevran meant? Ferox wanted to capture the fingers that kept track, ticking off his faults, deeds? To distract them from remembering, let alone count them. He knew he had been frozen, still was some days, most days, was chilling right now...and stared at Zevran, praying his fear wasn’t apparent, knowing the confusion probably was if anything did show.

“I originally planned to go with you to your Calling, but I cannot leave Len alone, one of us must stay,” it was sorrowful. “That was the only time I had planned for any actual separation from you, and it will take as long as it takes. Even if this had never been on the table, I would have remained. By your side, until the end, until the fat lady sings and all that. And I still will, until circumstances force you to leave.”

Interrupting, shuddering, “I won’t be going down into some hole. Not so I can become one of those...nightmarish monsters.” _You can’t make me._

His pace faltered, startled eyes refocusing, “What? But the Joining, it protects you from such things.”

The long minutes of silence in the dark, the shovelfuls dirt long since stopped. Shuddering fear washed over him, combined with sight of the the creatures they encountered at the Vigil. To not only be underground, but to be a monster, one to look under the beds and into the closets for… He wished that he could share, and was grateful that he could not show what they saw, the things in the great hole, that they smashed with the giant chandelier, or the worst of the lot, the Mother herself who had looked achingly human even with the appendages and great jiggling mammaries.

Horrified, “No. Never. Anything but that... Those things, those talking darkspawn, I think may be Wardens...were Wardens. And I’ll not be joining their ranks. Ever.” The frost crackled and snapped, “I do not intend to give the Architect, or any other of his ilk, more samples, or any more Wardens to experiment on.” All of the ways he had already considered flashed through his mind, the Fort was always the first, followed by just taking ship and stepping off into the ocean, of course weighed down by some massive armour. The alternatives all covered, the plan has already been made and the fear that he would suddenly be without one nearly choked him, “I _will_ take myself out before I become that monster, that threat. It  will not happen.”

Zevran halted him firmly hand taking his jaw and making Ferox meet his gaze once more, to listen. “Then I will remain by your side for it, and it will _not_ be some gruesome fate. You will _not_ be alone, not ever again. I will see to it myself, so that it is as gentle as possible, and that you are as settled as you can be. I will not let it ever be something you ever feel - that I left you alone to deal with difficult tasks. Never have I willingly let you take on those burdens alone, even when you have shoved me aside, and that is a fact that will not change.”

Ferox nodded, trying to let the fear go, and added this to the stack of alternatives. It would be preferable to the others, but he couldn’t depend on it, things changed, accidents happened, but it was better, oddly...almost comforting. The entire thing still scared him worse than any dragon, Archdemon or otherwise. “Please, I would like that. All of it.” 

“Good, because I will ensure by any means necessary that is what you receive,” his chin was released as Zevran rolled to sit up and yank his tunic off, tossing it atop the bench. “Now, if you do not mind overly, _I_ am finally going to get comfortable. I _despise_ sleeping in clothing. Len makes it a necessity, too many grabby little fingers, but you at least have the good manners - I hope - not to try and tear out piercings. Playing with them is fine, that is what they are there for, but they are still attached!” A final shimmy and trews were whipped from under the blankets and joined the tunic. “Ah - sweet relief,” falling back against the covers beside Ferox. He nearly jumped as a hot hand slid just inside his waistband, “I believe these things work best without barriers if you will recall me saying.”

It was reflexive for his hips to jerk upwards, wanting Zevran’s hand lower, “As you wish.” Tugging off the the offensive ‘barrier’ and quickly folding it. Ferox set his clothing on the nearby chair, “Happy?”

“Hmn, better,” a flash of teeth and the tip of his ears curled then straightened in apparent pleasure.

It was an odd thing to see so close, the control of it was fascinating. Catching one between thumb and forefinger, he rubbed it curiously. The cartilage was warm but not rigid the way a human’s was, and Ferox could feel the pulse of blood vessels against his fingertips.

“How do you do that?” his own eyes widening as the tip curled tightly around his thumb quickly.

A low rumble, “Ferox...mph. They are a touch...sensitive.”

“Len grabs them all the time,” he pointed out, also rather reasonably he believed.

“Yes, but that _hurts_ when he does that. Believe me when I tell you that this does _not_ hurt,” grunting softly, and Ferox felt how tense Zevran had gone beside him, every muscle taut.

“So,” not moving or letting go, softly, “you would like me stop?”

Grimacing, “Not exactly, no. Not as such. But _braska_ it tickles!”

Unable to stop it, Ferox snorted, “Oh? How so?” _Liar._

The hand in his hair tightened yanking him closer, “It is unfair that I cannot do the same to you. Because it _does_ tickle.” Except it didn’t sound like a complaint at all, nor was there any evidence that it might be, considering the press of lean muscle up against him and the tongue gliding over his bottom lip.

Ferox raised an eyebrow, “I would hazard a guess that it is like a tickle on the roof of your mouth. Pleasant, yet not?”

“Close enough,” his brow furrowed in concentration. “Too much sensation on one spot.”

Releasing his catch, in light of the answer, after running a finger lightly to the pointed peak, he chuckled as Zevran moaned and twitched his head involuntarily. Seriously and matter of fact, “Yes, I can clearly see why that might be unfair and why one would wish to avoid it.”

The mock-glare he was shot made his lips twitch with a smile. “Oh, I am going to get you for that.”

Ferox was going to reply but found himself neatly pinned for a moment before teeth dragged down the side of his neck sharply followed by hot, wet tongue sliding back up it.

A bit of temper chilled him for an instant, but Ferox didn’t move and did not act upon it. He knew a game of dominance some enjoyed, like wolves - although, truth told, he had taken advantage of the ear and would do so again given a chance. It was far from unpleasant when done by Zevran, as evidenced by his own growling twitch. Avoiding the ears, for now at least, his hands explored the elf, the shape and feel of muscle under skin. Much more welcome than the softer female form. A sigh knowing that he did not _have_ to pretend here, about anything.

Lips roved over his neck and shoulders slowly after the initial nip and Zevran twisted around yet again, this time so they were on their sides once more. Lazy strokes of long fingered hands moved over his torso, the flat of nail beds scraping bluntly time to time, as the elf pressed his nose here and there, inhaling deeply.

Stretching out an arm, Ferox tucked it under the elf’s head and pulled him closer, arms around him. They had slept similarly before, and it was familiar ground other than the nudity. Which was pleasantly distracting as well as comforting. However, he had other things that needed to be said, explanations and outs given. Truthfully, a part of him was still afraid that Zevran would forsake him for better hunting grounds when he found out what he was getting himself into.

“I will be frank so that you have the opportunity to throw me out now.” The statement was met with an arm tightening around Ferox’s waist and a snort. But he had to say these things, and Zevran deserved to hear them so he had all the information to make an informed decision. “I have been with only one other this way and he meant...much to me. That said, we were both young and it was the first for both of us. It began a year or two before the Blight and if things had been different, perhaps would have lasted even to this day as neither of us gave ourselves lightly. Duty to our families and loyalty to each other meant much to us both. We recognized that our families, being what they were, would perhaps insist that one or the other would have to wed and produce an heir, and that we would somehow fit that into who we were. Thankfully Fergus had already covered that ‘issue’ for me, but Rory had only sisters.” 

He knew that it was coming out like the history recitations, but he had never said any of it aloud before... Or even ventured to think on it, leaving it as locked away as he could afraid that if he pulled the memories out to look at them, they would slip off into the distance, never to be regained. And that would break him.

Zevran’s strong thumb rubbed circles at the base of his spine, “Yes, it is better to work with the lay of the land building a road, than to force the straight line that is desired.”

An odd bit of wisdom, but no less true and Ferox nodded once before forging onward. “The night Howe attacked, I lost not only my parents but everyone else who meant anything to me. I asked...begged really, for Rory to come with Mother and I, but he felt responsible to hold the main door to the inner keep closed, allowing me to get her to safety. I am certain that he could have come, the doors would have held for that time, but he did not. The anger and sorrow you observed when we met, and my reaction to it, was in response to being drug off to save Ferelden while losing absolutely everything.”

“With a large lump or three on your head no doubt,” the words were light but Zevran’s fingers moving over his skull and through his hair made Ferox’s eyes clench shut.

Clearing his throat, “During the Blight, I would have done anything to prevent - and probably did do it - anyone else that I cared about from dying. Or as I saw it at the time, from leaving me. This was the reason I didn’t want to know or care to know anything about our companions. Today, I would step in front of the charging bull or a fire breathing dragon to continue to protect. However, instead of just having you and Len, I now care about this country that you have such fine plans for.” The corner of his mouth curved up for a moment as if laughing at himself, “And ironically, it appears that I have laid my own death at your feet.”

Zevran’s expression stilled. “No, it would not be death, but the only gift left I could give you - freedom from a prison.” There was pain there, quickly squashed to be replaced with the usual deflecting levity the assassin used when something was too raw even years later, “Otherwise it would just be typical of me, which would likely prompt a name change, except for the fact that I cannot be a woman, no matter how often the Crows stuffed me into dresses for certain jobs. So, I suppose, the moniker ‘Black Widow’ would not apply.”

There were no words to comfort or ease that and laughter felt totally inappropriate, not that he was sure he could summon some up anyway. Instead Ferox ducked closer, “Please, don’t be a woman. I ask for very little.”

Hardness pressed to his, “Oh I can assure you of that at least, I am most certainly not a woman.”

Rumbling, “For which I am eternally grateful,” and kissed his...yes, _his_ assassin, “...or thirty years give or take.”

No words just lips on his once more, a strong tongue slithering into his mouth and curling with his, then teasing him to invade Zevran’s mouth. Ferox wasn’t entirely sure where it started, what signal prompted a hand wrapping about his manhood, or what caused him to grasp Zevran’s, or whose moan belonged to whom, only aware that the thick weight in his palm was hot and heavy like silk covered silverite that was somehow studded but he was too busy to investigate yet. And that the hilt worn callus of a thumb felt blissful as it slid over his tip in circular motions - that was all he could notice at first. Following a path of ink and scars, Ferox licked a nipple as it pebbled instantly, an odd hoop that he hooked his tongue through, tugging, hips jerking up and into his grip accompanied by a growl and flex of sinewy body against his as his elf was clearly unwilling to let go of him, just as Ferox was unwilling to let go.

A hiss issued when Ferox, with an interested rumble, sucked on the underside of hot shaft, tasting the hint of sweat there. Focusing on exploring the thick vein that wound just beneath the skin and his tongue encountered tiny gold spheres embedded in the dark flesh, and spanning the short areas between them, an odd thin rod that was covered by delicate skin. Ten spheres, five short rods, spaced closely together at the midway of Zevran’s cock ran over and massaged the flat of his tongue or the inside of his lips as he investigated them thoroughly. One hand was in Ferox’s hair - as usual - while the other went off to some distant clime for no reason Ferox cared about much at the moment, he was too engrossed in his task. But that hand reappeared and moved down twisting under Ferox’s chin, a deep gasp coming shortly when Ferox followed with one digit as his mouth worked its way up to the crown. Another piercing, a ring, was encountered and explored at the flaring head to the sounds of barely there hisses and grunts of encouragement interspersed with Antivan. Bitter-sweet pearls seeped and were licked away, while tight muscles opened at the press of their fingers, Zevran’s guiding him to the hard bundle inside.

Complete fascination, the familiar and unfamiliar colliding, the differences not throwing him off, rather they pulled him along, making him shaky in his own need with each clench or flex. If he could spend all night there he would have, but strong hands pulled at his shoulders, demanding and wanting, just as calves wrapped around his hips, an oil slick palm working over Ferox’s shaft, made him forget for a brief moment what he wanted beyond that touch. Until he was sinking in, tightness, blinding tightness as he worked into Zevran, the clench relaxing and pulling in the same motion around him. Bracing himself under the onslaught, Ferox reached down adding the effort of his hand to his thrusts until there was a long groan and then a snarl as heat flowed over his palm, driving him to a greater pace against the bucking beneath him. Hands were running over him, encouraging, stroking, a limber spine enabling them to kiss, and suddenly there was another arch beneath him, rippling, dragging him along as both fell.

Pulling away gently to not risk doing harm, Ferox slumped onto his side, resting his head on Zevran’s arm. “If you plan on leaving, I’m afraid you’ll just have to leave this limb behind,” teasing dryly, tangling legs and pulling him closer.

A sleepy grumble, “Constantly talking of leaving, when there is a handsome man in my bed - which is rather comfortable as well I may add - seems the height of ill-conceived foolishness, yes? Besides, I will not chew my arm off simply so I can get up to piss. It would be easier to hold it, and you, than to do so much bodily harm for so little gain.” Ferox was poked in the side just before the elf curled in tighter, “As though I would leave anyway. Someone drop you on your head too many times?”

“Phrenology.”

“I have no idea of what it is, but if it is what makes you believe for even a moment that I am leaving this bed before dawn and leaving you alone in it, then whoever created it should be drawn and quartered,” grunted out along with a yawn followed by a sleepy nuzzle. “No more talk of me up and walking away, please, if I have not left by now, I will not be leaving you, ever. Not willingly. You mean too much, and I have lost too much in my life to risk losing what is precious simply over wanting to blow the lamp out or tug the covers up, or whatever inane reason might make me move. Now, if you wanted us to get up and grab a few sandwiches, that would be a different matter entirely.”

Tugging blankets with toes, somehow Ferox pulled them up from where they had been kicked off. He may not be quite as dexterous, but he was cold. “I will do my best, but it is best if I do not promise...it is an old thing that is not done with me.”

“Oh I will give you an old thing that is not done with you, ser,” a squeeze and a long lazy kiss before his blond head hit the pillow once more. “ _Sleep_. The sooner we sleep, the faster we gain a nap, and then when we wake up in an hour or two, I believe you and I have a good many years to make up for.”

A short bark of a laugh, “As you wish.”


	7. The Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same song and dance - errors no doubt exist! If anyone would like to chip in on betaing a chapter here and there, we'd be eternally grateful. Otherwise, we're human and doing our best!
> 
>  
> 
> **Place of Royal Fountains = where the Antivan king resides in our lore. At least one of the palaces. Potential heirs to the Antivan throne get split up amongst some of the other palaces, then of course there are the pleasure palaces in other cities or villas etc.

Waking slower than normal, the first thing that Ferox was aware of, was a tiredness and soreness to his muscles that he didn’t recall earning. It didn’t take long for the memory to be recalled and the rumble reflexively began, if he had been anyone else perhaps it would have been called a satisfied humming or even purr. As this sound filled him, so did the rightness of everything, peace, contentment. The usual fears and anxieties that tried to hold sway over him where not there to be juggled and sorted and scheduled into his day. Noting that it was earlier than normal, he wasn’t certain what had woken him.

Weight on him was the next thing he was aware of. Legs tangled with his, the familiar body on him, scent he wanted, skin on skin, an ear pressed to his chest, hips against his - The rumble deepened as morning wakefulness already greeted the day and he flexed slightly into the heavy warmth atop him. The want, need for this brown creature, who made himself comfortable upon him, called and pulled insistently.

He should be ashes, burnt in the heat of Zevran’s searing joy, yet he was more whole than he had been in a long time, warm himself, melted, happy and content. Ferox gave thanks for the ability to move the night before, to pounce and to keep the light washing over him. In one brief horrible instant he had been uncertain if he shouldn’t have moved, but when the laughter continued and warm golden-brown hands grasped him, he thought he would crack and break as the merriment was pressed against him, burrowing itself in his shoulder, sharing joy.

Wanting to keep this marvelous thing here in this moment, he moved to wrap his arms around this one he treasured and immediately lost everything in an blizzard of panic that rose from the depths. Not only were his legs, ankles and feet caught in the trap, now even his arms were tangled in the sheets and blankets and he was unable to move. The rumble turned to a nasty snapping snarling, that if translated would have been every word that should not be uttered in polite society let alone behind the barn.

“Shh _querido_ , I will get it,” a hand moved over his brow while one of those bronze limbs slid against him, loosening the hold even as the face moved down his torso. 

Quickly Ferox was freed, but he was not relieved, even when wet heat enveloped his length. But strong hands held his hips down as the tongue explored skin and crown. He could do nothing but clutch at his bedding and the assassin’s hair.

Still bereft at the loss of peace and the feelings of tranquility, he had been happy, content until he tried to move. “Why?!?” he groaned, still catching his breath, although Zevran’s ‘investigations’ weren’t helping in that regard. “Why can’t I wake up normal? If... _Maker_ -” he sucked in a sharp breath at a particularly sensitive spot being treated, “...if I sleep without bedding will it still be the same?”

Struggling to stop the spinning and rocking of perspective, Ferox had to close his eyes as the room swayed with sleep and panic and pleasure. Long fingers anchored and trapped him, the torture and sweetness of being swirled and swallowed around, the marching drum cadence and music of groaning hums, shooting around and tangling him in ties even tighter and stronger than linen and cotton sheets and wool bedding. Ferox thought he might have roared, but then there was a tongue in his mouth capturing it. Ferox almost gnashed his teeth, but it was too fast, too hard, too strong, and he couldn’t catch up. Collapsing limply back when he was wrung dry, he shuddered as his brain hurt from too much at once, even as his head was pulled into a lap, fingers carding through his hair soothingly. 

Above him Zevran curled down to press his mouth to Ferox’s temple, chuckling as he withdrew. “I suppose the fact that I prefer to layer sheets does not meet your approval.”

Not certain if he nodded or shook his head, he whimpered, “I don’t know.” Gasping for air Ferox struggled. _I really don’t know, but I am going to die...right here...‘cause I can’t move._ “I don’t...think...I care...right now.”

Hands slid from his hair down his neck to his shoulders, pressing down on his chest lightly. “Mmn... For whatever my apology is worth, you have it. I do not purposefully bind you up like that.”

“Was that what that was?” A breath, steeling himself, “Anythin’ else you might be sorry for, in that case?”

“Oh... I suppose I could come up with a few more things to be sorry for,” twisted and bent over him, the elf’s face pressed into Ferox’s stomach. A light swat to his hip, “But the thing I am most sorry for, is that I have to inform you that the sun has risen and that there is work to be done. However, the apology for that will have to wait.” 

Eyes flickered to window as almost good humour found him, “Then I am sorry too. Not just for that.” _Sorry for freezing you out. In the mountains or on the plain._ “For the years you say you have waited here. I was unwilling or afraid to look.”

He sighed heavily, “This is no mirage? Have I truly reached what I sought? Tell me it is so, and I will believe you, _querido_. I will lay down and stop searching and stumbling onwards, just tell me that this is not the mirage I fear it is.”

“I can’t promise I won’t crackle with frost, but if you laugh, I will thaw in that warmth. Just for you.” _Only for you_. “So don’t spread word of the location of that door you made,” he remained lying there with his head in Zevran’s lap, focusing warm brown eyes on him with full attention.

“Tchk, and there goes the fortune I could have made,” faintly sarcastic. “No, no I will not be pointing out that door to any, other than Len, not that he will need it. Difficult I should think for one door to need another door,” he shrugged.

“Often large gates have smaller doors set in them. It depends on if what needs to be on the other side is just a man or not. Although, I expected you to scale the walls.” 

He made a face as he slid from the bed finding clean clothes, “Have you ever sought to scale sheer granite that is frozen? Hmn? Rather difficult, no matter the quality of gear. I have, and allow me to say that it was quite unpleasant the multiple times I slipped. Unlike most dangerous undertakings, there was no joyous thrill, only a very long, ugly drop. I do not mind death, or even gruesome death, nor do I mind heights, but that was a very, very long way to fall.”

“And here I thought you would compare me to a frozen waterfall. Dress, even though you prefer otherwise.” A grin that hinted he did too before quickly moving through the frozen office unlocking the door on his way by so that the fire could be lit and breakfast brought.

He found himself doing something odd, feeling something strange. He looked at the upcoming day, minus a few unwelcome items that needed attending, he was truly relaxed and pleased. Not the pleasure of a well-laid plan, or the assurance that no one would bother him - because they would - but the fact that somehow he had made a necessary leap. Like some puzzle-piece that had finally found its spot, turned, and clicked into place neatly. 

Although every day since Zevran had confronted him had been slightly different, handing him something new, waiting until he was comfortable, then moving him forward again before he became settled and complacent. It was a series of starts and stops, thankfully most of it familiar, similar having been either observed or experienced directly. Yes, even last night and that morning. He almost laughed wondering what new thing Zevran would throw at him, wanting to see what he would do. If he was not careful he could end up in the nursery reciting to more than just Len. _I am certain there will be private Warden business to attend to too_ , knowing he could get a message to Nathaniel so he could back him up, all before his assassin and all around spymaster could get there.

XXX

No less than four colicky babies had been located in addition to one or two who could be counted on to reliably cry when placed in the arms of strangers.

He had said, ‘What shall I give her now?’ He had thought, ‘It would be done as I care not the cost.’ Somehow, however, Ferox did not expect this. He carried a screaming little dark-haired child on a planned route to give her Royal Harpyness the best sound effects without being within throttling range. The corridor under hers had the most paths worn in it, although for variety, and to work on the thigh muscles, the tower stairs near Anora’s room were wonderful. He had taken to stuffing cotton in his ears when he climbed the stairs as the echoes could get quite loud depending on the child doing the wailing. 

When an infant stopped crying, or the ‘walker’ grew tired, the next crying child would be picked up or a new ‘walker’ would take over. One person in the nursery, two sleeping, and one walking. After his first turn in the nursery, Ferox was thrown out and put on double walking duty instead...apparently the babies in the nursery were crying louder than the one who was being walked.

After the first night, Zevran had the best route mapped, which they had each memorized. Moira needed constant reminding not to sing or jiggle the babies, and Ferox had to be reminded not to rumble, although snarling and growling was allowed, as it made the child in question cry louder. Even Nathaniel was pressed into service, and he located Anora’s chimney and had a warmly dressed child bawling into the stone opening.

The only bad parts of this plan that Ferox could see were, all of them, although giggling and acting silly, were very tired, and he didn’t get to spend much time with Zevran, which made his snarling and growling nearly perpetual as he took his double walking duty, and worse Ferox, knew that as the Prince Consort, he was eventually going to be called into account by Anora - as if his primary responsibility was for the nursery - and he was going to have to either contain an increasingly waspish attitude, let the temper out a little to be ‘sent away’ on his much needed trip or just fall asleep as she was talking...any one or more of these things could potentially happen the more nights it went on.

XXX

Anora’s rooms were dim when he entered, finally summoned to her side, “Dearest, we must have words I’m afraid.”

Wincing, but keeping his voice low and even, “Yes? How may I be of assistance, my dear?”

“The incessant crying, it makes me worry over our son,” there were dark bags under her eyes, and the lines at the corners of her mouth were tight and very present. “Is he so unwell that he cannot gain himself a decent night’s sleep?”

He couldn’t prevent the heavy sigh, but it worked well in the situation, mirroring her own exhaustion, “I am afraid that the colic has taken him rather hard, and the nursery staff have tried nearly every healthful and safe route of easing it. Not even my own presence, which normally calms him, does anything. And walking with him has done nothing to quiet his nightly ordeal either. It is an inconsolable thing, not abnormal I am told. Even Nathaniel Howe mentioned that he had issues with colic as a child. Something to do with the poor air of large cities.”

There was an almost desperate and wild look in her blue eyes before it was masked. “There is nothing to be done then? How long does it take for this to pass?”

Ferox shook his head sadly, “I’m not entirely sure, darling.” He made himself reach out and lay a hand on hers, recoiling internally at the contact. “For some children this goes away in a few months, others not until they are a year or even three years old in extreme cases. It is something we will just have to cope with for the joy of parenthood.”

He almost couldn’t keep a straight face at that mouthful, covering it by a sip of the tea. It was rather good, pity Zevran had added his evil little ingredients to it. Not that those effects bothered him much except for a mild pressure behind his eyes if he didn’t consume the antidote shortly. But that could have been the lack of sleep or the lack of time with sandalwood and spice filling his head. 

Ferox would give Anora credit - she didn’t shudder at that information. “Something must be done. Even though it is a wrenching thought, perhaps he shouldn’t be kept in Denerim with the poor air quality here. I cannot bear the thought of him in such pain when there might be better air for him elsewhere.”

Frost broke over him at the thought she felt any pain _for_ Len. She had not once been to the nursery, held him, or even done more than glance at him if Ferox passed by with his son in his arms. Right then he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around her slim neck and squeeze until life was crushed out of her. Even if he had never liked Anora, he would have thought she had at least some interest in the child she had carried in her body and laboured to deliver. In any event, it didn’t matter other than how wrong it seemed, as Len was cared for deeply by others who easily substituted for the hag.

“Perhaps a trip to Highever might be arranged within a few days... I received a letter from my brother announcing the birth of a child at about the same time Calenhad was born. Perhaps, if the air does not provide the cure, Alise would know of another available remedy?” 

“If it has even the possibility of working, then it should be undertaken immediately for our son’s sake,” Anora was firm. “Have your assistant take care of the details, while Howe sees to ordering up the supplies for the entourage. His nurses will likely need to join you, and I want at least a full patrol of guards for his care and safety. There is also the matter of sending the appropriate gifts for the imposition, I believe Alise was quite impressed with the teapot you had gifted me with. Find one as soon as possible and some of that delightful hot drink from Antiva. Cocoa, yes, that.”

“Consider it done, my darling, I will not wait one moment longer than absolutely necessary.” The relief was hard to hide, but a little bit would either be missed or mistaken to be concern for Len. He used it to focus as he girded himself and kissed Anora on the cheek, cupping the other as a loving husband would, and then pressed his mouth to hers. Inside he nearly heaved with the revulsion, if she had been any other person, if she had even actually cared about Len...but the lips were too soft, the smell was terribly wrong, nothing was right. But with the relief and the knowledge that he would have a great deal of time away from her and the constraints of the palace, he could summon up the strength to do this small action. “I have missed you, my darling, but as soon as we are able...”

Anora shivered for a moment before pulling away. “I know. But not right now, dearest. There are more important things to attend to than the marriage-bed and our union.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” ‘chastened’, he pulled away wanting to spit and wipe his mouth clean. “It has merely been a very long time and there has been so much to do.”

With heavy steps he left her quarters then bounced down the tower steps to where Nathaniel and Zevran were working, a place which would soon be Nathaniel’s office. Down the stairs, proper dower face in place presenting himself as an exhausted man, which was true, he knocked before entering. With one glance at Nathaniel and a quick sending through the amulet, the Warden rose to his feet and excused himself. 

Ferox shut and locked the door behind the new seneschal.

Zevran’s look was concerned and he set his work aside quickly and stood, “Something is wrong, what is it my friend? Tell me so that I might fix it.”

Growling he stepped closer. “Yes, we have a problem,” stepping into Zevran’s space. Taking the elf’s hand, he pressed the palm to his lips. Muttering against the dark skin, “I had to kiss Anora and I’m not happy.”

“I had to deal with someone forgetting that the chamberpot is not to be emptied from a high place,” it was rueful. “I was not happy with that much either. But work goes on, yes? We remind ourselves to ignore the distasteful things, and sweeten ourselves with something to wash away the disgust.” Ferox was about to say something, only he was cut off by Zevran tugging on his collar to bring him down the scant inches, the palm pressed to his lips sliding away easily and affixing itself against the side of his neck. “But this I can sweeten far more easily than requiring a full change of clothes and a bath.” 

“Unfortunately that _is_ required, else I will remove my skin.”

Zevran shook his head once, leaning up and kissed him. It wasn’t hot or demanding, but it was present. His mouth was a man’s mouth still, proper, not pasted and sticky with paints, the hint of something molasses sweet but not overpowering on his breath. Ferox stood still, otherwise he would have done far more than allow it to happen, but he did focus on the sensation and details to attempt to blot out the sickness in him.

The assassin pulled away, hands running and ensuring there were no wrinkles in his tunic. “Slightly better for now, I hope?”

A hint of a grin, “Better enough to tell you to start packing. Apparently Len’s presence is no longer required at Court and we are to escort him to Highever, my good man.” Ferox came close to pulling Zevran into a few steps of a formal court dance but instead watched the golden eyes for their reaction.

The hoped for light broke out, twinkling them within the faint lines that framed them in echoes of rays. The fatigue that was so well hidden was pushed back, apparent from its receding. “Well then, we no doubt have much paperwork to do, and tonight Moira can deal with Len easily enough.” 

Of course, the charade would have to continue until they actually left. “We would hate to have the vacation...exile withdrawn, our poor, poor boy, he will be so disappointed.”

Teeth flashed in a quick smile. “The others can handle that this evening. You and I both need rest before we can do more than get the ball rolling... Or our fatigue shall make it difficult to do our duties and keep wits about us when we finally ride out on those nags the stablemaster continues to insist upon calling ‘horses’.” One of Ferox’s hands was taken, kissed, then he was pushed towards one of the chairs. “In the interest of appearances, you and I had both best do a bit of work here. Not too long of course. Just a bit of it, yes?”

The tiredness returned, “The Queen has given me a list...gifts to be prepared with her compliments for taking in her squalling son. But your Antivan goods were the first things she named.”

“Oh? Then those should be easy enough to procure, Ignacio has been holding a good deal of the more expensive items to begin trickling out,” a brow quirked high as he rested his weight on a leg, arms crossed. “ _I_ am waiting anxiously for the dwarf varieties of trees, and a large container of seeds and cuttings. Sadly they will not be here for the next few shipments. Perhaps I will beg a bit of coffee from him one of these days, as he taunts me with its smell every time I visit the old buzzard. Bastard.”

Nodding, “Cocoa?” Coffee reminded him of one of the harpy’s specific requests. “And a teapot for Alise.”

“Mmn, best add a few pounds of sugar to that then and a good measure of the spiced blended tea,” the elf snagged a small booklet and double checked the items with a nod. “I take it because of the cost of the gifts, she is sending us in a large group? Official business then, a tour and introduction of cousins?” 

“Exactly...leastwise that is her excuse. She looked simply terrible, even in the shuttered room...must be staying up nights.” Innocently, “I wonder why. I offered to keep her company, but sadly,” not sadly at all, “I was turned down.” Snorts did nothing to hide the shudder. “However, I did think of something. I think she needs a present...a reliable replacement for Erlina, one she would find...serviceable?”

Coming around to lean over the chair, draping arms over Ferox’s chest so he could press his cheek to his, “ _Querido_ , at this rate, there will be more Crows on staff than there are in the Royal Palace of Fountains**. Not that I am _complaining._ No, I jest. I will look into it.” Zevran shifted to whisper in his ear, voice and words thrumming into his brain, drowning out meaning over sensation momentarily, “However, if we keep her in tea long enough, and you push often enough, she may just tell you to take a lover for yourself so that she does not have to deal with your husbandly urges any longer.” 

Ferox’s eyes closed, breathing in his favourite scent, “I care not how many Crows or what the Harpy wants...I want only you.” His hands rested on Zevran’s hips still wanting more, but content.

“It is a good thing then that I am here, and that I will be going nowhere, hmn? At least, not without you,” a kiss was pressed to the side of his face in several spots, the soft wet sound of lips to flesh barely audible as the arms around his shoulders squeezed. “Until time or circumstances forces it to be otherwise, but even those will be temporary, hmn? To the Black City and back, I will be by your side always.”

Contentedly sighing, “Thank you...even though I plan on avoiding the Black City this trip.”

Low laughter, “ _Como desees, mi hermoso amante._ ” [As you wish, my handsome lover.] Another thrum, “And it pleases me that this time when it comes to bedrolls on the ground, I will not be alone.”

The sun was there and he was happy. They were leaving, all of them...well everyone he cared about. Nathaniel and his excellent skills notwithstanding...somebody had to be sacrificed to the Harpy...the poor sot. Unfortunately the scowl would be more firmly embedded when they returned. Nate’s laughs even at the Vigil were rare and usually at others’ expense. However, this excellent plan would have a reward, now if only someone clever, who had some sleep under their belt, would think of it by the time they returned.

XXX

Ferox was trying not to snarl as he folded clothes, stuffing his gear into packs and a trunk. Habits too ingrained dictated he had one pack that he carried with vital items and gear. Her Harpyness had insisted on a royal carriage for Len. _Do we have so many children that putting my son at risk is wise?!_ With a particularly vicious shove of a pouch of whetstones and oil into his pack, he had to pull back and shake his head once. Zevran was silent but for his soft teeth-whistle-hum, something he had long since stopped noticing, but right now it was bothering him. 

“ _Hamin, querido,_ ” [Peace, beloved] the assassin didn’t look up from his task. “I have told Ignacio that it would be to his further benefit if those guards are his in our colours. It might be a fifth of his cell, but they are all loyal to their jobs. Nothing gets past Crows when it comes down to it. If we were not so costly to produce, imagine an army of them.” 

Ferox paused, wincing. “I’d rather not, thanks.”

“Well then, nothing to fear but fear itself, mmn?” 

“And shleets,” he muttered.

The elf shook his head tutting, “The fanciful words of a drunk. I think you meant another word there. But if it is any consolation, I doubt there will be more than the one sheet. Ah, back to bedrolls on hard lumpy ground, except at inns.”

“ _You_ ,” shaking a finger, “do not plan on sleeping on the ground.”

“Of course. I will be bringing my favourite mattress,” grinning. 

“Good, then I will have two bedrolls.” nearly smiling back as he tried to stay stern.

“And two sheets,” he pointed out. “Instead of one. Good, then I will be rescuing you in the morning and giving proper apologies.”

Ferox was not certain if he wanted to wince or actually grin, he fell on his standby and sighed, “At least there is that.”

A box that Ferox hadn’t thought of in ages appeared and was opened during their packing. The contents, the small bag of ashes that once were puppeteer strings, “You have not gotten rid of it. Odd. What on earth possessed you to keep it?”

Twitching, “I had forgotten about it,” a hint of a growl as he rubbed at a wrist then the back of his neck at the sight. Truly over the past few weeks he had forgotten, but there it was again. In light of what had occurred during that time, it could be true...right? Clenching and releasing a fist, it was entirely possible...that was the problem. Zevran had come up with the entire notion and trip to Kirkwall, something he did admit to later. Ferox was angry that these ideas were even entertained by his mind. Feeling that by these thoughts that he was being disloyal to Zevran, he snapped, ”Why are you dragging that out now?”

His head cocked, “It was atop some of your winter tunics.” Wincing, he watched Zevran open the box and heft the light leather pouch. “I found it odd that you had bought climbing rope of such quality, except when I thought about it, I knew that this sort of...packaging was not your style at all. It is a Crow thing when mocking a target. A nice, large Feastday style box. So, it was not from you, but for you. Or, even perhaps me, as I see no reason why any should give _you_ , a warrior, a rogue’s tool.”

Growling softly, “Well then, you really missed out on the chocolates. They were even more entertaining.” Immediately, he wished he had not said anything. _Let it go. Do not ask. You already know._ Ferox did not want to have this talk, didn’t want to argue about it either, but frankly, he was the only one arguing and it was with himself, which made him even more angry.

Brows furrowed quizzically, then bounced high in understanding, as though he had rifled through his own experiences. “Braska! A Crow sent you one of _those_ warnings? Who did you anger?” Zevran dropped the pouch approaching him quickly and grabbed his biceps. “Who do I need to kill to keep you safe?!”

“No one and I didn’t do it.” Defensively, “He just has a...a warped sense of humour.”

“‘He’? You knew the Crow who... Oh. I see,” Ferox was released as suddenly as he had been grabbed. “A duplicate then. Hmn? No need to say, I can see it in your eyes. Very well. Warped indeed.” A muscle jumped in the assassin’s jaw as he turned away. “Then the ropes were for me. How nice.”

Twitching again, “In a roundabout way...let it go.”

Zevran moved over to the box, snatching up the pouch and flinging the shutters on the windows open, upending the contents, and watched the ashes fly away. “I have, but you have not, quite clearly. Not entirely, else it would not have had to be me to get rid of what I thought was a source of discomfort. Obviously I cannot undo whatever thing he did to make you so...uncomfortable, but I can still try, yes?”

“Until the last child is obtained, there is no use ‘getting over it’, as I will have to return there...it is in front of me as well as behind. Let this go.” Nearly throwing up his hands, he gave up packing because he had stopped watching what he was putting in.

Agitation in each movement, Zevran twisted to put his back to the wall, arms crossed and stared him down. “You press me until I say what is wrong, what is bothering me, even when I do not think there is anything there. You expect me to not do the same? _Querido_ , do not be so foolish, it is unlike you.”

“Then you have some idea of what can throw me, yes?”

Eyes narrowed to slits, “A duplicate of myself, one that has left a lasting...impression shall we say? That has you staring hours at night at a box filled with ropes. And even after I destroyed them, you still would stare at it. And now, you are seeking to cover up whatever has you so...out of sorts. What happened?”

“How many of Anora’s Own did I leave with? And how many returned?” Remembering the few remaining who were tossed into the deep grave dug in the garden there and the few remaining he had turned...or at least turned long enough for Zevran to have fun with.

“So he killed a few of the dogs nipping your heels, and not cleanly. Gruesomely if his ‘humour’ is such as you have implied,” his voice had turned silken.

Frostily, “Oh the package was quite neat, I assure you. Not a hair out of place, as it were.”

Unlike the other, his Zevran did not reach for a familiar hilt as though caressing a lover each time violence threatened. Instead his assassin went eerily still, blurring at the edges as though he were ready to yanking a cloak of shadows around himself. “What did he do to you? What did he threaten you with?” A hefty pause, “More importantly - what do you _owe_ him?”

“Other than threaten with Vigilance at his shoulder - not my sword...another duplicate - he did nothing after I repaired what Anora’s Own ‘helped’ with. As for debt, he received his payment; I sent you the list of what he required. Nothing more.” Still cold, still wanting out of this discussion, he waited for the argument he could feel coming.

The blurriness faded slowly, but the arms didn’t uncross. “Alright then, why are you so unsettled by him? You are not telling me something. What is it?”

Jaw tightening, muscles jumped. “If Avernus can make an amulet, I will _show_ you.”

His eyes closed, head thudding back against the wall, “Very well. It will have to do for now.”

Moving to the mantle, he took down the tile sized rune stone, a tree painted on it, the veins could almost be seen on the leaves. “This is what she gave me. Which is why I want to go to the Circle Tower.”

“To gain your Tranquil, yes,” an unseen, but likely, nod.

“You ask of _that_ ,” gesturing to the box, “but you do not question _this_?” setting it back on the mantle to be packed with the rest of his gear.

A humourless laugh, “ _That_ does not discomfort you. _That_ does not make you turn to ice once more. _That_ is not a threat.”

“He guarded her, there is not one without the other. You found her, and therefore found him.” This time he did throw up his hands before throwing himself to the chair before the fire. _Didn’t I say that I did not wish to argue?_

He didn’t hear Zevran’s approach, only suddenly felt him there, sitting on the armrest beside him. “You welcome the runestone. You welcome Len. You will welcome another child. These things do not agitate you, do not make you tense up, shut down, and gnash your teeth. Do I do these things to you? Do I make you so uncomfortable, that you would draw away? Is he so fearsome that you could see me taking on that countenance and doing the same kinds of harms for _amusement_?”

“No, and if you did, unlike him, you would have to jump to look me in the eye.”

“Pardon?” the weight of an unseen hand came down on his shoulder, it did not squeeze or threaten to, it was merely there - another difference. “I do not jump to look you in the eye. Mph, possibly crane my neck at an angle, but you Ferelden _shemlen_ are taller than Antivan ones.”

“Nor are we nose to nose when we stand.” _Could be all the salt you complain about,_ flickered through his mind - a thought which was quickly squelched.

A snort, the hand slipping to rest on the back of his neck, thumb rubbing at the vein near his throat. “It would be pleasant to be of that height, I must admit. But he is an elf, and I do not believe it is possible for us to be that tall. Not...naturally in any case.”

Muttering, “I wouldn’t have said anything about him was natural at all. Grown, crafted, created, forged, oh yes. Avernus would have great fun with that one, if he didn’t make him himself. The very stink of the blood and pain, was under whatever scents he poorly covered it with; he would certainly have pleased the wizard. At first, I thought he held the strings of the healer, then I thought perhaps she controlled him like some leashed demon.”

“And what do you think now?”

“Neither. He’s not her puppet, nor is she his. Neither is bound by strings yanked this or that way by the other. They were, are opposites, yet complementary.” _She is everything natural, and he...isn’t. At all._ The mere thought made him shudder.

It was odd to say the least when a shadow slid into his lap, hands on his face, leaving him staring at a vague shape. “What is it that plagues you on this then, _querido_? He is not me, I am not him.”

“It could have been,” another shudder. “It could have happened to you, turning you into...what was the word she used to describe him, a _saar_ [dangerous] thing?”

Arms wrapped around him, the shadow falling away. “Ah,” as though he completely understood, all of it uttered in that tiny sound. 

Weight and warmth seeped in and he felt through their tunics Zevran’s heart beating steadily against his chest. Thawing enough, he force himself to wrap his arms around his assassin. “I would show it, so you would know, she showed me much, how to share things that way.” Taking a breath, Ferox continued trying to explain where the fear lay, “He was wrong, so bloodied, the the hair on the back of my neck stood up. His strength was enough to bruise skin though armor by a squeeze, denting it for a time. If _saar_ means dangerous, then I have met nothing more so, armed only with the word of another Warden, and what trust I could find to give. When he thought I had threatened something she cared for, I was certain my moments were numbered. When I thought I knew who he was and what he wanted, he wasn’t that and those weren’t his desires. Every time I met him, it was as if the personalities were different, fluid...it wasn’t right. And yet she stood there, leaning into him, looking up into his face, trusting him...when I would have gotten as near to him as I would have tangled with the Archdemon alone.” 

“Mabari. Most who had no knowledge of them saw one in battle, then later one upon a street, they would go no closer to it if they valued life or limb,” the arms were loose, the face in his neck warm, so warm, vital and right. Ferox turned his head slightly to breath in the scent as he listened. “Perhaps she views him the same way as those who know of mabari do. You are a potential threat to her, so he showed his teeth, ready to strike you down, yes? Next time, think of Horse with Len sprawling on him and gumming an elbow. Or when Elissa took it into her head to put bows on the poor hound.”

Snorts. _It was funny and the hound just sat there waiting for her to finish so he could run off and show everyone how pretty he was._

Zevran sat back enough to look him in the eye, and it was not disconcerting, only steadying. “Show no teeth of your own and perhaps he will let you put bows in his hair.”

“I didn’t think I had! Until I discovered I had been ‘assisted.’ Needless to say, there was a real hanged man that night.”

“Mn, the box was an actual present,” the side of his mouth pursed. “You went from possible threat to additional defender. Like the runestone, a parting gift to help you somehow.”

“The strings? I do not see that at all, given the other references.”

A sigh, deft fingers fussing with his braid and undoing it so they could move through it unencumbered. “Frightening and unnatural, worries over what could have been. Too much ‘wrong’ with what should be familiar and safe, yes? Then now strings. What references, _querido_? Release it.”

Sighs, “He must have figured out why I was there, because you placed me there, on that path, doing what you wanted. I was your puppet in his eyes, dancing to your tune, being controlled. And then you tell me this thing yourself. I had forgotten it until you brought out the box, but it was true.” 

“That I was controlling you?” the hands paused.

“That I was doing what you wanted without knowing why. That I was being manipulated. When I saw the box again,” reluctantly admitting what caused him to anger, “I immediately began to question more than just that trip even though I _did_ not, _do not_ , want to.” _I want no strings, the way they had none. You only have to ask and I will do as you wish. But don’t bind me, please Zevran, don’t bind me like that. Not you._

“What would you have me tell you Ferox? There were too many things that we each needed, and were not going to receive in any fashion unless one of us did act. I never saw it as doing more than showing you and then you deciding to tread a path. There has always been the option of you not doing a single thing, while yes, I would use reasons you would accept to chose what I wished you to chose,” he hung his head faintly, eyes closed, face tense. “If I gave you enough reasons to do something, then you would _wish_ to do what it was. But if there was no reason beyond finding a modicum of peace in your world on any level, you would not seek it. And I would be forced to continue to sit and watch and ache with helplessness, because I could not forsake you. I could not walk away no matter the opportunities provided. Yet it was always an option for you to not do anything, I cannot force you to do that which you do not wish to do.”

“I know this, and even having this knowledge, I still would go...still will go. It is right, careful, and insures what is needed. However, _they_ didn’t have that, and he was mocking me for it. He also thought that I believed I was holding your strings...I don’t want them, Zevran.”

“You did not know what to do without the thought that you had something over me, some reason to make me stay, because yourself was not something anyone would stay for,” a sharp tug on his scalp. “Foolish. I did what I had to, to make it so that you would not _force_ me to leave. You would have, if you thought it was a situation you had no control over. That is why you made the others go. But no, easily controlled and maintained and ever so useful Zevran, well, he could stay.”

Growling, “I had released you first...before the others.”

“Because you wished me to go, because you were afraid. But then I showed you my leash and put it in your hand, in terms you could understand, and showed you that it was worth the effort of holding.” Zevran moved to rest his forehead to Ferox’s, breathing the same air. “But then when you saw how easy it was to maintain and gain something useful, you were able to keep me nearby. And so I waited. You changed once, you could change again if given reasons you could accept.”

Ferox cried out as if he was being struck, “I don’t want a leash, I don’t want strings, on either of us. As I have said before, I just want _you_!” _If I cannot trust you or you cannot trust me, put me out of my misery._

Vague annoyance flashed over his bronzed elven features. “At no time did I want that for either of us as well. But I am a pragmatist, _querido_ , and was willing to do what was necessary.” The fingers in his hair twitched, half rubbing half yanking as Zevran growled, nuzzling at him. “You have always had me.”

“We have had little sleep must be saying the same thing. I don’t regret how we came to...well everything until we started packing. I already knew of the strings. Nothing has changed except now you have an idea why I may have feared him. I don’t fear you, else I would not be here, or trust that when you bind me that you will release me, or to hold you this way and be held. Once there is sense in us brought about by sleep, or I can show you this thing, we will only continue in tearing down what we have built, something I wish to avoid.”

Another sigh and the motion of a nod brushed their faces against each other. But Zevran didn’t get up or relinquish his hold, he only sat there for a long, quiet time with Ferox’s arms around him. Sharing the same space and reflecting warmth to the other and back. Ferox wasn’t cold at all by the time they returned to packing, and he said nothing as he broke down the box and tossed it on the fire while Zevran pretended to not watch. _No strings. No leashes. Just us._


	8. May Need To Amputate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual: We're human (R - I feel like a puffer fish sometimes all bloated and cranky and I frequently hear B go on about being a zombie) and do our best to catch egregious errors. Anyone willing to lend a hand on neatening up our stuff, even for just a chapter here and there, we would love you forever. Otherwise, we've done what we can, and hope you enjoy!

Len was _fascinated_ by the outdoors. And with Zevran’s jingling armour. And horses. It was hard not to laugh at every shocked and surprised face he made, little mouth becoming an ‘o’ of delight, tiny little dark brows shooting up high. Every time a new sound came, his head would swivel in that direction, searching the whole time for understanding. Everything was new to Len, who met that newness not with tears as many babies would - so Moira had informed him - but with laughter and stares of wonder.

During one of the easier stretches of road, Eleanor had poked her head out of the carriage and stared so longingly at Zevran on his horse, that the assassin had fallen back enough to pluck her through the small window. This gained squeals of laughter as she was placed before him in the saddle.

Sidling up, uncharacteristically, “Speaking as a sibling, one will be jealous. Give me that one and go get the other,” Ferox directed. He was more relaxed on the road, doing something real instead of what had become his usual routine - sitting in his office reading, giving orders, and sparring in the afternoons for a short time.

Chuckling, the assassin controlled his steed with nothing but his knees, hoisting the kicking and still giggling girl up and passing her over. “ _Como desees._ Gossamer candies, here have one.”

Big blue eyes like her mother’s turned up to look at him brightly, “Greetings Your Highness! I like horses. You smell nice. I’ve never been on a horse. They smell nice too.”

Behind him there was commotion as the carriage door was opened while still in motion and Elissa braved a leap, trusting Zevran to catch her, which he did gracefully, plucking her mid-air. Moira was admonishing her to be careful, and telling the elf that he was ‘totally incorrigible’ as he ducked the mock threat of an unthrown shoe. The unobtrusive Crow guards didn’t react to any of it, silent, and Ferox had a flash of what an army of them might be like, and suppressed a shiver as he adjusted Eleanor in his lap, who pressed her back to his chest, using him a bit like a chair. She smelled of berries of some sort, or jam. Prattling on, she barely gave him time to answer half of a question before the next one was asked. Ferox quickly realized he was giving too much information and restrained himself to ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, only explaining briefly or further when requested.

It should be quiet between Denerim as the patrols were regular enough and because of the near constant messages traveling between himself and the Wardens at Vigil’s Keep.

Of course, Zevran, ever the optimist, always looked at the destruction as a good start for ‘renovation’ of Denerim. The blasted elf, always planning, making lists, and dancing around everything, had effectively gotten fingers - no, more like _giant, scooping fists_ \- into everyone’s pies, and there was not a building contract that did not cross his desk first before it was approved. There were moments when Ferox thought his handsome assassin might be rather insane. At least for efficiency, grace and stability. Either that or he was a supreme workaholic.

The good news was, that back then, the rabbit warrens of warehouses were mostly demolished. The bad news, was that many goods and foodstuffs had been lost. The warrens hid many gangs and other bandits in their twisty paths, ones they themselves had the pleasure of bumping into once upon a time. That was then, just after Urthemiel was slain, and now things were further along towards stability. Thankfully those twisting warrens were gone as the new warehouses were built in neat rows that were easier to patrol and being offset, were easier to defend, should an aggressive force sail into the harbour. In addition, food was still highest on the priority to being processed through channels to get it out to the population and away from the damp, and where it was most at risk, even so many years after the Blight’s end. Until this year’s harvests came in, they were living close to the belt, just as it had been most years, as storehouses were still understocked. The imports, or rather, returning refugees - yes, he was aware that many who came were not originally Ferelden, but it did not matter as their labour was needed, not their original affiliation - had already made contributions to rebuilding and locating farms where, although the inhabitants had been slain, the crops had been left mostly alone or gone to seed. Ferox nearly laughed, realizing that these things, his usual duties, continued to dog his heels even when he was supposed to be free of them.

“Is it very heavy?” a finger poked at his gauntlet before trying to worm its way into the gap between forearm and metal.

Returning to the present in a blink, “At first, yes.” _Where do all of these questions come from? Is there a well that they are fished out of in giant buckets? Each thing observed leads to a question. Each question has three more, only one of which was related to the first._

Eleanor nodded sagely, “Ohhh...” She twisted around to look up at him, “You smile more now. Pa-Zevran says you check for darkspawn and can protect us from them. My Papa met darkspawn and then he didn’t come home. But now, now he’s home! Because you and he went and made them go away.” She added with a slight frown, “I’m not allowed to call Papa, ‘Papa’ anymore. Mommy says to call him ‘Zevran’.”

He frowned for a moment, and then did what was difficult, but was becoming more natural, despite how hard it was. Softly so only she could hear, “You remember how sometimes he talks in different languages?” He watched as she nodded, “Zev means Papa, but you can’t tell him I told you. It’s a secret.” _And I’m not going to be the one to tell you about this either, Zevran._ No, Zevran would not hear it from him, not upon pain or torture, or threats of candies.

She lit up, similar to how Len would when Ferox picked him up and kissed one of those fat cheeks, as she twisted enough to hug his arm. “You’re smart!” Little hands went to her mouth as she giggled without sound, twinkling like Saturnalia lights with little mirrors reflecting it. “Our secret!” Eleanor settled in then glanced back at him, “He gives you my hugs right? Right? He said he would. He always does what he says he will. Eli thinks you’re handsome and always gives you kisses.”

“Zevran always gives me my share. Thank you,” with a bit of pleased rumble creeping in. Ferox didn’t want sweets and recognized the situation for what it was, another trap into which he had stepped, willingly and by his own request. Soon they would be taking over his office...the scene he had previously visualized came another step closer.

He was thankful when she quieted, except straightening up when something interested her in the countryside, but mostly she just leaned back, content to watch the road pass by. The pace was sedate, not particularly having the same urgency he was used to for travel on roads. As a lone or very small group of riders, the distance covered would be nearly double what it was by nighttime. However, two baggage and supply wagons, twenty guards, a carriage, a few teamsters, and some servants...well. It was certainly not the most efficient modes of transit. _Next time we’ll take a bloody ship to Amaranthine. I don’t care if it’s a skiff, it will still be faster._

XXX

Unlike some nobles, Ferox had no issue lending his shoulders and back to putting up tents and preparing other camp necessities. Around him, the Crows bustled, short bursts of chuckles here and there, everyone settling in as though they had all worked that way before. Camp made, cook fires lit, several pheasant and a portion of a deer brought down by enterprising outriders lent their sizzling scents to the air. The rest of the deer was being treated and dressed out for meat for the coming days of travel. Amongst those scents, there were also odd spices, giving the familiar landscape and scene a foreign air. Most of the food supplies brought were basic and not very much to it, as the plan was to live off the land, or barter for anything in excess of the bags of potatoes, onions, grain, jerky and similar hardy and transportable goods they had brought with them. They had brought enough to last them to Amaranthine, where they would restock, but not much more, as Ferox hadn’t wished to pull too hard on the limited stocks of what the storehouses in Denerim held. And of course the Antivans had brought their own additions for flavour to what was simple and hearty fare, creating the conflicting atmosphere of known and unknown.

Amaranthine was better off after the Blight’s end, and seven years later it was even better, as it had taken on the increased ship traffic and trade that Denerim was unable unable to contend with given the state of its port. If one wanted to find a ship traveling to Orlais or other stops between on the Waking Sea, Amaranthine was becoming a busier port than Denerim. A ship in just about any other direction was more likely there. One of the disadvantages of having an Archdemon make her camp in your city, was things tended to combust or be destroyed. The darkspawn attack at Amaranthine left the port fairly intact, unlike the farmholds. Then again, there was no Archdemon belching hellfire in giant gouts. There was still so much to do, much had been started, much to continue doing...tomorrow.

But for now it was nearly time for sleep. Zevran made his rounds as Ferox spent time with Len, who was a particularly sleepy baby tonight after all the excitement. It was strange how something so small could grow so quickly in importance.

Picking him up under the armpits to hold him up and look into drowsy blue-brown eyes, “You seem as though you have had a very large day today. A long march and you held up very well.” A foot that had just been put into fresh socks pushed towards his chin, the little mooshed nose turning up as it crinkled. “I take it this means you are still awake enough for more history?” It wasn’t particularly excited, but it was definitely a pleased sound that came from little lungs. “Well then, let’s get you settled in and I’ll tell you about...” Ferox searched his memory as Horse flopped onto his large side, providing a backrest. “Mabari.”

Ferox had barely gotten started when a hand went to a tiny ear, tugging on it as though trying to make himself stay awake. Making his voice lower and increasing the burr in it, Ferox watched as his son made a very large, face twisting yawn. Repressing the chuckle at the baby-glower he received when he tucked that small hand in his to prevent the fight to remain awake, he continued the story of what he knew about the great, magically modified hounds, until the small body went completely lax. Forgetting himself for a moment, and the fact that they were not in the ‘safety’ of his room, he leaned down to tuck his face against Len’s, closing his eyes, breathing in the sweet baby scent. It had seemed as though it had been forever since he had simply held his child that he had worked so hard for. He was a small ball of warmth in his arms, loosening the tight muscles in Ferox’s back and chest, simply by existing.

Zevran came out by their small fire and sat beside him, leaning back on his hands as the mabari put his cart sized head in the elf’s lap awaiting scratched ears. “What do you need tonight, _querido_?”

Looking up to glance over his shoulder, wondering what needed doing, “What do you mean?”

“Len, no Len?” the hand that was devoted to scratching Horse’s ear moved to hold one of the small hands, fingers and thumb wrapping around a long brown finger. “I have missed you both. But I have also missed you. Either way, whichever you need, I will be content.”

“I am of the same opinion and unable to make up my mind as well. Both are comforting and wanted. And we did work so hard to obtain this trip for him...” He trailed off before observing aloud, “I hadn’t thought that children would smell so different, but after these last weeks, I can attest that this is true. I don’t remember Oren’s scent, although he must have had one.” Wondering aloud, “Did smells only became important or noticeable after returning from Kirkwall?”

The assassin hummed, “It depends on the person what senses they rely upon the most. The vision in my left eye is better than my right, so I rely upon one more than the other, just as those who have a better sense of smell, rely upon that, or those with excellent hearing. It is rare for a person to rely upon all their senses at once. And yet, scent is what always seems to trigger others’ memories.” Thumb and the fingers that weren’t imprisoned by a very strong hand, curled and wrapped around the chubby limb. “Fat and onions and dirt, mixed with woodsmoke makes you think of what?”

“What? I don’t know...this I suppose, traveling, camping, nothing specific.” Raising an eyebrow. “Why?’

“Nothing is stirred up by the thought of those smells? No memories bustle at the edges, clamouring for attention?” quizzically the assassin stared at him.

“I don’t like onions,” _of course._

He rolled his eyes, “I am aware of that. Tchk, I had to blunt a knife practically to keep them chopped as finely as possible - just for you I may add. No...it is not one particular memory, but more a sort of smell we encountered many nights. I suppose I catalogue more by smell myself, though I have always felt that I remember texture, taste and sound just as much.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t remember smells being important, not until recently. Certainly the smell of food cooking, but I couldn’t tell you what was in the pot, unless I saw what was put in it or that Alistair was cooking.” Making a face, “The smoke of a campfire directing the way to camp or to unexpected company.”

Zevran made a face at him, slightly wary as though he were going to ask something uncomfortable, so Ferox braced himself. “The smell of your mother? Does that not come to mind when you catch a breath of something similar?”

As a way of making the search for memories of his mother easier, “I know that Leliana liked Andraste’s Grace, but she said that this was because her mother smelled of them. But, I don’t know...the last thing I remember smelling at home, was the smoke of the keep on fire and too much blood covering everything, especially me.”

“So, before Kirkwall, you mean to tell me that no smell gave you...comfort?” utter confusion and bafflement painting his assassin’s features.

“Not that I remember, which is why I asked...the sea, perhaps...but no, it’s no more strong in my memory than a bonfire on the beach. Oh, Horse smells and Alistair’s socks...but that’s not comfort...but at least they’re remembered.”

His lover pushed at Horse’s head and slid free as an offended woof issued - either for saying he smelled or for losing his ear scratcher - rolling to the balls of his feet, forearms balanced on his knees. “I have heard of people _losing_ their sense of smell.” Gesturing with a rap of knuckles to the side of his blond head, “A wrong strike, bad chemicals, an illness. Or even those born without the ability to smell things. But never have I heard of someone who did not have scent-association when they were able to smell things in the first place. So, do you mean to tell me that now you suddenly have these...connections? Or is it more like...you actually wish to smell certain things?”

“Both, I think, because one night when I smelled warm milk, it made me think of Len and oatmeal cookies with dried fruits softened in brandy. Like I said, I don’t remember scent being important, I thought that you would remember if I had said that it was. Before going to Kirkwall, I don’t remember hating Anora’s perfume, and even though I knew what a stable and horses smelled like, it didn’t matter, nor did it really stay with me or bother me terribly to be remembered later.”

Scratching the back of his neck, Zevran stared off into the dimness. “You never said or gave any indication. I always thought it was just another thing you kept close to the vest. Another thing to hide away, another reaction muffled. Do you remember me saying I missed the smell of Antivan leather? And you asked me if the smell of a cesspit and rotting flesh was something I liked? To which I said it reminded me of home. You did not react beyond an ‘oh’ and a nod.” Mumbling, “How very novel.” He clapped hands to his thighs as he stood, brushing off detritus from the seat of his pants. “Well, Len at least does not have that problem, as half the time I think all he wants is to curl up in our dirty laundry, and you no longer appear to either. But come, let us all go to bed.”

Getting to his feet and picking up the snoozing boy. “You are making me very tired, Ser Len...or I started out that way...or I was talked to, a lot - that’s probably it.”

Zevran held the tentflap for him, “Eleanor was rather well pleased with her day. She also said to tell you that you are ‘ridiculously awesome’ - the scamp has picked up too many large words, and each time she gains a new one she must use it to death - and that you are also the ‘bestest’. And sends along your ration of hugs of course.”

Snorting laughter. Trying to pull himself back to seriousness, “Oh? I thought _we_ were ridiculously awesome.”

“We are, but she only knows that this means something good, and I believe she was merely repeating an oft heard phrase,” he tied the tentflaps closed behind them and Ferox saw their bedrolls laid out. “You made an impression apparently.” As the hands came to help him juggle their boy as they readied for bed, “Thank you, _querido_ , for that.”

Snorting out a laugh again. “What for? Being ridiculously awesome?”

Mild exasperation, “No. For having been kind to her, whatever it was you both talked about, or that she rambled at you and you allowed - thank you. I know children are not something you have an easy time with, and the girls can be a handful. You were gentle with her, and I am thankful.”

Shrugging, “I know siblings. What one gets the other wants too. Although Fergus never got a mabari... Anyway, it makes for jealousies that turn into resentment later unless handled right. Most of the time, it was me being left behind or left out because I was younger. Certainly there are times when that’s necessary and good for the older one, but on small things...well, this was a small thing.”

“Mmhmn,” lips touched the corner of his jaw briefly as they worked out how the sleeping arrangement would change with Len added to the fact that Zevran preferred to sleep on Ferox now like ‘white on rice’ as the Antivan said. “Even so, you still did a fine job, my friend. I wanted you to know that it does not go unappreciated, yes?”

Settling in, Ferox was back to being almost happy. Stretching his spine, he felt as though he were the dog on the bottom of the pile of puppies snuggled together for warmth. _Thank the Maker that Horse is outside the tent or it would be true...well a dog, cat, infant, and the glacier at the bottom who would snap._ Beside his ear was an almost feline trill that might be considered a purr, the tip of nose rubbing at him briefly as the long body beside him stretched and clamped against him quickly, one hand going under his shirt to find the bone of his hip as it had become a favoured spot apparently. Ferox’s lips quirked as he closed his eyes and let go for the night.

XXX

The fire must have gone out on the hearth, his foot was cold, how nice, and they must be laying on the rug on the floor, Ferox wanted to groan, why hadn’t they slept on the bed...they had finally gotten Len to do that! Just as he began to twitch towards movement, a hand quickly was slipping over his arm for no apparent reason, and Ferox slapped the heel of a hand to his eye socket, rubbing vigorously at the sleep that was still tugging at him. He couldn’t remember when the first appointment was.

Mumbling through a yawn, “I want to sleep on the bed tonight.” Eyes still slow with sleep blinked up at the canvas. “Oh...” _Sigh._

“No bed, _querido_ ,” hips rubbed hardness against his thigh during the very sleepy murmur into his chest. “But it is not all so bad, there is an inn tomorrow night. As for tonight, you realize you could sleep atop _me_ , mmn?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to prescribe an extra dose of sheets for that behaviour...”

Laughter as his chin was propped on a shoulder, one hand reaching out to tickle the awakening Len. “Why have more sheets when all the blanket I need is atop me already? However, a few more folded beneath me would not be unwelcome.”

“Just so you have extra on hand...my point exactly.”

Toes plucked at the loosened, but still vaguely tangled, sheet on Ferox’s legs. “I ‘freed’ you before you woke enough to notice.”

Turning from the little head next to him who was also trying to figure out where he was as well, Ferox was pleased to find the sun present and glinting in his assassin’s eyes, “And how may I thank my rescuer?”

“Oh, I am sure you will come up with something, preferably when there is no audience.”

Raising his head slightly to kiss Zevran. “Actually, I was thinking of something small to tide you over then.”

A growl vibrated against his mouth. “That is not small,” another was taken quickly before the elf sat up stretching his arms high overhead. “But it will certainly keep me mollified until I can receive my just desserts.”

“Mmm. Dessert. This boy is hungry too...although I remember something...if one could only find his neck.” Grinning at the blinking eyes. “Perhaps after breakfast?” as Len seemed more watchful and observant than chatty.

“I believe he might be a large fan of bosoms,” fingers pinched the little folds gently. “We must have you meet Wynne. Those are magical.” Len made a face, and Ferox nearly laughed at the way it looked as though he bit into a lemon. “Oh, I suppose you are right, she is a bitter old prune. For now, let us arise and gain you your milch cow.” Another grimace. “Ah! Taken to task, yes, I suppose you are right, it is hardly polite to call her that. It is just that she is so _dull_.” Burbling hands and legs waving. “Yes, it is most unfortunate that Moira is unable to take Sarah’s place, but that is not how things work here apparently. As magical as you are my dear boy,” Zevran picked Len up with a groan, “- you are getting so big! But you are unable to summon up food for your belly the same way I was. Such a shame, I know my poor boy.”

Ferox gave Zevran a quick glance as he grabbed for something warmer, “That’s an odd way of putting it. Something lost in translation?”

The elf was briskly changing the night soiled diaper, tilting his head to look at Ferox. “Mmn, what might have been lost to translation?”

“Summon up food.” Putting on a clean pair of socks, “Call for, yes. But summon up...sounds like Morrigan.”

“Need I remind you that my mother died birthing me? Apparently I refused to be even held by anyone other than the woman who pulled me from the birth canal and revived me,” he shrugged. “She had to use her skills to do so. Something happened that enabled me to demand that she produce milk, though it had been years since she had last done so. I would knead at her bosom like a kitten, mewl and out would come the milk. I believe that would qualify as ‘summoning’ milk from a stone, yes? It was just the nature of what she was and my need. Because of it, she called me _gatito dorado_ \- the gold kitten. Eventually I was able to convince her to cease calling me kitten, and change it to ‘cat’ at least.”

Tickling Len’s cheek to distract him from the chill on bare bottom as he was making rather put upon sounds, “She, the little healer girl, called me something strange. Never used anybody’s proper name unless she was really trying to get their attention. Although the one she picked for me, she eventually shortened it to one word, ‘Gaeaf.’ During one of the sessions, I asked what what the whole thing meant,” wishing he could show Zevran what he saw and heard, “she said it was ‘Winter thawed by the cat.’” Ferox said the words carefully, “ _Gaeaf dadlaith at’cath_.”

“I have long been in the habit of not questioning the motives and reasons of witches of that nature. They always know and see things that at the time we wished they did not. However, I have rarely heard of any who were like that outside of the areas bordering or within Antiva. It is one of those oddities that one must simply take in and cope with, whether understanding comes with time or not.”

Ferox noticed how there was no question as to whether he needed Zevran or not, or if Zevran needed him. Perhaps it was a moot point, or some other reason. Leaning over, as Len was being wrapped back up, Ferox rubbed his scratchy cheek against Zevran’s smooth one. “I’ll hold you to that inn with the requirement that it be without the presence of small ones with big eyes and hungry bellies.” He kissed the warm cheek, then pressed another to the pointed ear gaining an interested hiss, before he pulled away to untie the tent flaps.

It was always amusing to observe the faces around a morning fire. An evening fire could bring companionship, storytelling, or songs. It was a place where everyone tended to gather, even if the task they were engaging in was solitary, the sharpening of a weapon, repair of armour, sorting of herbs gathered during the day, breakfast preparations that must be done the night before, if soaking grains or beans or making bread. A morning fire, now that was a different thing entirely. First, the one chosen to prepare the morning meal should have been selected the night before and coordinated with watch, otherwise one risked that breakfast would be much delayed while the cook slept. The ones who gathered at the fire varied, from the chipper morning person, to the sullen, to those not used to sleeping on the ground and therefore were in pain, to those too tired to engage in conversation. A morning fire was the true test of whether or not the company would be able to travel together. This morning, quietly, he watched and assessed the members of this little group and yes, even the Crows themselves, who were amused that they had eyes upon them.

Wanting the group to work well together, he gathered information as to who they were, what they liked, and what they needed. Was it a quiet contemplation into the fire with a cup of tea before they woke up fully, was it cheerful conversation and the need to plan, was it the need for food that drove them from their tents? Each one was different, and he set about to learn what he could, while playing the part of the dour tea drinker, hands warming around the hot mug, gaze sliding off each person as if he could not concentrate or focus. As in battle, he would be the target, the focus, while Zevran made the rounds, but this morning he waited and watched.

The dreaded morning chirpiness, of course, came from the girls, the morning sullenness from Nursey, and Moira - Maker must have smiled on him - although pleasant, was a calming presence who didn’t scare off those who really just wanted to drink their tea and remember why they had been dragged out on this little outing in the first place. Zevran was the most fun to watch as he fluctuated, reflecting whatever it was each one needed to wake up, answering silly questions about why a rock was always under their spine no matter which way they turned, and, “Thank you,” give a much needed refill to the stunned (or not so stunned) tea drinker. The little group, with the expected exception of Nursey, was going to be just fine. The wetnurse was going to be the grumpy one. Good thing Len woke up with a bit of both, he’d weather her without difficulty.

After he had happily gorged himself, Elissa had a hold of Len between her knees and was eating porridge chattering at him as he would grab for her spoon, “It’s big girl food. You’re not big yet, so you can’t have it. But I’ll give you kisses,” delivering on the trade promptly. “There, now you can smell it. Smells good.” From the corner of his eye he watched how even though she had said it was big kid food, she dipped a finger in her porridge and let the infant suck away some of the light coating of goo. “Shh - don’t tell!”

“Spoiled rotten,” a bowl was presented to him as the assassin sat, tucking into his own meal. “Utterly rotten, all of them.”

“I blame you,” Ferox yawned. “Wait... It’s my fault. I carried Moira kicking and screaming out of the kitchen. Ahh well, rumours could have been worse.”

An amused nod. “Oh yes carting her off like the spoils of a raid and handed over to the Antivan to ravish in our sick games.”

“Why don’t I get invited to our sick games? I promise not to glower too much.”

A spoon was waved at him, “You are always welcome to the little clapping patty-cake and peek-a-boo games. That door is always open.”

Leaning over rumbling in his favourite pointed ear, “I mean _our_ little games.”

“Oh...? Hmn, I shall have to write an invitation declaring intentions of horrific delights to warp the mind,” head cocking towards him, and he felt the whisper fast brush of an ear flicking his mouth.

Despite wanting to play more with said ear, Ferox couldn’t help himself and began to chortle. Finding a proper frown, “You are very cruel to break my morning grump, because now no one will believe it when I pull it out later and I will be inundated by those too chipper to be tolerated before I finish my tea.” Giving a mournful look, one that the hound used frequently, at the end of his ‘rant’.

“Oh I will give Moira a signal to keep the girls in check, it will be fine,” the hand on his thigh was casual, unconcerned, nearly as though they weren’t surrounded by others. It almost made Ferox jump when the muscle was given a firm squeeze and slid away like nothing had happened at all. “They have enough to occupy them, some cards for Wicked Grace, dominoes and such like. I will personally insure your private space is uninvaded...” the last was delivered with a faint twinkle of eye amidst the casually serious tone.

“Yes, yes. I am very pleased with your observant eye. You know exactly how I feel about invasions.” Ferox was having a hard time preventing himself from just laughing until there was no more.

The tip of a tongue running over the sharp edges of front teeth was quickly hidden by the lip of mug. “I thought you liked the last time you were invaded. Tchk, I will have to be more careful about those defenses...”

Nearly inhaling a spoon and the porridge that was on it, he sputtered, coughing, “Peace, _atisha_. I withdraw...you win. No more or I will have to roll over and show you my belly instead of my teeth.”

A deep and robustly warm chuckle threw the elf’s head back, and Ferox wished they were at the inn already. _Tomorrow something will need assassinating. In the meantime however, this was...fun?_ Thinking about it, he ate what should not be inhaled, undecided, but part of him leaned towards yes, this had been fun.

As camp was broken and packed back up, the children ran and squealed, probably scaring away game for miles. Shrugging, he tossed the neatly rolled bedding out of their tent and onto the ground cover, putting away the extra tunic he had pulled on for warmth in the morning chill, warmth that was no longer needed, then hauled their packs out too. Sticking his head out, he observed Zevran handing Len back to Moira and although he flinched, he made himself watch. He had not been wrong to tell the little one Zev meant Papa and would do so again, if needed, for the older one. The little girls pressed up against his legs and he squatted to tell them something or other, probably to be ‘good’, or, and it sent a bolt through him, that he loved them, or that they were precious, or...or some other things he couldn’t really fathom at the moment. Then Moira leaned in to kiss the assassin’s cheek warmly and received a quick peck of her own. Closing his eyes for a moment, Ferox tried to breathe and restrain the growls that threatened to spill over the hastily constructed barriers he threw back into place to contain them.

XXX

Later that day, the horse shifting comfortably beneath him, Ferox considered the family scene in the nursery and Zevran’s obvious pleasure in Moira’s presence, even though his stomach roiled, making him reconsider his earlier breakfast. Many stone walls of Ferelden society would have to be broken before other things could happen beyond the girls calling him Zev, however. It would probably be viewed much differently in Antiva, ‘In Antiva we...’, although he didn’t want to ask. No doubt, if Zevran wanted this little family, then he had already thoroughly mulled that option. Ferox snarled, and it was a rather nasty one.

He wanted Zevran to be happy and they made him happy. Then the assassin should get to have a family, to have what was observed in the nursery, and not just for an evening either. Well, as the Blight showed, Ferox had a hard head and shoulder and wasn’t afraid of a few knocks obtained in shoving over a few rock walls. He would rather the attention were on him anyway, rather than his cunning associate who was more effective without it. Although, as to how someone could look away from the brilliant sun to the brooding snowstorm, he had no idea.

He stewed on this for miles. Her Royal Harpyness was definitely in the way of social change, and the change would have to go on after his own lifetime. The change in attitude would have to last more than a few years, it would have to be a permanent change...and it would not be quick. Well, that was where Len, and the second child he had arranged for, came in. Shianni, Zevran, and whoever would be the Alienage’s new bann after Shianni was made arlessa...this is where they would begin. He needed another elf to round out the grouping, preferably another male. Zevran could not have the attention on him all of the time, else he could not be as effective... Several males because that was the biggest stumbling block, dwarves too, to diffuse the sole focus on the elves...

Nathaniel and Zevran needed to be in on this plan. Zevran would believe that it was only for all of the reasons they had listed, because Ferox would not share the latest reason he had added. It was one that made Ferox feel like he was being gutted. Until the humans, specifically the nobles, were used to seeing non-humans at every event, fully accepted, acknowledging their right to be present, the throne would be unable to make any formal recognition without an uproar. Only when this became normal would Ferox, using Anora, Len, or even himself if that had come to pass, be able to quietly formalize what they were already used to. If there was a wall or a desk nearby, he would smack his head just for the pleasure of hitting something softer than the preconceptions and prejudices of nobles.

Looking up, focusing on the road and the company, Ferox found that he had, by unconscious snarling and growling, cleared a wide berth around him, except for the quiet jingle of his assassin’s belt.

“Has the saddle done something to offend you?” offhanded and completely comfortable, one of the few horses shipped that had qualified as ‘suitable’ to his standards, stepped almost as lightly as the assassin. “This morning you dashed off too fast for me to send you the extra hugs and kisses, and the girls will wish a suitable visual display this evening, so they can be sure you got them. Elissa wants me to give you one on each cheek the way I told her Antivans do, and Eleanor wants a big ‘Zev hug’ to be given.”

A trap, the same one as yesterday. It was as if he was standing in the middle of them...like that bit of road with the wolves and the warning signs on the other end opposite them as if no one ever approached from the direction he, they, took. Stepping forward so one could snap at his leg, hoping armour would protect, “Fine.” A pause, “As you wish.”

The assassin was quiet for several long minutes, “They adore you, you know. They thought it was funny when you were in the nursery and trying to get the other ‘Lens’ to calm down. They also are happy that you smile sometimes. It comes from Moira most likely, they were taught that when someone is not smiling, it is because they are hurting, and the best way to fix it is with love. Such simple little creatures, children are, sometimes, no?”

Snapping and mentally growling, he was still fighting to reconcile himself to his own proposals and plans. This was a silly thread of thought, a useless conversation that didn’t have anything to do with anything important. Nor was it helping with what he was wrestling with. _Ahh, that’s the rub, isn’t it?_ “No, I didn’t. No, it wasn’t. And, yes, you are correct.” _Foolish too._

“You were in a most excellent mood this morning, particularly handsome with it. The only thing that was different between you coming to breakfast and when I saw you after breaking down the tent, was that I had spent time with them,” still casual, not probing, not pressuring, the same measured voice Ferox was used to, the one making easy speech. “Now you are in a rather foul one. One that is not unfamiliar to me, did I do something to trigger your temper?”

“No. Let it be,” removing a gauntlet to scratch his head.

Most any horse Ferox was familiar with would not have tolerated being pressed to such close company, as Zevran guided his even closer, so they were nearly brushing knees. “Liar.” But that was all he said, snatching Ferox’s hand and giving it a hard squeeze before dropping it and guiding his four-legged mode of transport back to a more usual distance.

Falling back on the familiar, Ferox sighed. After coming up with his machinations and twisting the minds of those set in stone until they popped, all very logical and well thought out, with appropriate backup plans, he still had to actually swallow his own dread... That beast which had nothing to do with prejudice, only the fear of inevitably being alone again.

XXX

He made some effort before they stopped to set up camp to not have his brows drawn down low, a lip curled as though he were about to snarl. Ferox was moderately successful as the routine was familiar, having done this nearly every night for two years, rain or shine. Tents up, latrine dug, areas to be used for the cooking fires made free of grass as the season was dry. The familiarity of it helped settle him further.

“Yes, no more arguing, it is bedtime for you both,” Zevran’s voice carried sternly but not hard.

“We want to make sure he gets them!” Elissa had her hands on her hips and leaning forward while looking up.

Eleanor pipped up, hand wrapped around her older sister’s wrist. “He needs them. We make sure.”

Although he had promised, Ferox’s feet would have done anything to be headed in the opposite direction. Getting to his feet, hiding the wincing, frowning anxiety, and trepidation, he approached all three traps. _Kill me quickly_.

Zevran crouched down, arms wrapping around the girls loosely. “He has had a hard day, _mijas_. We should let him rest. I promise I will make sure he gets them, but you both need to listen to me, and get your sweet selves to bed.”

Elissa got a stubborn look on her face. “No.”

“Elissa, do not misbehave,” his tone finally sharpening. “You will get no bedtime story from me if you are going to be this way.”

Eleanor’s arms wrapped around Elissa. “No story. Wanna make sure...”

A hand on Zevran’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze, Ferox had observed the tilt and knew the assassin was very aware of who was behind him. Although he was unable to keep a hint of growl at bay, “It would be a shame to miss a story, especially Zev’s.” _Seriously, was that necessary?_ wanting to throttle himself as he firmly set his foot on the trap’s pressure plate, bracing for it to snap closed.

Three sets of eyes swung up to him, two very expectant ones shining hopefully, the third, the gold set, worried. Zevran grabbed the girl’s chins, “Very well, but you both will go to bed and await your story after, hmn? Understand?”

“Yes!” in unison.

Rising Zevran caught Ferox in a tight hug that nearly squashed breath from his lungs, “A ‘Zev’-style hug from Eleanor.” Followed by two kisses - one on each cheek, “Kisses from Elissa.”

Released, Ferox said stiffly, “Thank you ladies. You are most thoughtful.”

Beside them the girls jumped up and down giggling, holding hands, and for a moment he thought they might careen into his legs. Thankfully they just scampered off to the tent they shared with Nursey, Horse, Moira and Len. He wasn’t sure what he felt at that moment - relief or disappointment, but it made his muscles stand in stark relief.

Zevran heaved a sigh, “I am sorry, _querido_ , I meant to keep them from pestering you.”

“Small things,” he rumbled, grateful that his ribs were not bruised by the surprising strength and turned back to his seat at the fire and the book he had left behind.

Zevran returned and sat gingerly beside him. “You and I must talk when we are on the road and unaccompanied. Clearly there are things that are bothering you, perhaps with no possible others to overhear, you might tell me then.” One of his long daggers was pulled out and the assassin bent over it to check its edges and oil it. “You have time to formulate and find a way to order your thoughts, but I will not be put off from it once you and I are alone, _querido._ I have waited too long, and worked too hard, for you to withdraw this way from me.”

“I am right here and have not withdrawn. It is only the particularly sticky problem of integrating nobles with those they do not wish to associate with on equal footing. Nothing more. That said, I would like to start in a more social setting, a party...dance, something. In addition, we need to locate several more ‘socially acceptable’ dwarves to throw into the mix.”

The look turned his way was measuring. “If that is all that it is, then I would be comforted. If it was not, then I would be put out that I was not told, as I do not like being shut away from sharing your burdens. If there is more to it than that, then know that you can tell me. That is part of why I am here, yes? To share with you. Good, bad, so-so.” A cup of cinnamon and ginger tea was passed to him, the assassin taking one for himself afterwards. “Lord Helmi had seemed most dissatisfied with dwarven society. And rather civic minded. He might be persuaded to leave, or if Behlen was persuaded to part with him as a...diplomat. That way you would not even have to cede him any titles.”

“I hadn’t considered him...and we would be close enough to make the request in person, which would be better received than a message. Anyone else spring to your clever mind?”

Zevran sipped his tea, “Dagna, the little girl who spoke enough to bring down rafters. Of course she would have to be parted from her little Apostate’s Circle...hmn...perhaps that would be a good reason?”

A visible wince likely graced his face, “And we are headed there.” Epiphany struck, “Wait...what if we don’t need a Tranquil at all? What about the crazy lyrium merchant, the one with the lichen sandwiches, he’s nearly as strange as Sandal.”

“Dagna is Smith Caste,” Zevran shook his head once. “She also would be more palatable. She could throw runes in her sleep no doubt, would mix well, as no one could stay angry or put out by her for long enough to cause trouble, and she could gain something she wishes from us - recognition of the Orzammar Circle. If the Grand Cleric is told that those who study peaceably in the Orzammar school, or a small library in Denerim as a sub-study office, are to be left alone, I doubt she would have the gall to do anything overt against them. And that would be something Dagna would desire very much I wager.”

Making a face, he agreed, “I was hoping to avoid the headache, but I see your point. Dagna would be excellent with the hoi-polloi, they’d want to eat her up and take her home.”

Chuckling, “You might even find her married off to a bann or well off merchant. They will vie for her. It is a shame that Sigrun is just a touch too blunt, and that others would find her brands to be off-putting. I hear she is as charming as a kitten... One with very large claws.”

Some small bit of good humour found Ferox, and he snorted, one that was almost a laugh, “I was just thinking that. Although Sigrun might be well received by the guard, markings or no. Remind them of all working together that dark night.”

“The only concern I actually have over her is good Alistair...” lips were pursed. “Last I had heard there was a bit of play on that ground...”

“Seriously?” Ferox slapped the heel of his palm to his eye rubbing it vigorously in disbelief.

Amusement crinkled the laughter and weather born lines at mouth and eyes. “Oh yes. Apparently after Anders hied off to hither and yon the first time, she decided she preferred her _shemlen_ more robust and loyal. Honestly, I was mentally betting she would find Nathaniel a few smiles for his gloomy face. Or, hoping more like. However, Alistair is not a _bad_ choice per se...”

Snorting, “Then the happy couple should come and dance...break a few minds. Because that’s the whole point. Alistair and she won’t receive much blowback because they don’t have to stay in Denerim. Even better, being a Theirin, with a Casteless, while they wouldn’t suffer for it, those accustomed to the status quo will be too startled to notice anything else.”

“I would say invite Anders to some party...but then we would have to deal with duels. Unless he invites the ‘wronged’ party to join,” he laughed into his palm. “That is a man who belongs in Antiva. His talents are wasted here.”

“And a slew of pregnancies many months later,” Ferox muttered. “No Anders, unless you would like to have him start working on your clinics, but I can think of much safer options, ones that don’t involve duels or family planning - or a lack of it.”

Zevran’s hand came out to lay on his thigh, nothing sexual to it, merely there and warm and present. “Amaranthine to Highever, Highever to West Hills, West Hills to Orzammar to avoid a mountain crossing too close to winter... _querido_ , we will not be in Denerim until spring at that rate, depending on the roads at the earliest. However, up until the worst weather, we could continue to send missives and instructions to Nathaniel.” He was lost in thought for a moment, companionably close, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Ferox. “As for what powers you have officially as Prince Consort, they can be sent out from any place we are, with only a few that would have to be run past Anora.”

Fervently, “Head of the nursery, reporting for duty...I swear that’s the only official title, my hand to Andraste’s breast.”

Fingers dug in, massaging playfully. “Such a nice bosom too.”

“Hers? Possibly, given the giant statue of her at Kirkwall - quite shady actually. I have heard many dissertations to their loveliness from Anders, who is a self-professed expert on the subject.” Dryly, “Surprising that, given his near constant comments regarding her beautiful face.”

“I find that I am the perfect height to get good views of most women’s ‘faces’. Mmn...Madrigal’s were quite nice if the statue of her is any indication. Pity it was marred by so much steel,” a faint rumble. “It seems that statues of women are almost always of ones who died gruesomely one way or another. Strange thing that, no?” Zevran withdrew his hand and Ferox felt suddenly very cold without it there until the other man poured them more tea and leaned back, the arm crossing behind Ferox’s back. “However nice or not nice as they are, I must say I prefer my favoured mattress.”

“Hrm, could be because Andraste isn’t here...” Thinking back to this morning’s sight and unable to remove it from his mind.

“Mph, no. Andraste is not you, _querido_. She would be cold comfort to a man who wishes only for the constant rumble of thunder and the scent of seaside musk,” the inflection soothing.

“Don’t forget the whiskey, she was quite clear on both, never one without the other.” Rumbling of his own found Ferox, “Others too for that matter.”

“Oh? Perhaps I have missed something and must investigate to rectify it,” a brow rose and the look tossed his way was playful. “Shall we? I apparently have to remind myself that there is whiskey involved...”

Patiently, painstakingly, Ferox noted his page and finished his tea, “She was very exacting in her descriptions. Although she did mention that the Alistair there and her own were different, but the others tended to be the same or very close. Thought it would help finding mine when I returned,” as he got to his feet.

As soon as Ferox was in the tent and the flaps were tied, arms came around him tugging him back into a strong embrace. “I do not wish to speak of Alistair’s stink,” was growled into his shoulder. “We have not had a moment alone at all in too long, _querido_.” Each word was punctuated by a squeeze and release with a deep inhale on the side of his neck and a face rubbing into him. “Too long.”

“I hear there’s an inn just up the way,” turning in the embrace to wrap his arms around one who had become very important to him, one he did not mind constantly in his space, or touching, or talking with...things he dreaded from others, even as he played the games and danced to the music, twisting and turning them to what he wanted done. _All - most - of what I want is right here._

“I do not mean that right now, I simply want _this_ ,” bands of silverite squeezed him without crushing. The body pressed up against him was taut, but not hungry it seemed.

Unsure, Ferox merely pressed his face into the crook of Zevran’s neck, breathing in sandalwood. “As you wish.”

The hold loosened enough for one hand to work at Ferox’s braid, plunging into the hair and cupping his head, keeping him held tightly to the elven assassin who made him think that there could be no possibility in that instant of him ever letting go. “You are an idiot sometimes and I love you. Either because of it or in spite of it, or some combination thereof, I ceased caring years ago.”

“And what exactly was the moment that happened to cause you to decide to throw yourself at this wall, repeatedly?”

A grunt beside his ear, lips moving as he spoke, “There was no single moment that caused me to. Do not be so foolish, my beautiful _shemlen_ , this is not like silly Leliana’s tales. It was not some lightning strike of one action bringing it about. It grew, not into some blazing fire that will burn itself out, but more like a sprawling garden gone wild. Did I not tell you that it was not quantifiable?! There are no scales, no weights to move to make it less or more.” Ferox was drawn fully clothed back to the pallet in a tumble, boots and clothes ignored as he found himself fully enfolded. “Have you, who grew up surrounded by constant love, never learned that love is something that is not _finite_? Aie - my foolish boy, my foolish love, I will not let you go. I cannot.”

He couldn’t answer without shattering into thousands of crystals of ice, a snowman reduced to flakes. Just letting the words flow over him without struggling against the river was hard enough. Managing a squeeze to signal that he heard, Ferox pressed himself to the warm sun that held him, a cheek against him, feet and legs tangled, not fussing that there was a lump under him that felt like a pommel, or that his back wasn’t straight... For once, Ferox didn’t fight it. _It’s still a trap. But it doesn’t pinch as much as I thought it would._ Sarcastically, _Leg’s probably going gangrene...may need to amputate. Then there will be no way to escape..._


	9. Gentleman and Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Generalized gore descriptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the reminder where we inform you of our being human, that there's errors, and any kind soul willing to lend a hand, would be loved forever.

Ser Geoffry Gilmore came riding out with several guards to greet them and inform them of the booked passages, and the fact that the Vigil was comfortably prepared for them for their stay, if they would be willing to change directions a little. 

Ferox rode forward to speak with the Gilmore as soon as he was close enough, took in the information, and found that the familiar face did not surprise him as it wasn’t startlingly unexpected. He had made himself write that letter to Geoffry’s aunt, Rory’s mother, it took him over a week to finish it. He tried to think of what gift to send with it, but there was nothing he could find that would not break her heart every time she looked at it, or touched it, or used it, and anything he had of Rory’s was left to the fire. He didn’t know what survived, other than what he took away with him that night. The family sword and shield he had given to Fergus after the Archdemon was killed, but Fergus hadn’t said how bad it was, as if he didn’t want to say or burden the new Prince Consort with the terrible details. 

In a very real way, Ferox didn’t want to go ‘home.’

Thanking Ser Gilmore for a job well done, Ferox kept on his best friendly face, but his relief was no less when when the conversation was complete. He knew that Zevran had plans for the guard, ones that would probably draw the man into closer proximity, something Ferox was trying to reconcile himself with. He needed _more_ differences so he would not see another in his place, Ferox would have to find them. _Or make some up,_ recognizing that he was being very cynical and exceptionally irrational.

Vigil’s Keep, however looked nearly as good at it had the day the darkspawn came boiling out of the ground. The granite walls, purchased with hard labour and precious coin, the Warden coffers having been rather empty at that point, remained unscored by the waves thrown at it. Only the gate had to be replaced along with many of the civilian buildings inside thanks to several simultaneously cast fireballs from darkspawn emissaries. He hated ogres backed up by those wicked little spell casters, nasty buggers. Several of those repeated attacks and he thought that he was going to end up staying down there in the dark places. Later, after meeting the Architect and the Mother, he was glad that he didn’t know about them during those moments in the darkness, otherwise he couldn’t have forced himself to go.

“Hiya _salroka_!” chirping bouncing, dancing between the horses nimbly, Sigrun announced herself. “‘Bout time you got here!”

“Sig!” Swinging off the ‘plow horse.’ “Does my favourite dwarva Warden bring me any news?” Preparing not to laugh as the hound headed for her in his usual attempt to knock the dwarf on her rear and slobber all over her face. Horse did it to very few, Ferox had wondered if he had just adopted her, or if it was that she was just so close to his own height that it was required, or something she started one day and it just continued.

“Oh, not much, just the last bit of pre-winter-fall planting season, nobles bickering - don’t they always? - mabari born and all that!” as she threw her arms around Horse’s neck. 

“So Alistair’s out playing farmer again? Tell me he’s just ‘supervising’ this time. Last year we could have planted twice the crop if he had only learned to plow in straight lines,” as an explanation to Zevran.

The Antivan shook his head arms crossing, “Tchk, truly?” 

Sigrun answered, “Yep, and nobody found out ‘til the sprouts came up and by then it was too late.”

A sound of mock disgust, “Faugh! At this rate I will have to go out and do it myself!”

Again the picture of Zevran rolling up his sleeves, putting on that frilly apron and capably doing the laundry popped into his head. Ferox had no doubt about the assassin being able to handle the plowing either, didn’t even think to question it. “He is, isn’t he? ...Out plowing I mean. Tell me somebody is at least supervising him,” rolling his eyes, “or going along behind him, even if it’s when Alistair’s not looking.”

“Gotcha covered, Commander.” She laughed up at him, “He’ll never know.”

“Never learn, you mean,” Ferox muttered. “Hay and wet dog, and he’ll be gloating over dinner, something to look forward to.”

Horse woofed as he shoved a massive shoulder into Ferox’s leg admonishingly. 

“What? It’s what he smells like. Horse, you heard the healer girl.”

“I think he is taking exception to the fact that he views Alistair as not mabari material,” amused, Zevran scratched the hound’s stubby behind, who barked sharply in agreement.

Gravely, a bit of laughter playing in his eyes, “I was very careful not to compare Alistair to a fine fellow like yourself. I said dog and I meant dog, not mabari.”

A wet nose shoved itself into his palm, slurping once, before his sharp triangular ears pricked forward and he began leaping about and chased his nonexistent stub of a tail. Then he trotted back to the carriage, scratching at the door as it was opened, then dashed back and forth, herding Moira with her ‘burden’ and the girls over to them.

Sigrun’s eyes widened, her tattooed cheeks pinching up as she dashed up to Moira. “Oh - that’s right, I heard you got a bun outta that oven! Oh, he’s so cute!”

Moira turned him so that the dwarva could see Len properly, belly and arms and legs outwards, as she had one arm around his chest and one under his bottom. Len immediately reached out to pat the Warden’s cheeks in greeting. The girls were all bouncing around too, free of the carriage’s confines and nearly as excited as Horse.

“Sigrun, this is Calenhad, Len to his friends when his mother isn’t listening, Moira, our very capable right hand, the girls, Eleanor and Elissa and I believe snoozing in the carriage is Len’s nurse, Sarah. Girls, if you will follow Horse, he’ll take you to the kitchen where I am certain there are some sort of goodies are in the cookie jars, just make sure that _he_ only has one, please.” Ferox was in his element, his Keep, his kingdom, on familiar ground with no other power to answer to than his own conscience. He was Ferox, Warden Commander of Ferelden, Arl of Amaranthine and he liked it.

Young boys and girls, who were learning how to care for horses and the keeping of a stable, came out to hold reins while belongings were gathered and taken inside. Seneschal Varel had taken care of room assignments, perused by Zevran, and everyone sorted themselves out. Ferox went in search of Moira to take Len out on a walk through the Vigil and her surrounding grounds.

Amaranthine’s population had been severely reduced during the darkspawn attacks, so everyone's help, large or small was needed. Most of the older children were in the fields learning of plowing, planting, sowing, fertilizing, herding cattle, sheep, caring for ducks, geese, chickens - the list was endless. The children were learning valuable skills, and he hoped it would help guide them to a skill or craft that they liked and would do well at. Many of the young adults were in apprenticeships with craftsmen in town, here at the Vigil, fisherfolk on their boats, or even with some of the merchants who brought goods into the region, although that was more rare. Anywhere an extra hand could be had, children had a place. The education part of Zevran’s great plans were harder to fit in, as the labour was needed. Still, two days a week, rotating so that not all of the farmers were at school or all of the bakers, the children learned to read and write. That was in addition to what they were learning in the more informal setting of whatever profession they were assigned to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a working start.

He would have given a running commentary of what happened here, but remembering...what was that candy Zevran said girls were...well anyway he didn’t. However, he had forgotten to warn Sig about it and it was her favourite topic. Stopping for a moment, because he couldn’t walk and send at the same time, he sent a general message through the amulet warning about children and scary stories and received a series of hails back. Other than Len, the education on Warden amulets was the best thing brought back from Kirkwall. _I wonder if the little healer has a duplicate?_

“Ah, a fine kingdom,” slipping from shadows to join him. “With an even finer king.”

“Far step to king, but she is fine and more importantly, not _hers_.”

He noticed how Zevran didn’t bother even looking around, uncaring of the hallways, for here little secrecy was needed. The arm that slid around his waist was an unfamiliar weight - he had never walked like that before. But he did see that the assassin’s ears were perked up as though listening for any oncoming people.

“And what can I do for you?” The contact was out of place but not unpleasant, however, he couldn’t help but look at Zevran oddly.

“At this moment? Nothing, I am content,” a shrug and he twisted as he walked, running a hand over Len’s head as it bobbled into the caress. “As is, you do everything. However, when we go to Amaranthine, I advise we leave the girls - all three of them, and Len behind. Bad memories for them and Len will pick up on it. Except for when we leave, but they will spend nearly all the time in the carriage, so they will see little.”

“Agreed. I warned the Wardens about telling tales, but it would be good to keep the contact to a minimum after dinner, as that’s when they try to outdo themselves. But being here...is risky in regards to inappropriate stories.”

Zevran’s arm fell away casually and resumed walking in a more familiar manner, and Ferox saw the reason why a moment later, two servants laden with cleaned laundry passing them by. “There are inappropriate stories anywhere one goes, my friend.”

“You know what I mean, this is a recent location of activity. Come, Len and I are tired and your company helps us to sleep better, and I can show off my office that Alistair has trashed and left his socks all over… Where is a mabari when I need one?”

The arm went back around his waist, “ _Como desees_ , you know I would do anything for you and our son, _querido_.”

The phrase was not missed, but the reaction Ferox wished to give was not one for hallways. He was always impressed how purposefully casual Zevran could say anything, something he tried to model as it often worked with his own little games. Probably why he got such an interesting reception from the duplicate. 

Attaining his quarters, Ferox handed over Len after Zevran toed his boots off, allowing him time to do the same. With the assassin’s arms, well, when was the last time they were full or completely occupied, even with Len, he hugged the pair of them. “Thank you.”

“As always, _querido_ , it is my pleasure,” one arm freed itself of Len to wrap around him, squeezing. “Think nothing of it as it is your due that I am pleased you accept from me.”

“My due?” moving aside blankets, pillows, and extra blankets before Len was rolled to the center of the bed. _Didn’t they know how dangerous these things were?_

Zevran tugged off his shirt and even his trews, down to his smalls, appearing to not care about Len’s grabby little hands for once. “Mmmn yes, your due. What you deserve and earn from being yourself. What I wish to give, I wish to give you your due, those things you deserve and that I am proud to give. No, there is nothing to be lost to that translation, _querido_.” 

Raised eyebrow, “I meant thank you for Len, not whatever I may or may not be ‘due’.”

“Oh,” head tilting to one side. “You did all the hard work. _Querido_ , I know you do not enjoy much in the way of such emotional discussions, or overt - what is the word? Sappiness? Yes - sappiness. I understand that here men have a more difficult time expressing themselves. If I had a silver for every time I saw that, I would have a thousand sovereigns, so I attempt to keep it to something of a minimum. On the off-chance I will sound as though I am vomiting honey, I apologize for what I am about to say.”

Amused at the image, Ferox shook his head once. “Will you apologize first or afterwards? Both of which would require a young man to nap elsewhere.” A grin barely suppressed because he was enjoying poking fun at Zevran, since he rarely engaged him in anything except serious conversation before being confronted.

A consternated expression that comprised of puckered lips jutting and furrowed brow. “Only after I give him a fast nibble, then you will have to see to it as I am not entirely dressed. Not that _I_ have any issues with parading in my smalls down the halls, but last time Sarah saw me in them, I thought the poor woman would faint - either in terror, intimidation or awe I am not entirely certain...” 

Chuckling, “We cannot turn her milk sour, Len would not approve.” Rolling up a fat blanket he put it on his side of the bed, so Len could not turn over and fall off, he grabbed another to cover him up then sat on Zevran’s side and made himself comfortable. “Inundate me with your words. I think I can make it through until tonight.”

Zevran moved to stand before him, long boned hands taking hold of his face and tipping his head back so he could stare down at him intently. “You thank me for Len, when it is I who wakes each day thanking you and he both. It is not a thing I ever thought I would desire, this small life, but I am pleased with it beyond what simple words could express. When I see you with him, see you giving and accepting so easily what you both need and deserve, it makes much of me sing with joy.” He muttered somewhat dryly, “It is a shame that translation makes for flowery statements connotatively even when I oversimplify.” Thumbs brushed over Ferox’s cheekbones. “That you allow me to witness and to join you in these things, and to join your life as well, it...” 

Ferox watched the Antivan huff a moment, gaze turned inwards as he likely searched for words that would be ‘palatable’, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Taking hold of his assassin’s wrists, he squeezed them, pressing the hands against his cheeks more firmly. He couldn’t make himself say anything, but he could do that much.

“You are my home, Ferox, hmn? This, this is my home, no other words can explain. You stand there and thank me for Len, when I could do nothing else but feel joy at being allowed to find a home, to find rest. To reach my oasis.” 

“Zevran, we need you,” pressing his lips to each palm one at a time. “You are wanted here, not just by Len, and myself, but by everyone you come in contact with, that is, anyone who is worth enough so that you cease working for a moment, anyone with whom you stop to share time with. This is a skill I find amazing and it’s very difficult to model. What I am thankful for is that you claim him, just as you do for the girls.”

Arms drew him forward on the bed’s edge to press his face into the lean muscled abdomen, hugging his head to him. “I love him more than I thought anyone could love anything, and there is much that I can envision, _querido_. But I also did not want you to think I was trying to...force myself into that place, or to take him away from you at all, so I never said. You have been odd of late, so I have tried to be cautious.”

“Odd...?”

He heard the growl begin low in Zevran’s lungs. “As though you were angered over my possible leaving in some fashion. That is the only time you acted that way in conjunction with various stimuli, hmn? And then not telling me true about it. I am observant enough to see that much, that my time with Len, Moira and the girls bothers you in some way. At first I believed it might be because they are noisy and you are unfamiliar with that. Then I thought perhaps that you were jealous, and that is a silly thought, as how could you be, when we are all there and you are always welcome to join, and when I am here with you every night? I assure you, I do not sleep with others as I do with you - I am still an assassin, with an assassin’s instincts - leaving myself so vulnerable to attack is contrary to my nature, except in certain circumstances. With certain people. You are one of them. Len is another. The others are not amongst the living, or are across the Waking Sea.” 

The Crow’s growling continued along with the words, “So, what could it be, other than me possibly ‘growing tired’ of you as you had said that you thought I might? That I might leave you to wake up alone one morning, for someone else or just out of boredom. I am not bored, I am not tired, I am not going anywhere, and I will never willingly let you wake up alone and cold. Now, if you are off on your own, well, there is only so much I can do other than pack an extra set of sheets for you.”

“You are nothing, if not thoughtful,” lightly, while considering the other ramifications of Zevran’s words. “I...I have always had trouble with belief, as Mother Mallol would have told you, except for her untimely death preventing her from informing you.” A moment of vacantness there for a moment, vanished when he blinked again, banishing the bad feeling.

Hands slid over his shoulders and back, massaging through the fabric. “It is alright, _mi hermoso corazon_. I will tell you as often as you need, I will show you every way I can devise. Eventually it will come. I am patient, yes? Up to a point, as you are no doubt aware, hmn? Come now, let us rest with you, and let your spine be straight as a rod as you prefer. I will lay so I can use you properly as a pillow and to see our lovely child sleeping safe and secure with the fathers who love him so dearly.”

Pulling Zevran back down, Ferox stretched out on the mattress he was grateful for. His fingers traced over the elf’s markings just enjoying being there, comfortable and warm. If it had been just him, the Warden Commander would have been out walking his ‘little kingdom’ making sure everything was how it was supposed to be, especially with Nathaniel gone. Anders and Alistair were not exactly trusted with the business of being Wardens, Sigrun was better, the elf - _Maker, that one should never come to court...ever, not even if it meant being eaten by a darkspawn unless there was someone I **wanted** to be eaten by darkspawn!_ As for Oghren, Ferox was going to have to find another second, something he knew when Nathaniel was called to Denerim and Sigrun took over as a temporary second. _Perhaps she would grow into it?_

Anders was the only one with a real education out of the lot, however he was also very unreliable. Alistair was enjoying the opportunity to play farmer and he could count, actually he could do more than that, thanks to the Chantry education Eamon had sent him for to become a Templar. Varel wasn’t a Warden, but he might as well have been. His instincts for diplomacy and his knowledge of the local politics and people were spot on. True, Sigrun may not have had these skills, but she was smart and could learn, actually wanted to learn, and most importantly, she had a natural ability to read people and raise their morale. 

Other ‘Anders’ went to Kirkwall, a bad place that attracted duplicates, forgeries, of people. As he was such an accomplished healer, it would be very bad for _these_ Wardens, if Anders followed in his duplicates’ footsteps, burdened with Justice or not. Personally, the Commander in Ferox preferred without, if he could have a choice. He would have to make sure no one took that blasted cat.

Dozing with the warm heaviness on and curled around him, with the soft sleeping breath next to him, thoughts ran around in his head, how to make change and how to keep what was good and right.

XXX

Ferox woke in the middle of the night, with soft suction over the side of his neck. Groaning sleepily, a hand slid up the warm firm flesh beside him into whispering silk soft hair. A pleased hum was echoed with a rumble. Drifting into the languid caresses that moved over his chest and hips Ferox drowsily realized he wasn’t tangled up. Apparently someone woke up first with something on their mind. Not that he was complaining as Zevran’s face rubbed against his stomach nipping or sucking firmly time to time, each instance causing a hitch in Ferox’s breathing. He couldn’t quite summon up the energy to participate beyond encouragement and the occasional stroke or kiss when the Antivan was within range. This didn’t deter the assassin, for which he was grateful as he most certainly didn’t want him to stop.

Oiled palms moved over his cock, confident and sure of each motion, translating into firmness without being rough. The cupping and massaging of his sack and just behind it had Ferox groaning in expectation of a pressing digit, questing eventually for the knot that would cause bolts of pleasure to course through him when stroked just so. When it came he bit the inside of his cheek, the rotating, twisting stroking had a hand flailing to plunge into hair and the chuckle around his thickness had made him grunt at the vibrations and duality, wondering almost drunkenly, _How does he do that?_

A strong hand rolled Ferox’s hips to one side, twisting his spine as his back remained on the mattress, not that he cared - he could have been on the floor, tangled in sheets or even bound up - it _really_ didn’t matter. Not when there were still those digits, not when there was that hand grasping him at his base firmly, and those lips whispering over his hip up his side to his shoulder. The slow press worked its way into him and he sucked in a short gasp as he relaxed into it. Long strokes left Ferox drugged from the sensation until he thought he could take no more. When the crash came no wetness flowed from his body, no follow up of oversensitivity, and nearly panicked, he whimpered, hating how vulnerable it sounded, but unable to help it. 

No words, just an arm shifting balance to slide under him, a chest pressing into his and Zevran’s own groan and a hot flood that had Ferox twitching in the assassin’s arms and in the impossibly strong grasp. He was lost, he wasn’t sure what direction was what, didn’t care, even when another whimper came out, breaking free against his will. Except there was nothing in that moment to fear, his mind running around in useless circles - _must be what being caught mid-leap from a carriage feels like..._ Another crash had his muscles spasming and biting his tongue desperately, swamped and in the dark leaving him nothing to do but feel. 

_Ten little spheres, five short rods and oh-_ “ **Dear Maker**.”

Zevran’s deep sun shot laughter broke out, muffled in Ferox’s chest, “He is not here, _querido_ , I am.”

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t make his vocal cords work right, but his mind stuttered out, _I **know**._

Ferox was finally allowed freedom, a built up and repeating free-fall that had him hurtling to some unknown hole, only as he thought he would strike ground, warmth met him, catching him up in strong arms and a tongue in his mouth while he thrashed, everything pouring out in great pulses all at once. Collapsing back on the bed, the unseen room spun dizzyingly, the only solid thing a warm elf whose mouth was on his still, a sticky hand on his waist, fingers digging into flesh, the other in his hair as always. Clutching at Zevran, Ferox refused to let him go, even going so far as to roll the two of them over so he could keep himself crushed to Zevran, begging wordlessly for the anchor to reality.

Under his ear the assassin’s heart was hammering nearly as loudly as his own and Zevran’s words were like roiling thunder crackling in the distance as they thrummed in his lungs. “Hmmn...and hello to you as well, _querido_.”

 _Forget Highever, I’ll stay right here._ Managing to repress those words and change them into a grunt that was almost hopeful, “Mph. Sleep now...?”

“Sleep is good, yes,” fingers still wove themselves through his dark, braid wavy hair. “We shall do that then, now that I have invaded your personal space, so sorry I forgot to write the invitation to the filthy games...”

Tongue was disconnected from the rest of him, and the rest of him did not listen to the random firing in his mind. “Drop in...anytime. Door’s open.” _Else pick the lock_. Breathing in the scent he sighed, a happy and tired sound. Unsure and on unfamiliar ground, he was held securely, safe. He wanted to ask why, but he had already been told or shown why Zevran was still here, why he was loved, why he would stay. All Ferox had to do was believe.

Right then, he did.

There was no room for his doubts and fears here. Certainly, they would be back, but they could not find him for the moment and if they did, they couldn’t break through the arms that held him. Relaxing back into sleep, Ferox held on to Zevran, unwilling to release him, or even to roll over and straighten his spine, he just wanted to stay right there.

XXX

Ferox was surprised by a quick hug from Moira as she told him to keep himself safe on the road. It had clearly been impulsive and he wasn’t sure how to handle it other than to nod and gruffly tell her he would. He had been caught off guard by the embrace that happened before a flurry of skirts had surrounded Zevran for a last goodbye and lots of kisses and admonishments to be good, stay safe, and sip ginger tea if their stomachs were upset from the boat. When Zevran gained a hug from Len’s nurse, her face tucking itself near his ear to say something, to which the assassin had nodded as he released her, Ferox was still too startled to growl internally. Len was busy making faces up at Ferox as he said goodbye to his son a last time, giving him a little squish of a hug, then handed him off to Moira. After a good ear scritch, Horse trotted after the girls and Len, he knew his job was to keep them safe.

With that, Ferox, Zevran and five of the hired Crow guards swung back into their saddles, to make their way to Soldier’s Peak. He had some misgivings about the plan, partially because he had no wish to be separated from Len, and partially because he didn’t particularly _like_ Soldier’s Peak and the maleficar Warden who lived there. Actually, that wasn’t quite true - he did like it, it belonged to him, but Avernus was the issue. But he wanted information about the Taint and about the Joining amulets. And taking women and children and a large entourage over the mountainous roads didn’t appeal, let alone taking them anywhere near Avernus. Of course, the old man hadn’t done anything to the Drydens or the Wardens who had gone there for information - at least, Ferox hadn’t _heard_ of any ‘instances’, since he had left warnings that any who went to speak with Avernus to never go alone. 

Several days, and nearly to the foothills, Zevran finally released a bit of his worry. “I hope that there was enough dirty laundry to keep our boy happy,” Zevran sighed, clearly worried as he looked off towards the coast, no doubt imagining the ship making its way towards Highever.

“I’m glad I left warm clothing at the Vigil. Did Moira have to take everything?” grumbling, but glad she had thought of it. Ferox couldn’t be there, but everything he could think of to give was there and yet it was very inadequate.

Grateful that they were able to leave behind the unnecessary gear, including the large moving target that was the royal seal embossed carriage, or have them transported by ship, their baggage was severely reduced, that and they could each take an extra horse to trade off for faster travel. It also had the added benefit of not putting the horses at risk from traveling by water, which the very idea had had Zevran fretting over the beasts, particularly the one he had claimed as ‘his’. Ferox had caught some of the Crows nodding in agreement over the elf’s nattering, as they too were on some of the few of the Antivan beasts that had been deemed ‘ride-able’. To Ferox it was all one in the same, as he didn’t think they could tolerate his weight when he was in heavy armour - so why worry that he had a ‘stupid sway-backed nag’ as Zevran would grouse, poking the large jawbone before feeding the mare a bit of carrot or apple.

A horse was transportation, one that was going to get them to Soldier’s Peak and to Highever, quickly. It wasn’t like they were _mabari_ or something along those lines. They were often stupid, obstinate, and some of them had to be punched in the head before a rider could even think about putting a saddle on them. They were akin to mules that the dwarves used, stupid. True, they were not as strong as oxen, but other than a farmer’s kid riding out to the fields, nobody rode an ox. Ferox didn’t understand these Antivans, but it could be like Fereldens and their ‘dogs’ and he was just missing something cultural.

Thinking of which, he was half-glad, half-perturbed, that Horse had opted to remain with the children. However, the mabari was an ever alert sentinel, and nothing short of death would stop the hound from keeping Len safe, as well as the girls no doubt. Strange creatures and their bows, and the fact that Horse actually seemed pleased with the purple ribbons that now adorned his collar...

XXX

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been paying attention, it was just that the Crows were _faster._ Some signal came from Zevran, and they were all unsheathing weapons and pulling in tight around Ferox. By the time he had freed his heavily rune inscribed dragonbone sword that had been a gift from the First Warden upon the defeat of Urthemiel, they were already converging - silent but for the hoofbeats and jangle of harness - on the group of far too well armed brigands. 

He was busy trying to get his horse to obey his commands, as the beast sidled back and forth nervously. It didn’t matter though, because as the soldiers - because they had that look and that feel - charged, the Antivans were already in motion. Not a one had to hang onto the reins as he did, their horses moving with them, bucking and kicking, or heads snaking out to bite. Their opponents were mounted on heavier horses, but those too moved like living weapons on the field. Closing with one mounted fighter, Ferox began hacking away, fighting to keep his seat and to keep his horse from not breaking away. From the corner of his eye, a flashing whirlwind, laughing joyously vaulted from the saddle, rolling as he struck ground and lunged up, the blade that had clearly been named after Zevran’s velvety whisky voice arcing upwards. The soldiers were making plenty of noise themselves, crying out, shouting, and suddenly Ferox felt that he was the center of a storm. All around him the Crows were circling, darting forward and descending like a flock of...well... _crows_...leaving nothing but picked clean carrion in their wake.

A mad dervish dashed by on foot, a riderless horse converging from crushing metal and flesh beneath hooves, to run beside him at the sharp whistle issued, and one toned bronze arm reached out, momentum and strength carrying the elf up in a leap to land in the saddle once more. Nearly as fast as it had all begun, it was over. Ferox began to dismount, but a snapped snarl from Zevran and a raised hand bade him to remain. Another gesture and two of the Crows flanked him, weapons still out, scanning their surroundings. His assassin was rolling over a groaning body after having kicked weapons away, and arms to spread.

“Who are you?” a booted foot came down on one of the outflung hands, grinding down and breaking bone. 

No answer came beyond an agonized grunt and bared teeth.

Another hand was broken, then plucked up, a small blade pulled from some pleat in Zevran’s armour, then held to the bleeding palm. “Who are you?”

The look said it all. 

As did Zevran’s. It turned downright friendly... Then the elf began to slice, with that open and kind smile firmly in place. Skin was peeled back slowly, revealing muscle and tendon. Ferox made himself watch this side to his Crow that he had never seen before. In that moment there was more similarity to the duplicate than he had ever thought possible. The calm, kindly smiling brutality inflicted, had Ferox’s own hands twitching on the reins. Periodically the question was asked once more, while the unoccupied Crows turned to check for other survivours. 

“Take as many alive as you can,” Ferox broke his focus on Zevran long enough to instruct the closest Crow. Armand or something like that. “I’ve always felt it good manners to bring gifts to those I’m about to visit.”

In the swarthy face white teeth flashed in a smile, surrounded by a well groomed goatee as the polished ebony haired Antivan leaped down to tell the others. If that particular Crow’s hair had been shorter, his skin paler, and his Ferelden accentless, Ferox would be reminded of long dead Taliesin. Thankfully, Armand or whatever his name was, resembled the rarely seen coffee and the more commonly observed in Ferelden, ivory. Returning to watching Zevran, the only word that came to mind was ‘dissection’. The soldier his assassin was focused on had a mangled arm, up to the elbow, and had apparently answered one question thus far. 

Zevran moved to the other arm, plucking up the broken hand that was swelling with damage. “Ah, Luc, now that I know your name, allow me to introduce myself. Zevran Arainai, gentleman and Crow, at your service. You and I will become good friends. At first, you will hate me.” Another slice, bone crunching as a finger was pried away and a scream broke out. “But, by the time we are done with our conversation, you will be as my brother, and your answers will finally be truth, as you and I both know that you will eventually break. I will not let you die, and since you also do not wish to die, by the time you think it will be a relief, you will have told me all I wish to know and much I care nothing about.”

Defiance was still there, even when the Crows finally set up camp, giving Zevran the time he needed for his interrogation, and the captives to recover somewhat. Ferox wasn’t going to waste too many resources on them, but he also didn’t want them to give up the ghost before he delivered them to Avernus. The mage would be pleased to have something to experiment on and Ferox had no qualms about handing them over. _Blasted mage has been useful. And I do want information; more than lyrium will get me._ He managed to eat through the mewling and whimpering that was now only rarely interspersed with shrieks. The assassin was cruel and efficient, applying poultices as needed and stamina droughts to keep his quarry awake, aware, and alive until his usefulness was finished.

One of the Crows - this one rangier than powerfully built Armand, more like Nate, long hair pulled back from the paler face that had been shaved free of beard save for extended sideburns - came to him gesturing at one of the small travel tents they had brought, but it was the only one that had been erected, “ _El Jeffe_ will be at his work a time. Best be getting sleep. We ride hard later. You will be put you on better than the stupid donkey that almost get you dead.”

Ferox shot the Crow a look, “I thank you for the advice, but it’s unnecessary. I will wait for what news there is to be had.”

He shrugged, shook his head, holding up his hands, as though to say ‘have it your way,’ before heading to gain some rest. How the Crows could sleep while Zevran ‘worked’, Ferox was unsure. It was a neat trick. And he had thought he could sleep through anything. When the soldier’s testicles were sliced away neatly, dangled over the soldier’s face then tossed into the fire, Ferox thought he might be ill especially as the rest of the organ was then mangled in a manner nowhere near as neat, leaving it in streamers still attached. Nothing remained eventually but a blubbering mass, barely coherent, mumbling in Orlesian as Zevran switched to that language as well at some point. Further along, even that stopped and the Crow who came to inhabit the body of his lover reached down grabbing the head of what had once been a man, and swiftly rotated it as tendons bulged in forearms, the crack and snap of spine audible even several yards away as the body spasmed for several, impossibly long seconds.

Zevran rocked back on his heels with a tired sigh, pulling out a waterskin and washing the sticky mass that coated his arms from the elbow down, then took a clean rag, wet that, and scrubbed at his face, then once more at his arms. Nails were paid deep attention, the creases in palms and wrist, then a good look over armour and clothes. Somehow the assassin had managed to remain relatively free of blood outside of his arms once his vambraces were removed, and as Ferox watched the painstaking care spent, he wasn’t entirely sure if Zevran’s distaste was born of the fact that blood meant evidence or that it was being sickened at what he had done. Ferox thought somehow that it was more likely to be the former rather than the latter. If it had been the duplicate in Kirkwall, the distaste would be solely upon a dislike of evidence, no doubt about that.

Rising fluidly from the crouch, hard gold eyes scanned the area, checking over it to his satisfaction before they alighted on Ferox. Confusion creased the brow before it was smoothed away. The Crow went to the fire that had been set, digging out jerky and hardtack to sit beside him, appraising glances sent his way, holding hints of surprise and something else he couldn’t identify. 

_Did you honestly believe I would leave you alone to this?_

Finally Zevran spoke after a second helping of food, “An Orlesian clean up crew. Apparently the Hero of Ferelden is in the way of certain interests. Of course Damien did not know much other than you were to be killed. The others would know nothing more than he did either.” Flicking fingers dismissively, “Much better than those who were sent against Leliana, but then again, the one with the purse was a mere bard. Whomever hired these men has deep pockets, hmn? Pity Damien did not know more...”

“I thought his name was ‘Luc’?” 

A derisive snort, “Non-Crows are not taught how to handle torture the same way we are, however, most of the ‘better’ groups of those who specialize in wetwork use aliases and will stick to them... At first.”

“And how do you deal with torture?” prompted Ferox, partially out of curiosity, and partially because Zevran appeared to wish to focus on something near to topic but not quite on it.

“Hmph, I was not paid for silence as you recall, yes? But if I was, it is very simple.” Zevran focused on him enunciating carefully, “ _Lie_. Resist at first, then spill out whatever they wish to know, but lie, keep it realistic, so that when you do finally break, because _querido_ , everyone does eventually if they do not die first. Lie until even you no longer remember what was true and what was not. The only protection you have in those instances is to give them what they ‘want’ so that you can hope for a quick death. Understand? But...if time is important, then you should buy it. Be fantastical then or convincing, whatever will make for such confusion that they do not know when you were speaking true or not.”

He nodded, the message heard. Before, when they were being hunted, before he was taken to the Fort, there were no words to this effect. And then later when they were attacked in the Vigil...well it was never for information that was being sought, only their deaths. Granted, at that time, he was just beginning to learn useful things, but it was too early to be a threat to anyone other than darkspawn and a tea party or two. But from Zevran’s initial words, death sounded like it was the goal again, until the instructions...

There was a hesitation, one that Ferox hadn’t seen in a long time, before the hand lay on his thigh. “I am tired, it has been a long day and night. Dawn will come too soon, but I need rest, _querido_ , as do you. We should claim what little is available, no?”

Covering the brown hand with his own, “Come then, no delay.”

Zevran fell into a deep and fast sleep, with one hand on the hilt of a blade, still armoured in his well worn, comfortable leathers. But his other hand was entwined with Ferox’s left as they lay on their backs. He didn’t enjoy it, but Ferox followed his assassin’s example and slept in his leathers as well. Tomorrow his back would pay the price, but by late afternoon they should be at Soldier’s Peak and he would be able to claim a bed and bath.


	10. Hot Then Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danger Will Robinson, Danger! We're prone to error, as most any human is, and though we have gone over our work separately and together multiple times, there are things that have slipped through! Feel free to message us if you see typos or egregious fubars (minus those purposeful grammatical snafus that are stylistic) so we can fix it up.

“Avernus, I am very happy that you are pleased with your presents. However, instead of planning what to poke them with next, I do need your assistance on this matter.” The mage was busy rubbing his hands together, plotting, and wasn’t really listening at all. Using the only other polite method available, Ferox accessed the Joining amulet to ‘talk’, hoping to startle the Warden into paying attention. _’Avernus. I need to be able to talk to somebody like this, but he isn’t a Warden. How do I do it?’_

“Oh! No need to shout young Warden!” the wizened maleficar straightened up. “Do excuse me, it’s so rare that I get visitors...and ones with gifts no less! I just couldn’t help myself... If I could remember when my birthday was, I would say that it was today.” The raspy worn voice chuckled gleefully. “Now, what’s this you want to do? An amulet? That’s easy enough, young Warden.”

The old man puttered about his workroom, a most homey sort of action Ferox would expect of an oldster. Except this was no simple library or kitchen or alchemist's lab, not with the hanging cages containing prisoners and enough implements of torture that an entire cell of Crows would be happy. A bowl and lancing knife were in the mage’s hands as he returned, but as soon as the old man swung towards Ferox, one of Zevran’s hands wrapped tight enough that Avernus nearly dropped the blade.

“No blades near him,” devoid of anything but intensity, and Ferox saw that a slim needle coated in something dark and sticky was poised to prick the mage’s neck.

“It takes the Warden’s blood to make an amulet that he can access, young man. Just a drop, no more, no less.”

Ferox waved Zevran off, “It’s alright. We need this amulet and Avernus knows what he’s doing. Isn’t that right?”

“I’m just an old man, what could I do against such as the two of you?” The effect was somewhat ruined by a dry laugh and the crackle of magic in the air. 

Which was cut off by Zevran pricking the mage’s skin. “Plenty, as we well know. The magebane should wear off soon, it was just a dab, no need to look so ill old man.”

“Oh, I suppose, I deserved that,” he sounded particularly woozy. “You go on and get it from him if you’re going to be so...particular about it.”

His assassin was in quite the mood, but considering what, or rather who, they had drug up the mountain, and their reason for being ‘available’ for being drug up it... Frankly, Ferox didn’t really want to tangle with Zevran either. “Fine,” _do your worst,_ and pulled off a gauntlet.

The bowl was collected and the knife thrown to thunk into a table, while a fresh needle was slid from the inside of a baldric. Zevran took his hand, most of the fingers curling around his gently in support while thumb and forefinger pinched his thumb tightly and sank the needle in quickly then back out. Ferox barely had time to register more than a pinch before the bowl that had been balanced in the crook of his assassin’s arm was held under his weeping thumb. As soon as several drops were collected, a paste was smeared over the tiny wound, numbing it along with the spreading tingle of elfroot. His bronzed elf passed the bowl to Avernus who was still looking the worse for wear from the dose of magebane, then kissed the rapidly healing wound quickly. 

“Zevan? Avernus uses magic to stay alive, not to mention that he’ll need it to make the amulet,” a little worried. _And you’re going to have to wear whatever he makes...best not make it a tool for revenge._

“If he has not dropped over dead already from a mere speck of poison, then he will be fine in the twenty to thirty minutes it takes to wear off,” exasperated. “But if you insist, I can give him something to assist, however I do not know how he would react to the antidote. Sometimes the cure truly is worse than the poison, _querido_.”

The ancient man sat, groaning as he did so, “Your pet’s assessment is close enough. A bit of blood and a doze, and I will be fine. I’ve dealt with worse than some overprotective rakish rapscallion giving me a little poke.” Various materials and vials were clinked and clanked on the table, a small box with dried flakes in it pulled from a chest that was packed with ice. “You always bring me such exciting things, young Warden. Dryden’s head on a platter, a way to seal the tears, information on how well my elixir worked...hmmmnmmm...” laughing. “Oh yes, yes... This too is exciting! A Warden amulet to talk to a non-Warden, oh yes, yes, yes, yes, why hadn’t I ever thought of that? Hmmn...probably because I would have to lure them here. Except that young Dryden, such a nice boy. I wish he would come up and talk to me...tell me of the world and all that.” Ground blood flakes and lyrium were swirled together in the bowl with Ferox’s blood. “One of the young ones left me a box with a scarf and mittens - fancy that. I do hope no one scolded him too badly. Especially since it is a very nice scarf - and it’s even in my favourite colour - pink!”

 _Do not growl. You need his help. Talking to Levi will do more good. Reminding him that the children are at risk given that so many Drydens have survived the Joining. Something made them more receptive to it. If Avernus wasn’t as helpful as he was, elfroot wouldn’t fix a sword through the mage’s neck._ He had never told Avernus to research ethically, wanting to use any means necessary, something even Riordan said, regardless of the ‘kindness,’ no one was going to be put at risk...well, other than what he brought for ‘donations.’

By the time the mage was done with his little assembly he was looking less worn, and then a sharp crackle came as magic infused the blood and lyrium. “Ah! There we go.” A scream came from one of the cages, a fine mist ripping free of skin and coalesced around Avernus leaving the Warden revitalized and his victim gibbering. “Now then. I have a request for your uppity pet.”

Beside him Zevran instantly relaxed, and Ferox recognized it for what it was - readying of a defense. “He can speak for himself.” _And he isn’t a pet,_ Ferox kept that thought to himself.

“I want a bit of _his_ blood to look at,” he remained seated, hands resting neatly on the table a fresh amulet before him, but also a vial of something else. “I’ve never had the chance to examine a non-Ferelden elf’s blood before. I’m impossibly curious.”

Zevran glanced up at Ferox, a shoulder raising slightly.

_’Avernus, what are you doing? That isn’t the only reason.’ If you think he’s my pet, then you’ve looked at the wrong one of us._

_’Oh, very well, I’ll use small words for you. He smells different to my magic - ‘pure’ is the word that comes to mind and of a blood magic I don’t know. I wish to research both things... And to see if he would survive the Joining of course. Can never have too many Wardens.’_

_’I will discuss this with him.’_ Ferox stared hard at the old man, not sharing the thought, _But I don’t like it one bit, you are too slippery. Do not growl._

The fresh amulet was passed over with a worn smile, showing off old blocky teeth yellowed with age. “That is all I ask, young Warden.”

Downstairs, he concentrated for amulets, to see if there were ones placed around the Peak. Avernus might be able to be use them to hear things. Perhaps why he knew when to place the vial and research notes in the open to be read. Or any of the tricky things he had done in the past.

After searching and finding nothing, Ferox removed his amulet for the first time since...well since putting it on. It was almost as if he was compelled to never take it off... As if something knew that it was worth more to him than a memory of the ceremony, of those who died, of those who were there... He put it, and the new one, in his chest, burying it under his pack before shutting the lid.

Apparently the wily mage already knew what to do with one…and hadn’t shared; hadn’t made it available to everyone. What was the use of keeping a means to communicate with other Wardens to yourself…? _To listen in, Ferox, it’s what you’d do if it was needed_. What other things was the old Warden keeping from them? What the Warden had shared was interesting, adjusting the ratios of darkspawn and Archdemon blood, something which was already being done. And Avernus was also quite intrigued by the Architect and the Mother, disturbingly so, as though he were pleased by something.

Mages had phylacteries for a reason, if Templars could track down a mage, Avernus would, and could, do the same, and who knew what else, to a Warden. Blood was a powerful conductor, even his uninitiated mind understood that, and what if all the amulets were, were a form of phylactery? What had it already done to Ferox? And the others? What would hanging something like that around his assassin’s neck do to him?

Chilling - if Zevran hadn’t touched the mage, like the little healer did to himself, Avernus wouldn’t have known anything about the assassin. His stomach churned as his mind kept finding worse and worse reasons to prevent this. But what if they didn’t hand over some of Zevran’s blood - would Avernus use the amulet for vengeance? Or use them somehow to control him to get what he wanted anyway? But if they did hand it over, what would happen _then_?

Hilt worn fingers and palm slid over the back of Ferox’s neck between his braid and the flesh. “What is it, _querido_?”

Sigh. _No ser, I don’t like it._ “Find your boots, I need a walk,” was all Ferox would say.

Zevran did so and pulled on his baldrics once more. “Of course.”

Heading away from the keep, off the road, he would have put amulets on it, if this way of listening was even possible. When he was twice greater the distance than darkspawn would be felt from the walls, Ferox explained his thoughts, fears, suppositions, and many things non-Wardens shouldn’t know, not that he thought for a single moment that Zevran hadn’t studied up. Particularly if he had been waiting ‘years’. In fact he might have known more than he, even before that trip to Kirkwall.

Rubbing his chin, Zevran stared up at the sky. “There is a saying in Antiva - the most dangerous are those with convictions.” Pacing in a circle, hands clasped behind his back, “A good man will always know that he is good, he will not question himself or his deeds. Everything and anything is ‘necessary’ for the ‘good,’ yes? You have been this man yourself, to one degree or another, however, you never fooled yourself. Avernus is one such as you in this fact as well.” Kicking at the dirt, then scuffing his heel in it, Zevran turned to him, “The Wardens goal is one thing - destroy the Archdemons and purge Thedas of the darkspawn. It is the driving force of all. It is for the ‘good,’ no? Avernus is old, he has seen one Archdemon dead, but there are more.” 

Grunting, “Two, if the stories are true.” _Razikale the Dragon of Mystery and Lusacan the Dragon of Night._

“This Architect, he awoke Urthemiel accidentally, he knows of the locations of the others, did you not say this? Men like Avernus, men like you, can be, sometimes, are extremely easy to anticipate if one knows the parameters of the ‘human’ condition.” Zevran rolled his hand over, pushing at his vambrace enough to show the dark veins beneath the honeyed skin. “He desires warriors to kill the Archdemon. If it were you in his shoes - what would you choose to do? Would you have the Architect awaken one, then the other, so that they could be brought out and defeated? You would. It would cost, but afterwards...?” Scrubbing his hands over his face, “Freedom.”

Zevran paused in his circuit to come up to Ferox and stare, eyes sad, “I will outlive you, barring accidents and disease or other unnatural triggers, _querido_. I know how to kill darkspawn and my memory is long. Sooner than any other than yourself, Alistair and Horse, I could tell when there were darkspawn nearby courtesy of my senses. And if not me, then my offspring, or potential offspring, for what is the likelihood that I would not take them to the Deep Roads to ensure they know very well what might come in their generation or the next? Think about that then. If I were you pretending to be him...I would think on that.” 

“Zevran, it is not _my_ choice. You can speak for yourself, but you needed all of the possible information,” wearily.

He shook his head. “I agree with him in principle, as do even you. To rid Thedas of Archdemons and darkspawn? A worthy goal. Yet some sacrifices are not worth it. I would not put Ani, Len, Eleanor or Elissa in the positions of making such a choice. Nor would I take it from them if that was what they chose. I will tell him that I would prefer to wait and see - if he tells me his plans himself. I will not enter into that sort of situation without him putting at least some of his cards on the table. If all he wished to know was of the magic that had touched me in the past, then he could find some way to travel to Antiva and study with a shaman. Or even convince one to tell him of those spells.”

Ferox thought about that for a moment - that might mollify the maleficar. “What if you offered him that instead?”

Zevran blinked in surprise, gaze turning inwards, then shrugged. “I could make inquiries.”

“In the morning then. Let him think I am,” a raised eyebrow, ”persuading you for now. A soak in those hot springs the Drydens located might do the trick, if you’re interested in that kind of thing.” 

The wide and full lipped mouth twisted up into a warm smile, the difference between it and the ones that were fake striking Ferox strongly. “I do love the way you think, _querido_. Such a delightful suggestion. Hmm, invitation accepted.”

“Remember that door that was blocked off, near where that statue is that looks out off the walls?” Ferox found his arm linked with Zevran’s as he explained some of what had been found at Soldier’s Peak since their group’s visits during the Blight. It was a goodly hike back to the grounds themselves, which made for a perfect time to describe those discoveries. “Once the Drydens unblocked the doors, they found a series of caverns. There’s mushrooms and lichens that glow in the dark - which apparently make an interesting beer Oghren is perfecting, and a hot springs. Levi brought up one of his cousins who is a farmer and she is trying to grow things in there. Apparently they found a source for those dwarvish crystals and are using them for actual light.”

Pride welled up in Ferox as he finished up, their boots crunching on dirt and rock, “The Vigil may be the port, the source of income, the obvious Warden Headquarters, but this...this is the true one...one the Harpy doesn’t know about and hopefully the First Warden and his cronies thought was destroyed in the siege or have long since forgotten.” With a smile that didn’t have to be forced, “This -” gesturing at the Peak as it came back into sight, taking a quick dance step, tickled to finally share this, “is the backup plan.”

The arm that slid from being linked with his to settle around his waist, felt good and when he glanced at Zevran he saw what he thought might be pride there in the citrine eyes. This was a thing that Ferox had built, with the help of others, yes, but it had been his vision, and sharing it with Zevran and showing him this space that they had cleared together long ago...but had been worked for in other ways... Well, it was apparent that his assassin took pride in Ferox’s actions. And that felt inordinately good.

“After the Vigil’s walls were rebuilt and both it and Amaranthine’s repairs completed, the dwarves and labourers came here.” The outer walls were higher and wider than they had been so long ago. In addition, the gate had been improved upon as well. “The workers didn’t know where they were, but the dwarf certainly knew the taste of stone under his feet and also the value of assisting someone who found him more work afterwards - like in Denerim for example. Then Highever afterwards, since Fergus wouldn’t say what was left after the fire.” Ferox shrugged and rested his arm atop the elf’s shoulders as they approached the keep. “There’s another door from the barracks to the caves, but it was sealed up, and behind one of those large bookcases. With the stonemason’s help, it was reopened, so unless you like to throw yourself in the snow, there is another exit.”

It was rather droll, “Not hardly. The cobbler said he would not repair my boots another time if I bring them to him again when they finally need repairing once more, as they have been well-worn and well-loved nearly to pieces. I fear tromping in too much snow will have them in that state, so no, I do not enjoy throwing myself into such large mounds unless necessary.”

“Has Master Wade had time to look at them? Or are they - ” Ferox found his best whiny Wade voice, “simply beneath me, Herrin!” 

Laughter, “You do that far too well, _querido_. Please promise me you will not go bald any time soon, my hands would be rather upset without your locks to play with while vexing you to no end.”

Chuckling he opened the door down to the caves, the warmth rising to form clouds where it met the outside chill. 

XXX

The water’s heavy embrace had been almost too hot to take at first, but now it was more comfortable. Beside him, Zevran was making happy sounds, long deep sighs, chuckling little moans as he wallowed about in the water like an otter. _Too slippery, squirmy to be a beaver._

Watching the almost play nearby, Ferox found a perfect spot between where the hot spring water flowed in and where an icy cold stream trickled, and just closed his eyes. “So, when you retire from court, you’d like to live up here in the cold and the snow just to take in the waters?”

A grumble, “No, I would rather live somewhere where I can get decent fish chowder - that _I_ do not have to make. I would also like to reach out my window and pluck quinces at will, or figs. Mm...figs...ah...so long. So long since I have seen fair Antiva. That little business a few years ago does not count - mixing business with pleasure...tchk. No, not I.” Tangled and darkened gold hair floated in the water away from shoulders and neck as he sank down nearly to his chin. “The smell of the Drylands blowing in, the way the markets and bazaars are raucous at nights and mornings, but silent when the sun is highest. Glazed terracotta half barrel tiles on roofs, square ones painted with little designs and lining hallways or decorating walls in stripes, or ones smaller than my thumbnail creating mosaics on tables. People laughing and smiling as they pass by, children swooped up into hugs by strangers when they bump into their legs, no one afraid that anything untoward might happen. _Dos besos_ greetings to friends and enemies alike... Ferox, I will have to show you my fair, gleaming jewel that is Antiva sometime. Ferelden may hold my heart, but Antiva holds my soul.”

Many things, including - _And you stayed here for me, foolish elf_ \- rolled about in his waterlogged mind. Instead Ferox nodded dumbly, knowing that not everything could be changed, and even the changes they had discussed, planned for, and thought of, would take many years.

“Antivans are hive minded. The whole lives and works to serve the individual and the individual serves the whole. Just because there are places filled with corruption does not mean it is a bad place. The core culture is very self-sufficient and integrated, _without_ neglecting the individual.” Zevran swished the water slowly, “We have had to be. We also cannot afford to show our teeth too much, or our bounty, because then the packs would descend.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think I am about to hear a ‘we are the universe made to experience and have thought, I am a part of you, you are a part of me, your pain is my pain...’ speech as given by the little healer.” He opened an eye as if checking to see who he was with. The springs, gently lit with phosphorescent lichens on the walls and ceilings, cast a blue green glow over the pair of them.

The elf surged gently towards him, limbs wrapping around Ferox, “Your pain is my pain, _querido._ You are a part of me, and I of you. We are one, we are apart, same and different. Duality and balance in constant flux, yes?”

“No, no, no. If you want this conversation, you go find her. She can go on forever on this topic, or perhaps just pressed it into my mind in a loop.”

Laughter crinkled his eyes, “She sounds more and more Antivan the way you describe her. What is chaos but a pattern we cannot discern? What is completion, but not knowing that something is not present?”

“I know that one, she says that chaos has a pattern...” Ferox made and aggravated sound as if he had been tricked. Groaning, “Don’t drag me in, those weird philosophies break my brain.”

“Hmmn. Yes, yes, I see. The concept of being forever pressed up and into situations where no single person can survive on their own is difficult to grasp, hmn?” Face rubbing against his, “Here a man can survive if he knows how to hunt and find shelter.”

Wrapping an arm around the heat soaked warmth, “He says to the one who dragged not only himself, but eight others across Ferelden, on foot, I might add, to save the world, or Ferelden, or Thedas, wherever else. So, I will find your shelter and shoot your deer.”

“Mmn, but that was temporary, not forever... Here such reliance is a transient thing, it is not permanent, in fact reliance is considered a weakness. But anyway, you need not find me shelter, it is right here,” and of course a hand plunged into Ferox’s damp locks.

“Considered, perhaps. However, reliance is important even here where we like to believe that we have no need of such. The farmer relies upon his arl, the arl upon the farmer. One protects the other and because of that protection the farmer can provide food. Everyone depends on everyone else.”

His lover twisted around to press his back to Ferox’s chest, “Hmmhmmn. Take it to the Landsmeet when you are Regent and make them all choke on that detail so many forget.” A hand waved expansively, “Along with all those other details, yes?”

“As a member of the Landsmeet, I have the ability to _tell_ them about it now, but I prefer to keep my head on my shoulders. But even as Regent, I do not think they will swallow it until we have more changes in place, and even then, it is a bitter pill.” 

Zevran hummed relaxing against him languidly and as an anchor while his lower body floated upwards. “One thing that we should not do anything about trying to import - the fact that no one listens to our monarch. However, between you and I, I have always believed it to be a front.”

Amused rumble, “Says the Crow to the Prince Consort.”

Feigning indigence, “People listen to you! If they do not, I can persuade them... Or at least lend you their ears.”

Leaning down to nuzzle an ear, Ferox’s rumble continued, “I fancy these over any other, why would I wish to borrow more?”

A growling indrawn breath and tilted head that resulted in what could only be classified as a squirm. “These always listen to you.”

Softly, “Which causes me to marvel and persist in questioning your otherwise excellent judgement.” Ferox rubbed his nose lightly along the edge of the lobe, warm breath tickling. 

“Shall I count the ways?” almost a laugh, almost a rumble, and quite noticeably rough and breathless. “Shall I tell you of how your dark eyes glint when you are determined? Or how you look when they go soft? Hmmaybe perhaps you wish to hear of how steady you are, how warm, even when freezing those around you away from your center... You are not noble, but you are good.”

“Noble, I am. Good has yet to be seen.”

A growl as he rubbed the side of his head against Ferox’s cheek. “I do not mean your blood. And a good man takes care of things, which you do, yes? Even when you can barely take care of yourself, you do for others what you cannot claim for your own needs. Merely because there are multiple reasons, some ‘self-serving’ to some of what you do, does not lessen the worth of those actions. _Braska_ , sometimes you are so wet behind the ears, _querido_ , when it comes to perspective.”

“I have plenty of perspective and am merely playing with one who professes to hear me. Thankfully, also one who perseveres in propping me up even when I wish to throw myself from towers, into a demon’s mouth, an ogre’s fist, or even a harpy’s bed.” Baritone pitched low, “Unfortunately, there is much of my father in me and nearly everything done is to make progress on pet projects. It is no wonder my head is full of plans, just to keep everything and everyone in the right place and moving forward.”

Ferox could practically feel Zevran thrumming and gnashing his teeth as he continued to tease the sensitive pointed ears with nose, breath, or with his mouth so near, a brush of lips while speaking. Bronzed hands grasped his own dusky fleshed one, pulling it to take the thick manhood in a firm grasp as Zevran craned his neck enough to kiss the side of Ferox’s mouth, growling. Legs sank back down under the water so that Zevran could press back into him fully, the hand ‘unoccupied’ reaching to find its customary spot in Ferox’s hair. As always. _Here comes the phrenology..._

He could not withhold the chuckle. “I thought you were enjoying your bath, as you seemed so relaxed and content,” _For the first time since yesterday_ , “and now you are so...tense.” Ferox punctuated it with a firm squeeze to the hard heat in his hand, “A good friend of mine would probably recommend an Antivan massage, I hear they can be quite good for releasing tension,” murmuring against the ear that he had paid much attention to already and drew in the tip playfully, flicking his tongue over it lightning fast. Wrapping his other arm around him, pretending that it would prevent ‘escape’, Ferox’s fingers traced his assassin’s tensing stomach muscles.

“ _Mierda_ ,” it was a heartfelt groan, and Zevran bucked in his arms, while the odd sensation of strangely flexible cartilage curled around his tongue. 

“Such language,” rumbled, unrelenting. “Next you’ll be calling for the Maker, actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea...” a deep chuckle.

If Ferox had thought his assassin was gnashing his teeth before, this time the grinding was audible as the muscular buttocks pressed back against him, arching against the his length that was trapped between them. “ _Braska_ \- I would rather call for you.”

Fingers skimmed up the taut abdomen lightly catching a metal hoop threaded through a nipple, before continuing explorations, all the while keeping the honey-gold body close, his lips musing into the ear canal. “I don’t recall that you have called out for anything, but that could be because you are always so aware, never completely relaxed. Healthy, certainly...and I will not seek to end that attention. But that said, I wish to apologize for attempting to distract the rest of you.” Relaxing his other hand, Ferox ran his fingers over the metal spheres embedded in the skin, almost idly.

In his arms he felt Zevran’s body shuddered, the blond head banging back against his shoulder with a hiss, hips jerking. “ _Querido,_ I take back what I said - you are most demonic...”

“Oh no,” chuckling, “I was very careful in the Fade.”

The whine as the high forehead was pressed into his neck was gratifying. “You need nothing from the Fade, _querido_.”

Remorseless, feigning discovery and exploration, Ferox teased with a light touch. Thumb playing with the rods, up and down as if it was the most fascinating thing, something that he could do all evening, if given the chance. Fingers still tracing ribs and muscles, he pretended to be very relaxed, just enjoying the heat of the springs and what he had in his hands even as it flexed strongly and twitched every few moments. A small tiny bit, locked down deep, was laughing and waiting. 

“Well, I did find you there, didn’t I?” as if the question was the only thing on his mind.

A growl and bared teeth, one leg hooking back around Ferox’s as friction was sought, and he could feel the assassin fighting for a shred of self-control, “Yes, you did...”

“Wynne and the hound, of course.”

“Horsie, you mean?” a growling, breathless laugh as his hips ground against him. “Little ones help find hidden things.”

 _Striking back?_ Ferox admired the discipline, fingers again playing with a hoop, this time the thick gold one at the tip, rolling it back and forth to the bead that held it closed. “He’s not a pup any more than you are a kitten.”

“Oh but, you...” when Ferox squeezed as the small sphere pressed at entry point, Zevran’s back arched, head pushing into his shoulder. “You...should have...seen him...jump, happy. Girls,” with each word that was uttered, Ferox would run his tongue over the nearest ear from lobe to tip, coupling it with the play at hard flesh, and his assassin would vibrate a moment before hissing and fighting out another intelligible word. “Elissa, called him...he...” A choked snarl snapped down to hold in whatever almost broke free, and Ferox found himself smiling into the next flick of his tongue. “ _Jodeme, querido, augh...gusto mas._ ” [Fuck me (more of a ‘oh shit’ not literal), beloved, I like more]

Softly, “You have yet to teach me these words, Zevran.” Gently Ferox sucked on the earlobe, fingers wrapping around the elf’s length finally, sliding, still teasing, but moving nonetheless.

“Ask...I will tell, _mi hermoso corizon_ ,” Ferox felt Zevran’s hips trying to hold back from rolling, instead resulting in periodic twitch.

Teeth lightly holding his place, mumbling around the bit of skin, “Let’s begin with ‘ _querido_ ’.”

“‘Beloved’,” hoarsely. “It means...‘beloved’.”

Approving rumble. “And what of this latest? This ‘ _hermoso corizon_.” 

“‘My handsome heart’,” Zevran was flexing his fingers over Ferox’s forearm, tense, but oddly relaxed, having handed himself over, leaving Ferox almost weak-kneed himself in some ways. “Or beautiful, it is...contextual, depending on...preference.”

Almost chuckling at how he managed a ‘large’ word, Ferox upped the ante and removed his hand from Zevran just long enough for the pleading whine before giving the elf’s member a long stroke. “As you said, Antivan is expansive when translated, but I like that one.”

Groaning as Ferox bit the side of his neck firmly then kissed the red spot, “So glad you approve, _querido_.”

“I’m undecided, hrm...there are so many. What of ‘ _mijas_ ’?”

“‘My girls’, ‘my daughters’. ‘ _Hijo_ or _mijo_ ’, ‘my son’...my children,” the dark, aquiline featured face tucked itself into his neck panting as Ferox continued the slow, playful exploration.

 _And I wonder what you think of their new name for you? Has their mother corrected that? Either way, the girls will find a way to be happy with it._ “And the one you use so rarely, so discretely...‘ _amante_ ’?”

“‘Lover’,” sighed out against the column of his throat. 

Ferox paused for a moment, before kissing him again, “What of ‘ _como desees_ ’?”

“‘As you desire’,” Ferox found his chin nipped lightly. 

A grin before growling, “Zevran, what exactly do you desire?”

“I should think it was obvious, _amante_ ,” a rolling chuckle. “ _You._ Though your interrogation methods have improved.”

Ferox’s mouth returned to the delicate earlobe, having remembered what he was doing, nibbling, tasting, sucking on it. Strong fingers wrapped around the elf’s pulsing length resumed their long fluid strokes. His rumble and satisfaction at _his lover’s_ reactions, responses, and twitches returned. ‘Lover’ - Ferox had never given that title to Rory, it had certainly described him, but... Zevran was right about the stodginess of Fereldens and it was doubtful that he could use ‘lover’ outside of his mind, but he did like the thought of it now that it was out in the open. He liked it  very much and proceeded to show his elf just how much.

Zevran was making enough noise to spur Ferox on, staving off giving his lover exactly what he wanted. Until Zevran hoarsely begged, “Ferox... _amante mino, por favor,_ mercy...need you.”

Low chuckling, “Oh?” Zevran begging was new; it was not even something he did for his life, though at the time Ferox didn’t know that that life was unwanted. The assassin certainly tried to convince, had requests, but never begged... Ferox wanted to completely let go of any perceived restraint that he had put on him, but he knew that he couldn’t hold the elf anyway if he didn’t want to be there. Zevran _wanted_ to be here and _trusted_ Ferox enough to be here.

Having reached a line, one of the goals he had set out, he hadn’t planned any further and nearly cursed. Feeling the intentional shifting against him, begging and wordless encouragement, Ferox pressed his face into Zevran’s wet hair inhaling, reminding himself that he wanted to be there too and that it was safe; for both of them.

He was not going to be frozen, a man caught outside in winter, unable to move, afraid to move. _Ferox just take a step forward, just one. This is Zevran, he won’t bite until he’s certain you will like it too. Listen to him._ Fingers that had been smoothing over tense muscles, enjoying the feel of chest, stomach, hips, the arm ‘restraining’ his assassin, released him. _Keep going or admit that you are stuck. One or the other, you can’t stay here._ He nearly opened his mouth, sound caught in his throat.

Slipping the arm between them, the one that had just released Zevran, he reached under him, stroking warm, sensitive flesh, listening to the encouragement, trying to believe again.

“ _Querido, amante mio,_ ” hands reached back, one going to the back of Ferox’s head, cupping it and bringing it in close so they were chin to cheek, the other grasping his hip desperately, the litany wild, “please, beloved, my lover, Ferox, please. I need you, _mi hermoso corazon_.”

Pressing a finger in past the first ring of tight muscles, Ferox located the bundle of nerves that caused him to hiss or inhale or as was generally the case, become speechless. His other hand continued the strong sure slide along the astonishing thickness. _Why are you frozen? You want this. You started this. He trusts you._ Moaning, a full-body shiver rocked through Zevran, the elf having handed himself over, gave himself up into each touch and stroke even as he murmured his pleas. Daring to look at him, Ferox saw the assassin flushed even beneath the deep golden hued bronze skin, beads of sweat on his upper lip, eyes feverish and nearly drunk. 

Being there was not new, only Zevran relaxing and allowing Ferox to do whatever he wanted was new. Familiar and unfamiliar. Was this going to be how things were between them, just as he was comfortable another step was ready to be taken? The water making things easier, Ferox withdrew his hand and shifted, and pressing against him, controlled to the elf’s slow descent on his own outstanding need, unwilling to harm regardless of want or desire. 

He didn’t move for a moment, adjusting to the blinding tightness. Cheek resting on the back of damp darkened hair, catching his gasping breath, matching Zevran’s. 

Again, grateful to the waters, with his free arm, Ferox lifted the elf slightly and rocked his hips, rolling up. Thumb circling around the tip of velvet skin, catching the ring there for a moment before setting the rhythm. He was still mystified as to why Zevran would give up control, kept bashing his mind into _Trust, Ferox_. Able to control the rise and fall for time, he felt the moment when everything began to unravel, to fall away from the center, spinning out of control. When he dragged a tongue into the point of the ear then sucked it as the tip curled over his tongue, words were uttered, and then everything fell apart.

Releasing the ear to bury his head in the elf’s shoulder, he shook, nipping before pressing his mouth to the golden flesh to muffle a cry as his hips arched repeatedly, uncontrolled an arm clenched around Zevran’s waist. His other hand still moved to the deteriorating drumbeat and Ferox felt and heard when he was followed by a snarling growl. 

Letting go after a moment, Ferox lifted _his lover’s_ body and turned him on his lap so he could wrap his arms around him, to lay a cheek against the shuddering chest, desperate to retain the moment so he wouldn’t become frozen next time. _Please, no more,_ knowing that winter was not done with him.

A long, languid stretch as Zevran leaned away then his arms came back down to wind their way around Ferox’s shoulders. “Mmmn...yes. Ah. You were right, I am much more relaxed now. Delightful.”

A rumble was all Ferox managed. How Zevran so quickly found his tongue he was certain was one of those mysteries of the universe that he did not want to spend time contemplating, regardless of how it may have been pressed to his mind. There were _real_ problems that needed solving, ones he could touch and make sense of. Ones that didn’t involve digging into dark holes and poking the beasts within to see if they might come out into the light to be defeated. Instead he just squeezed Zevran who chuckled, radiating contentment.

XXX

After having the Peak’s main tower sanitized of remaining vestiges of demon parts and all of the Fade that would ever be removed without the benefit of time, Ferox had taken the Warden Commander’s office as his own room when he was at the Peak. The fire was crackling merrily and close to it, the canopied bed’s curtains were drawn closed, except for the side that faced the fire. Past the fire, where it had originally stood was the Warden Commander’s desk and belongings. Usually, Ferox just spread his work on the bed as it was warmer than the rest of the room, except for the summer time when he only infrequently would find his way to Soldier’s Peak.

Thankfully, just having come up from a ‘relaxing’ soak in the springs, followed by a plentiful and hot meal, they were still warm. Levi’s wife had heated bricks in her cookstove, wrapped them, and then popped two in their bed to keep toes warm. In the dark of winter, or nearly any time of the year, it was something he looked forward to. Ducking his head under the covers, with just a nose seeking air as he didn’t like to be buried, and toes pressed to the heat of the brick, it was as close to contentment as he had felt in so very long until only very recently. As a child, he and Fergus would share a bed in the winter, huddled together, toes pressed against their own brick until they finally got warm. Soon even the last curtain would be closed to conserve what little heat had been generated by the fire.

A lithe elven form shivered beneath the blankets and there was rustling and movement under it, “ _Mierda_ , it is colder than that harpy’s cunt no doubt...!”

“I don’t think there’s anything quite that cold.” Glancing over under the covers and the muggy dark, “What _are_ you doing, Zevran?”

“Socks! Two pairs! _Two pairs_! Else my toes might freeze off!” Ferox tried not to laugh at his discovery, as when the assassin rolled into him, he was completely naked - except the socks. 

_Two pairs, so I hear,_ the thought amused and wry. “A hat would help...a knitted one, I’m certain there are some downstairs...”

Twitching arms wrapped around his torso, the head firmly under the covers, trapping his breath, “It is bad enough I am wearing _socks_ to bed. I have beaten men for such a transgression, and here I am - doing such a vile thing! It is unattractive, and truthfully, faintly uncomfortable. Faugh! Keep your hats, I wish to wear no hat at all! I will use _you_ as my hat and your breath will keep my poor brain warm enough so that it works properly and does not freeze into some gelatinous mass to the bone.” A put out little growl as his lover burrowed closer, purring, “Ah, my trusty mattress, how I adore you...” just as frozen cold feet - through socks no less - _Two pairs to be exact..._ \- wrapped around his calf and ankle.

Hissing at the cold feet, carefully and precisely, “The brick is warmer than your mattress who can feel those frozen toes through his leggings.”

Grumpy squirming of the otherwise nude elf had him scrunched down into the center of the bed - deep beneath the covers. A poke to Ferox’s hip, “You had best not make any excess smells - I know other men seem to find it funny, but as I am generally on the receiving end - no Nevarran Ovens! I will make your worst morning look like a pile of adorable kittens mewling and purring I will be so put out! You will suffer my wrath, yes, _querido_ , even you would not be safe!”

He snapped again as the icy feet were again pressed to him, slipping under the leg of the pant, “Zevran, most people cool when they die, judging from your current temperature, you will warm...eventually...I hope.”

There was a growl from the chilly face in his abdomen, “Why can you not make more heat?! Faugh, must take matters into my own hands, yes, I will be warm _now_ blast it all.”

“I am sorry that the piping is not yet finished to send the hot water up into the tower yet. It was just finished in the outbuildings and downstairs. At least your precious horsie is warm.”

Another growl and the face rubbed at him once more, “Does me no good up here. At least _I_ have a solution,” and promptly made good on the ‘threat’. Ferox didn’t know whether to laugh or snarl as the elf mumbled around him, the deft tongue working the length to hardness, “I am too smart for my own good...mmn...”

“I am not...your hands are…cold...what?” Hitting his head back again the pillow. “Zevran!”

Determined laughter and chilly-warm fingers danced over his hips and abdomen as the mouth was too busy to talk. By the time the assassin was done, making contented noises as he plastered himself once more to Ferox, the space beneath the covers was a great deal warmer. _Almost have to lift the blanket enough to get a nice little gust of cold..._

Sticking a foot out of the heap of extra blankets...apparently Missus Levi was rather fond of said elf, Ferox snagged the curtain on the fire side of the bed to pull it closer to him so he could close that side too. Foot back under, he shoved both bricks closer to Zevran as Ferox was too hot.

“Oh, you do not mind? Tchk, careful _querido_ , else I might suspect you have feelings for me,” amusement and teasing as one of the bricks was scooted to sit somewhere at the small of the elf’s back.

“Suspect? Isn’t it a bit late for that? And here I thought you were the observant one.”

Zevran released a fat sounding little growl before lips pressed over Ferox’s breast bone, then worked their way up and out of the end of the covers to kiss him firmly. “Mph. You do not have to give me the second brick if you desire it. You, yourself, keep me sufficiently warm. At least this time, last time... Let us just say that I somehow managed to convince Leliana that I was about to die of frostbite if she did not allow me to pile into her much smaller tent with her. Her bottom does act as a very good constant source of warmth though. Like being curled around fresh bricks. Thing is big as a cart. However, in the morning she was rather displeased with me. Something about me being too close for comfort and hands using bosoms for squish-toys... Tchk, and she is _Orlesian_! So finicky you people!”

Chortling laughter trying to imagine it. “I am not Orlesian. But I can see the attraction.”

“A big bottom? Eh, I did nothing with her, so touchy about things. All an act I assure you, she just was not the type to have a bit of fun with anyway, would probably try to put my ears on a necklace as keepsakes or something - Orlesians are truly bizarre. I like my women to be women, and my men to be men. Mph, I am well satisfied, and feeling much better as an aside, your interrogation and persuasive capabilities assisted vastly, yes?” his assassin rambled and mumbled as he tucked himself in close. “I am glad to know you have such things for me, it feels supremely warm no matter how cold it is outside.”

 _Warm or cold, it does not matter... Zevran will speak, a reliable Maker given fact._ “It is as you say. Tomorrow we speak to Avernus again then back down the mountain where the temperature is more to your liking, yes?”

More burrowing, “The roads do not have beds, and this makes my mattress displeased. While a displeased mattress is amusing for an hour or so, much beyond that, and then I feel guilty. Until of course I get a rock digging its way into an ass-cheek. Morality and guilt fly out the window at such things.”

“If you are happy then I am content. Mattress or no,” arm tightening around his assassin. “Next stop is Highever, which has excellent mattresses and if I know Fergus, has down stuffed quilts and pillows and I would arm wrestle an ogre to take one home. How many nights on the cold hard ground, given your new horses?”

A pause as time and distance was calculated, “A week if the weather is moderately accommodating. Four or five days if we push the horses hard...”

“And how likely does my self-professed horse master believe that possibility to be?”

Frustrated grunting as he twisted around to rub at a temple. “Your riding skills leave far too much to be desired for us to push harder than that. And there is the pass between these bloody mountains and the foothills that rise up suddenly... We are best off on the road or near it at least in some ways. But this close to the first of autumn snows...? We dare not trudge through the foothills overmuch.”

“Zevran, you are not hurting my one remaining feeling,” snorting. “If you are frustrated with my lack of skill, I know a good teacher, one who would be patient if he wanted a mattress.”

Tutting, “When it comes to equines, I am always patient. They are like overly smart toddlers. At least passable ones are. The best are more like tractable teenagers... Or, fairly tractable.” Fingers combed through Ferox’s chest hair, circling and stroking soothingly, “But I do not have time to teach you on the road. A serviceable mount will be the best we can do for you for now.”

Unconvinced that he hadn’t just stepped into yet another trap, Ferox waited for it to snap shut. “If you are so certain...” seeming to let it go as he closed his eyes.


	11. Inside, Outside, Upside Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beep-beep: Humanoids detected. Multiple errors likely. Suggest multiple checking to limit human error...
> 
> If anyone would like to lend a hand at any point, even on something already posted, please do drop us a line.

Of course Zevran wouldn’t consider explaining how to sit a seat better, or demonstrating the way to ‘properly’ grip the horse’s barrel, steer with knees, and the multitude of little asides he spouted out at Ferox as they rode hard, ‘teaching’. And when he wasn’t pointing those things out, he was discussing methods of using the horse to survive. The one about making a small incision over a leg vein and drinking the blood nearly turned Ferox’s stomach; any drinking of blood made him think of the Joining, or that horse dung made into bricks, then baked or dried some other method, would then become suitable fuel for a fire. Ferox was familiar with the Chasind using frozen caribou droppings as fuel, when the bitter winter sucked the moisture from them, in the deep winter when the peat ran out and more could not be cut. Also when the Chasind hunters were following the migrating animals and they made do with what was plentifully available because timber was a rarity.

One of the Crows during one of the slow walks that Zevran had dictated for cooling their mounts after the bursts of trotting or galloping as land allowed, brought his horse closer to Zevran’s. A curious pointing and gesturing spirited conversation in Antivan transpired, the Crow clearly asking the elf something with the answer leaving the other man rather surprised it seemed.

Very aware that his knowledge of Antivan was sadly lacking, Ferox waited. Granted, some words were close to the bits of Orlesian he knew and some were even similar to his native tongue...but having watched the careful eyes around him, they knew what was going on. He wondered what he had done wrong now.

Sending though the amulets that they had put on after they were well out of range of the Peak, _’Any further sage advice to be imparted due to a bout by criticism?’_

Zevran didn’t explain except he suddenly shifted in his saddle, wrapping a hand around the horn and hopped off, feet touching the ground for a few steps, then twisted up once more and then to the steed’s other side. Watching as the horse picked up speed, Ferox felt the muscles in his back tense, ready to haul his own mount to a stop when Zevran, secured by nothing more than a leg hooked around the saddlehorn, slid to one side, arm outstretched, with a palm brushing the dirt path, then by some feat of strength or skill, was once more righted in his saddle. The entire time his horse barely startled and only respond to some wordless commands to do as the Crow desired.

 _’Armand wished to know where I had learned some of my horse lore, so, a demonstration was necessary, hmn?’_ returned through the amulet, and the horse began an odd, hop-leap, rearing then wheeling out, then finally went to a gentle stop, the whole time his lover was nothing but serene with the occasional flash of amusement broadcast to Ferox.

Admiringly, _’Showoff.’_

 _’Horseclansmen do not tend to stay long in the cities, let alone teach those not of their clan anything like that. This? This was merely things I had picked up for fun, much of the lore was spoken word and learned at a whore’s knee,’_ offhandedly. _’Horses and camels are lifelines in the Drylands, without them, one will die. Antivans, by and large, we are a seafaring or horse driven people. However, the best riders are clansmen, and they do not mingle with us tainted by city ways. Even those who live as mercenaries, they remain separate.’_

 _’When you did visit them, was it only the one time?’_ Although Zevran had mentioned presents and talking of horses with the girl, Ferox had forgotten, until the elf replied.

 _’My daughter was there, what do you think? I visited them because it was requested, I visited them, because when they were close enough, I could slip my leash and escape my pretty, confining, little cage time to time. Mostly, I believe that my Master wished me to bring more horses back. Two was unparalleled wealth, especially since one was a stallion, the other a gelding,’_ blazing irritation flared up and was quickly suppressed from the assassin at having what was obviously something precious robbed of him. 

_A blood price then,_ separating these thoughts, _and the gift taken, and no way to take back what was given._

Further anger leaked over, old, long muffled, _’I had to go and find the stallion, and kill him before he was put to stud. These horses are their livelihood. Their lives, souls, ancestors. That is what they are to them. Both of the ones I had been given were considered kinhorses, ones that housed the souls of family, friends or honoured enemies. To put him to breed and make someone’s pockets heavy with gold was not right. If such a horse had been bred to many mares, making crossbreeds, then what use would the horseclan’s saleable horses be to the markets? Nothing. And then they would starve.’_ A pause, _’Then my daughter would starve. So, I went and poisoned his grain, but left the gelding, killing both would have put suspicion on me. They put a bit in his mouth - you do not put bits in a kinhorse’s mouth!’_

There was nothing except to give presence and he knew that he wasn’t very good at that. Ferox wished he had paid more attention when learning how these amulets worked. Perhaps the little healer would teach more next trip? That would be worth taking Zevran for, but there was still the issue of the other and Len. Bottling a frustrated growl, he was grateful that he had at least had some interest in the lesson of **not** sharing.

With a heavy sigh, Zevran shook his head, _’Needless to say, **querido** , such things are rare, and reason enough for others to be curious, yes?’_

_’Very.’ Although sometimes curiosity should be unstated. ‘So why the need for demonstration? Disbelief?’_

_’Armand wished to know how it was possible for a horseclan to have parted with one of their sons, for that is what it usually takes to have such knowledge. They are things known of, but not spread about, only some of the mercenary bands who are almost strictly cavalry - comprised completely of course by clansmen - use those methods where those not about to die might see them. I said I was born in a brothel, and only lived amongst the clans for a brief time,’_ the explanation was tired sounding. 

Dryly, _’I hope his life passed before his eyes then.’ Or one might remedy that situation._

 _’Too useful, besides, there is no worry for competition against the horseclans and anything we might wind up using. Such skills are unlikely to be given away, and no matter how often he tries those maneuvers it is unlikely he will think to pass them on,’_ a mental shrug. _’I am not that proficient - true, anything short of a sirocco will not unhorse me, but that is normal for most any good Antivan rider. It is a skill that even the little ones just learning how to walk, know. There is nothing remarkable to it.’_

 _’Show me this sirocco. The word sounds like a scorpion and that can’t be right.’_ Yes, Ferox was making Zevran practice, just as he was doing the same...but he was practicing two things at once, which was starting to make his head ache.

_...The mental blast was that of memory. Dry winter grass ripped up from the ground, sandy soil flying about, the sound like a thousand screaming voices roaring at the same time, a booming, and every horse folding their legs down, of ‘llamas’ and ‘camels’ (words Ferox didn’t know but the names were put to the image immediately) squatting down, noses tucked into legs, people and bags and tough leather blankets making small mounds, using the bodies of the animals for some form of protection. Winds that battered at their small little bundled selves, larger people atop smaller ones, his own body arching over the tall woman who carried his seed, short red hair -_

Pulling a hand from its gauntlet, Ferox clapped it to his forehead in pain, hollering, “Stop! Maker, stop!” 

“ _Querido_?” overriding concern and a hand was reaching out, the other smacking the Orlesian snout aside that snaked back to bite at Zevran to take hold of Ferox’s shoulder. “ _Querido_ , are you hurt? What happened?” 

Rubbing his forehead and eyes as if trying to clear the vision, “Too much, way too much. Just stop for now, please.” Knowing that weakness had already been shown. Not even when Ferox was shown how to use the damned amulet had he been overwhelmed...but if Zevran could do it to him, it was very likely the little healer could. When the amulet had settled against the bronzed skin, he felt the connection, never suspecting that within a few hours that he would be very, very sorry. “It’s like a hangover and I can still taste sand.” Finding a waterskin, he rinsed his mouth, needing to spit several times, certain that sere grass, dirt and sand was still gritty in his mouth.

Zevran blinked at him a few times, “I did not mean for it to be painful. You said that to send, I had to focus on what I wished to send... So, I did.” Visibly consternated, “Perhaps I should not focus on it like that... Mph, it might be the meditation... Then again, I have not cleared my mind like that in a few weeks...”

Unable to decide if pressure needed to be applied to the eye sockets or his temples, Ferox freed his other hand and did both. “Cleared your mind?” Almost whimpering, “No, wait! Please don’t show me...”

Robust laughter, and when he shot a glare Zevran’s way he was waving his hands as though he were sorry, “I...I know I...I am horrible... But...your face, _querido_...”

The tastes, scents, sounds - _Maker, the sounds!_ \- flashes of fear, concern, worry...was still visible, felt, heard. To suddenly receive all of it, all at once...and all he thought he was asking Zevran for was to show him one simple thing...didn’t know he was asking for a giant windstorm and everything hurled in its wake. He was certain that there was dirt to be dumped out of his boots, in his eyes, coating him in a fine layer of grit. He hadn’t really wanted to know what a camel or llama smelled like in close quarters, but there it was, along with leather and so many other scents he could not identify, like those spices Zevran ordered, hoarding them as if everyone wanted his secret stash. 

Pointedly, he pulled the amulet away from his skin, putting it on the outside of his armour, adding distance in the link. He didn’t think he could take another and remain on the horse. “You _are not_...funny.”

“No, no, put it back on, I will make it better, please, _mi hermoso querido_.” 

Grumpy and rumpled, “I don’t see how and I don’t think I want to. Unless you would like me to share this back unintentionally.”

“You could,” he shrugged. “No, please, I can make it better. I have something guaranteed to.”

“Who guarantees this, and are they close enough to strangle if it doesn’t work or gets worse?”

Zevran threw his hands in the air, “Fine - if you wish to have a headache owing purely to mulishness, far be it from me to help.”

Growling and snapping heard faintly, as if a rabid mabari were in the link, “What?”

“You will have to trust me, _querido_ ,” he sighed. 

_If this doesn’t work, you are going to be thrown over the horse like baggage after retching. I know, Maker, I know._ Unwillingly, the amulet was placed back against his skin.

 _...A gentle warmth spread through as well as languor, there was something small on his chest, and through the eyes of memory a squashed red face was looking up at him curiously. Dark fuzz at the crown and a fist in mouth, the newborn was breathing in such away that he could feel the recently cut umbilical cord and the belly pressing with each breath. Inside his breast, all he felt was a trembling protective joy that suffused him head to toe, realizing for that small person, he would do anything..._ Slowly the memory and image and sensation overlay receded leaving the gift of one of Zevran’s first memories of Len behind. 

Floored because the sending was perfectly clear, nearly as overwhelming like the other, yet Ferox could still touch and feel everything, even hearing the crackle of the fire nearby. He was there as certainly as he had been in the prior memory, but it wasn’t an assault on his mind. Instead it was perfection.

Briefly the image of using Zevran as a weapon flickered, but as it required the link it was useless for practical reasons. But having him be able to talk to the other Wardens would be very helpful. _Would have to make more amulets,_ picturing a ‘charm’ necklace gracing the handsome column of throat.

_’How do you do that? I can hardly send images and I can’t do anything else while doing it.’_

__Brightening, “It worked? It did not hurt? I sought a soft memory, and then I remembered how much I had wished you could have seen... So that was what I thought of. I merely am good at relaxing or focusing my mind, it is not difficult to do, you just...you learn to meditate. I can teach you, it is not hard... But we would need quiet for it and some place you find comfortable.”_ _

__On the edges he felt Zevran murmuring to himself about things they would need, some place dim, someplace safe, a place where there were no distractions._ _

__And Ferox thought for once he had something to share, something he knew something about and could teach another. He tended to be better with something in front of him. Either that or he couldn’t concentrate as the duplicate never left the healer’s side. Briefly, he snapped and crackled frustration, trying to shed it from himself. What else did he miss that she tried to teach him? Although, not given any guidance other than showing what he knew, it was likely that Zevran would come up with different ways to use the amulets, that she didn’t show him and that the Wardens’ hadn’t already thought of. It was just part of the other man’s talents._ _

__As far as returning to Kirkwall, he started a list of things to ask. First off was if her Zevran, or that one she had, ‘shouted’ or did other strange things with the amulet. And a conversation about Avernus, although he couldn’t imagine hers receiving the instructions of ‘any means necessary’...he was going to have to phrase that little bit carefully. Could probably exchange the information regarding the adjustments to the ‘Joining potion.’_ _

__XXX_ _

__Two days into riding ‘properly’ and Ferox’s thighs had been rubbed raw, but Zevran had whipped out a poultice and applied it in spite of the protests voiced. So Ferox had sat through that treatment each evening and received something to make sure their bedroll was ‘warm enough’. The second didn’t earn any complaints at all._ _

“Seriously, I’m not complaining, but **how** can you be so cold? It’s not even winter yet!” _Good thing I borrowed a brick._

Salt-tinged kisses, “Because I have had time to travel on the road out in the cold how often in the last years? Hmn? I have even noticed I am not quite as strong as I was, with good Howe in residence I must do something about that. However, before, when I was in Antiva, I rarely, if ever, had a chance to sit around on my behind and do nothing but shuffle papers.” The elf flopped over tucking himself in close, “I am not as accustomed to hardship as I once was, as I once had to be.” 

’Ah, my delicate hothouse Antivan flower,’ a laugh starting to shake him. 

“Cactus, not a flower,” grumbled into his shoulder. “Cacti are more fun.”

And before Ferox could ask what a cactus was, he was showed an image of a...no less than _supremely_ phallic plant. With spines. All over it. 

Incredulous, Ferox tried to twist his neck enough to see Zevran, “Seriously? First, if a cactus even exists, how would that possibly be ‘fun?”

“Throwing someone you do not like into a patch of them - fun. Depending on the type of cactus, the damage could be minimal or deadly. However, the minimal ones are the greatest fun. Oh how they jump up and curse! Hah! Good times,” Zevran chuckled with amusement. “And when they bloom, their flowers smell lovely. Also, when you find the right kinds, you should use them for water to stretch the reserves of your supplies. Mmn...there is even a small type that you can slice or boil up, a most potent mind altering substance. In small quantities, it makes the world dizzying and vivid, in larger doses, the land turns to nightmare. Quite useful in my trade. A few drops in the cup of someone you wish to act out of character - violently or terrifyingly so - and there you have it. As I said - ‘fun’.”

Ferox rolled his eyes in the dark, “Zevran, I am beginning to suspect that the realms of what I think of as fun and what you think of as ‘fun’, hardly overlap. Am I wrong?” 

“Where is your sense of adventure? Your puckishness?” the words twisting around aloud and within, teasing him. “Have you never played a prank?” 

_’Her Royal Harpyness may have had one played on her recently, but as you well know, I don’t come up with such things unprodded.’_

Tutting, “You must try it sometime. An older brother is always a prime target I have heard.” 

“Then you and Fergus will have little to talk about, because apparently little brothers are the prime target. Since you don’t have a sibling, it seems your education is lacking in regard to so called ‘fun,” grumpy.

“Then you and I will _make_ of him a prime target,” teeth snagged on Ferox’s earlobe before the shadow of his stubble was rubbed by his assassin’s face. “I believe I might have a few things up my sleeve that would work.”

Rumbling before pulling Zevran onto him. “You have no sleeves at the moment.” 

“Mmn, let your Zevran puzzle it over for a time, do not worry, we will ‘get him good’ as the saying goes,” the blankets were adjusted around them and Zevran settled in against him companionably.

“Something tells me that I am going to be sorry.”

XXX 

The closer they got to Highever, the quieter Ferox became. Zevran’s customary running dialogue eased, until there was very little. Time to time the memory/sensation of someone touching his hand came, enfolding it and giving it a firm squeeze. He couldn’t return the gesture, couldn’t really respond, but he was grateful for the presence there.

Gesturing at a spot alongside the road that looks like any other with tree and shrubs. _’That’s where I woke up, he told me that they were dead, that I couldn’t go ‘home’, and that being a Warden meant that I wasn’t going to be anything else - that there wasn’t room for it.’_

_’There is always room for more than one thing by the nature of our very existence. You are a Warden, you are a **shemlen** , you are a man, you are a father, you are the Prince Consort, you are a friend, you are a lover, and you are a warrior,’_ dulcet velvet and warm sandalwood spices flowed through the amulets. _’But he gave you something to cling to until you could find those truths.’_

Numb and frustrated simultaneously, he struggled with the old painful anger, _’If I had been listening instead of nursing the lumps on my head and the stars in my eyes, I would have heard the death sentence before Riordan laid it out, would have had more time to plan for it, or, barring that, had better choices.’_

_’Life is a death sentence, **querido** ,’_ this time Zevran guided his horse closer, it was not quite as tall as Ferox’s Orlesian courser, while Zevran’s mount was not exactly tiny either, but it made for a greater skewing in their heights than usual. _’You made the choices you made, that is all. Do not dwell on them, things have worked as they have. It is done. It is time to live how you can.’_

Agitated, _’Either you are listening to the endless loop of healer wisdom in my head or you are putting it there. Does this belong to you? ‘There is change, but we will never stop existing. All there there ever was, is here already, never to be created or destroyed. Everything that has ever happened or will happen, is happening now. Every moment **is** this moment. Everything is part of the undivided whole’.’_

_’Qun. **Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun**. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. You forget, Antiva was once part of the Qun’ari lands.’_ Instead of just the memory/sense of a hand, the true, solid and warm one found a spot between his armour to touch the skin beneath. _’There is wisdom wherever one looks, if one is willing to see. Even in the most barren and desolate of places, there is life, flowing and rich. Life and death are one and the same, yet they are different. Each is a gateway, a matter of perspective, a twist in some unseen energy of thought and material. Instead of dwelling on what poor things have been done to your loved ones, what has been sacrificed, perhaps you would feel more at peace if you looked at what was around you. Will you look at your once-home and see only blood and fire and loss? Or will you see yourself galloping around as a child through corridors with Horsie? Only you can decide, my lover. Nothing I say, nothing some healer says, nothing a family member or friend advises, will change the fact that the only one who can decide what you choose to see before you, is yourself.’_

_You wanted to be here, until you got here. This was a goal, yet you no longer want it, nor can it be put it off any longer. Should have returned earlier, had the chance to, but a ship to Kirkwall was easier to catch out of Amaranthine...one that was certain not to stop at Highever or even West Hills if possible._ Ferox sighed. “Fine.”

Zevran’s look was sad and concerned, but left him to his thoughts. _’I will be here to listen if you need me.’_

So Ferox tried to find good memories. At first there was the anger and despair at having been drug off, but riding through the forested hills he did remember hunting for game, which wasn’t an unpleasant memory. His father had taken ill during the trip after bringing down a moose, and Ferox, not having gutted such a large animal before, certainly received an interesting education that trip, not to mention the workout hauling it to the road. He lost track of how many trips that took, all eight hundred pounds of it. Thinking back, he wondered if the illness wasn’t real, and if Father was testing to see what Ferox would do in that situation.

When he was younger, a goat used to chase him down the road, keeping him away from the castle. His father had saved him from that one though. As Ferox tore around the corner of the barn, Father kicked the goat in the head...well as they told Mother later at the table, the billy goat had run into his foot. The goose and rooster were similar memories too. The rooster defended his hens and their eggs by attacking and pecking bare legs and toes and the goose would sneak in the tall grass to bite and pinch, long bare legs. Those scars were still there. Ferox usually just tore through the tall grasses on the way down to the beach running as fast as he could. Horse would run with him, because that goose would bite him too. They pretended the goose was a dragon so they wouldn’t be labeled babies when it ‘bit’ them and they both cried.

He remembered oft heard stories of his grandfather, who was out hunting and had an arrow split and shoot into his hand between the thumb and forefinger, apparently the arrowhead was wedged in real good and they left it in. Every time they came on that particular spot in the woods, Father would tell the story... Ferox still wondered if that story was true or not. Grandfather had such large hands, and he never felt an arrowhead, but he remembered a scar though. 

Practicing the sharing of memories through the amulet, Ferox showed what he had found to Zevran. He received a sudden flood of something that was intense, making him grip his saddlehorn. It wasn’t a storm, but it was almost as overwhelming, filling him up, and then it subsided to lapping waves against his mind. Wild-eyed he glanced towards his assassin who was giving him the oddest, softest look he had ever seen.

_’I am here, **querido** ,’_ another small surge before he ‘felt’ lips on his temple and a hand in his hair. 

_Maker, was that what I thought it was?_ but he didn’t let the thought go farther than his own mind.

XXX

The castle sat at the mouth of a high plateau, the farthest edge was the Waking Sea. It had been placed there as it was the only flat location for growing grain until the more gently rolling hills of Arl Wulff’s West Hills. Fish from the sea, grain from the relative safety of the plateau, and game in the well forested surrounding hills. In addition, shepherds took sheep and oxen up into the higher hills that would become the Coastal Mountains, where the brush was burnt off every few years, keeping lush pasture open. In the winters, the animals foraged from the fields on the plateau and were brought to different areas to eat and fertilize the fallow fields. Some of the grain crops could be grazed on for a time in the spring, allowing the snow on the hills time to melt before the herds were sent back up to pasture.

Fergus was waiting with two very bouncy girls and a mabari running in circles around the trio. 

Zevran growled, “It is past their bedtimes! What are they doing up? Faugh, I will have to talk with their mother...tchk. They need some structure, some rules. Bedtime is one of those things...”

“That is a rule meant to be broken.” Patiently as if he had observed and heard this very argument. “It is not every day you return to them. Tomorrow will have bedtime and storytime before that. Let it be for now and go greet them. If I have to be smothered, so do you.”

As they cleared the gates, Zevran directed his mount to do one of those odd leaping series of hops, then vaulted free of it, hitting the ground in bounding handsprings, the distance and speed timed perfectly so he landed right before the sisters and scooped them up as they clapped and squealed. _’You are right, **amante** , let us give a good accounting then, hmn?’_

Snorting, _‘You are more than enough for both of us. If I dismount successfully without my knees wobbling, I will consider it a success.’_ Safely on the ground, Ferox greeted his brother, allowing for an exuberant hug. “Fergus! How have you found my boy?”

“Disgusting, filthy, abhorrently, _perfect_ ,” his brother’s arms were like great bands around him, a hand thumping the backs of Ferox’s shoulders. “You do good work, old son!”

“And what of Alise and your small one?” Eying the hound and warning him not to jump. 

Fergus turned, draping an arm over Ferox’s shoulders, “Alemathia? She is no doubt far too tucked into a crib with young Len, with Moira, bless her, watching them. Alise is...preparing for bed.” Ferox could practically _feel_ the ‘suppressed’ innuendo. His brother pointed at the girls who were clambering all over Zevran, “And _those_ two little imps wished to see their father and their uncle before agreeing to go to sleep! You’ve made a nice little family for yourself, Pup.”

An eyebrow raised, “Had spaces to fill in around the campfire for the sing-a-long. Although Zevran will whistle on occasion, I’m still looking for a drunken dwarf, or someone with a lute, if you happen to know of anyone. ” _Even though they were sent on to what they needed to be doing._

“If he’s anything like I remember, I doubt you’d need more people, other than to _distract_ him,” delivered sardonically while a few guards came out to help with the horses, only to be ignored by the Crows, other than to follow them to the stables. Fergus twisted around enough to glance, which Ferox followed, “Those are an odd lot. Not Fereldens, why so many Antivans, Pup?”

__“A suggestion from my Head of Security, and as Len _is_ the Heir, well, the Queen wished him well guarded. The guard cannot travel as quickly as we desired.” Nodding in the Crows’ direction, “They can.” Changing the subject, “We will be taking another ride depending on the weather, this time to meet some dwarves. Do you need anything from that direction?”_ _

__Fergus eyed him, a look that hadn’t been there the last time they had met, appraising him, “I’m sure you’ll think of something. You look tired. Your old room’s busy being the nursery, but there are guest rooms.”_ _

__Nodding, “Remember, ‘happy wife, happy life’. We’ll settle everyone in and discuss it in the morning, there’ll be no rushing off for a day or two. Plenty of time to argue about crop rotation and the shearing of sheep.” Ferox managed to grin back, not letting himself think._ _

__Somehow he should have seen it coming, the girls in their exuberance gave them his rations for the time they had been parted themselves. It was a trap, those arms around him, squeezing as hard as they could, and little rosebud mouths pressing to his cheeks several times before the pair cuddled in together in the same bed, wrapped brick to keep small feet warm, but the experience wasn’t a painful one. As Zevran and Moira spent time smoothing out bedding over them, Ferox went to see his son and his niece. In the crib both were sleeping - on a pile of laundry it appeared. Neatly folded beneath their bodies, with one of Zevran’s socks rolled over Len’s left arm, and one of Ferox’s on the right, presenting a natty but precious picture._ _

__Stroking the soft cheek with the backs of his fingers, there was a coo and stretch with a yawn, but Ferox leaned down to whisper to him in a rolling rumble, “Sleep. You will see me in the morning. Sleep.”_ _

That settled him down quickly enough, giving Ferox time to look at Len. It suddenly felt like it had been forever. _Does he have more chubby rolls or is it just me?_ Len also looked a little longer, but that might have just been the blankets made of tunics and the legging-shirt-vest mattress distorting him. Beside him Zevran came up, tapping a small nose gently as Ferox felt something burbling in the connection they shared through the amulets. It was as beautiful as the memory Zevran had shared of their son sleeping in his arms the first time. It was nearly enough to shove away the discomfort of being in his old room, a room where everything had gone wrong and brought him to this point. 

Ferox slid an arm around Zevran, as the elf was wont to do when in a secure place. _’Happy?’_

_’Of course, **querido**. How could I not be? You are here, Len is here, the girls are here, Moira is here...all that is right and good in the world is in this room. It is perfection.’_ Zevran leaned against him. _’You are tense, what do you need of me? Tell me and I will do it.’_

Ignoring his uneasiness, _’Nothing more than sleep on a real mattress with your warmth...or cold, nearby. Tomorrow will contain enough excitement, talk of politics, and planning for the future.’_

_...Waking up to sounds of Horse, barking..._ Tugging Zevran, Ferox moved to the door opening it. 

_...A servant ran in to warn him and was cut down by two of Howe’s men and he was wearing nothing of any real use. He picked up the sword near his bed to defend himself and yanked on his hunting leathers after the first wave was dead at his feet, their blood spreading in pools..._ Visibly flinching as sweat began to bead at his underarms and the small of his back, as they stepped into the central hall, Ferox turned to look at the door of his parents’ room, now Fergus and Alise’s room. 

“ _Querido_ , you do not look so good,” Zevran’s arm went around his waist as though to support him should he falter.

Grinding out, “I’m...fine.” 

_...There were two more of Howe’s that were trying to get to his mother, he and Horse killed them too. Grabbing better arms from Father’s chest, he and Mother went to Oren and Oriana. ** _Maker, no, please not that_**... _

His gaze swung to their door and shuddered. _How do you live here, Fergus? They were killed there...right there. You don’t know. I never said. I pulled her skirt back down._

Muttering under his breath, “I would never say that.” 

Opening the door to the other end of the central hall, they approached their room, one of the rooms Mother kept for friends and family who were always staying.

Disquiet, _They were outnumbered, staying out line of sight from the archers, Howe’s fighters entered through the door. Ferox and Horse put themselves between the men and Mother. She loved to practice archery and she knew how to defend herself if someone got too close, between the three of them, the intruders were dead. He and Horse charged the archers, mindful of her arrows, cutting them down before turning to the guest rooms. Lady Landra dead on the floor, his mother, long past sorrow over the deaths of Oren and Oriana was moved to anger at the death of her friend..._

By then, Zevran had pushed his shoulder into Ferox’s side, snagging one of his arms, and pulled it over a shoulder, supporting his each step. “Ferox, what is -” 

Dread and desperation collided as he cut Zevran off, “I can’t go in there. Please, don’t ask me to go in there.” Pulling away, Ferox searched for somewhere safe, staggering to the wall. In the quiet of the night with silence all around, he saw nothing but death and flames before his eyes. He loved the library, but as soon as he arrived, he jerked away, past the treasury with an arm flung up as if to defend himself from an empty corridor, a hand on the sword at his side, Ferox shied past a closed door, and down to the chapel, where he stumbled backwards even as his hand reached to open the door. 

Eyes panicked, as if it were morning and he could not move, could not breathe, hearing the soft jingle behind him, he swung until his frantic mind caught up and he realized who it was, “Zevran, I can’t stay here.” Begging, “Get me out, please. There’s too much smoke - I can’t breathe.”

The Antivan was deceptively strong, and Ferox’s world swam as he was hoisted up over those shoulders like someone battle-wounded. How the elf carried him, Ferox wasn’t entirely sure, but past and present were swinging in and out of focus, and he couldn’t breathe, was choking on smoke, the stink of blood. Someone came near, but a snarl from the assassin was enough to send them packing. A side-door was kicked open to the courtyard, the brisk winds of autumn cutting through armour and clothes, the world swinging and twirling as Zevran sank to his knees, collapsing majestically like a top-heavy tree. Impact drove a grunt from the Antivan, the shoulder that dug into Ferox’s chest slamming in for moment, knocking air from him as well. Rolling free of him, gasping for breath Ferox stared up at the dark sky as hands moved over his buckles and the ties, pulling away armour, then propping his head in leather clad thighs.

In his mind, Ferox could almost hear a litany of words he didn’t understand, but they were familiar. A forehead pressed to his, blocking out the dark skies overhead, ones that in memory flickered with sanguine fire and black clouds, or what might be the present - blackened steel with only a dim sliver of moonlight. Moist breath coasted over his cheekbones a hand in his hair. His head throbbed like a cracked pumpkin in remembered thudding and thumping numb pain. 

Someone else was there, his world shifting once more as a cup was pressed to his smoke-parched lips, hot liquid trickling in. Swallowing at it weakly, trying to push at the hand holding it there, and at the bodies on either side, Ferox whimpered. He wanted Mother. Father. He wanted to hear scolding from Nan. Where were they? _...Dead...dead...sprawled. Gaping wounds, arrows in breasts or backs, limbs hacked, entrails in slippery ropes..._ Crying out, Ferox bolted upright, only to be pushed back down firmly. 

Invasion swamped his senses, blotting everything else out. _Syrupy and thickly spiced - cardamom, sugar, coffee - flowed over his tongue. A churro was an odd - was it? He knew this word, he didn’t - oval with a crust of sugar and cinnamon sprinkled over it. A bite of it was mellow and sweet, dissolving in his mouth with each chew. Sun beat down on the awning as he savoured the day’s small snack at a cafe. Women and men and children were shouting out in a mad cacophony of familiar magic, greetings, scoldings, insults, compliments, calling out wares, haggling prices. It all throbbed with the beat of his heart, and he leaned back in the chair, taking it all in for a blissful moment._ It broke through, it stopped the repeating scene, pulled away slowly, the sun’s warmth and the thick taste in his mouth remaining even as the memory that was not his own slid away. 

“I had an idea that it was bad, but this?” Fergus’ voice was muzzy and far off. “What did you do to him?”

“I gave him something else to focus on.” Long fingers brushed over Ferox’s face. “I have seen such things before in those made to face uncomfortable memories unprepared,” Zevran was closer, bringing more of that warmth and queerly familiar and buoyant place, with just the sound of him, as Ferox tried to pick out understanding from what they were saying. “They relive it, but it is overlaid and hard for them to distinguish between ‘then’ and ‘now’, ‘here’ and ‘there’. We have a word for it that translates to ‘battle fatigue’, no matter how strong a man is, they can still fall prey to it. For each person it comes in many guises. Like death, it pays no attention to skill, rank, race, sex, age or religion.”

“Dear Maker,” sympathy as the two men were pulling him up between them. “Pup, don’t you worry, we’ll get you somewhere safe.” 

Ferox woke in a strange place, not on the ground like he expected, the press of rocks digging their way through his spine. The light was soft, almost filtered, sounds of horses shifting and nickering was familiar enough given their days of riding near constantly. Tongue thick with sleep and something else, he tasted straw, hay, alfalfa, clover. Rubbing sand and sleep, his mind tried to make sense of where he was. 

Feeling the familiar weight on him, curled around him, Ferox gave up trying to guess, “Where are we?”

“Hayloft,” lips touching his cheek with the words. “It is warm enough here with some blankets, and hay mounded atop us, yes? I think this is where we should sleep, no draughty stone corridors for me, oh no.”

Reassembling the days before, he didn’t recall stumbling across a barn, but the words used indicated future nights should be spent here too. And the mention of ‘stone’ and ‘corridors’ - a fort must be nearby. Had he been struck on the head again? “Were we attacked? Where are we?” _Didn’t I just ask that?_

“Shh, _amante_ , relax, you are safe. Fergus said the barn was well insulated, far more than the keep,” fingers petted him gently.

Fergus...horror swamped him. _Oh Maker. There was no nightmare._ Ferox whispered, afraid, but urgently needing to know, “I didn’t tell him, he doesn’t need to know. Tell me I didn’t tell him. Please, tell me I didn’t.” Putting himself in his brother’s shoes, to know how and where his lover and his child died, _No, please Maker, no. Not that._ “Please.”

“You mostly said there was too much smoke, _querido_. Some things about wanting to be scolded, things of this nature,” beside him Zevran sat up, dislodging a mound of hay that had been piled over the blankets, scooting and pulling Ferox’s head into his lap. “You said a name here or there, that you were sorry, but that was when you were able to say anything. Mostly you could not speak. This is not unusual for men in your situation, Ferox, you did nothing to be ashamed or afraid of.”

A jerk of a nod, _I could live with shame, except for the telling of those details, anything but that._ The sight of them burned into memory, the smell of the blood, the sound of his mother’s weeping, his voice broke, “I can’t tell him about _that_.”

The expression in Zevran’s face said he could guess well at what could not be said. Someone like him knew first-hand the monsters men became, was considered one himself by some people. The difference was measured and planned violence, and Howe’s men were not measured or planned, they had turned to wild despotic killers with their power over their victims. 

Broad lips pressed to his forehead firmly. “Then you will not, _mi hermoso corazon._ And I doubt he would press you, particularly after last night. We had quite a scare. I should have anticipated this, _los sientos, mi amora, los sientos._ ” [I am so sorry, my love, so sorry] 

“I didn’t say, I couldn’t...wouldn’t say.” He was going to have to go back in, “No kitchen, I can’t go back in there. I know that.” 

“Anywhere else?” thumbs massaged his temples lightly. “Tell me so that we can keep you safe where we must avoid.”

“The main hall,” choking again. “Not there.”

A hum that was meant to be soothing. “Then we will not go there, _amora_. It is a large castle, there are many places we can go indoors. Your brother told me that much was expanded upon, that there are better walls, bottlenecks for defense, and now even a true second and third floor. We need not go to sad places, my love.”

“I don’t remember Father’s study, it may be safe and the dining hall was not terrible. We found ones to save there. But the rest of it, what was there then, I wouldn’t trust.” Len was out of his reach and he despaired, “The nursery is in my room and I can’t go back to the family wing. I can’t go get Len.” 

“Aie, _mi corizon_ , we will solve that,” gentle rebuke. “You think I would allow it to be so? You think anyone would allow it? No, no, _amora_ , we will ensure he is within your reach, for that is where he belongs.”

Twisting in the hay, wrapping arms around Zevran’s waist, he pressed his face to the elf’s stomach. Ferox couldn’t find the words, so glad, grateful, that Zevran was there, wishing he had been here _then_ and using the amulet, warm against his chest, pressed those things to his assassin. A sharp indrawn breath and he felt a tide rising up to meet him, arms tightening around him. Welcoming and supportive things flowed back and forth oddly, but Ferox didn’t care, only grateful that Zevran was there and not going anywhere.

XXX

A rocking chair was not the sort of seat Ferox would choose, but his son and his niece seemed to prefer it. And the study came equipped with _two_ of the things. Alise and Moira were knitting and showing the girls how to do the same, skeins of yarn in baskets beside them as their needles clacked with their work, and Ferox rocked with Alemathia sprawled over his chest sucking on a fist, periodically lifting her head to look at him before plunking the great weight down. Zevran was in the second chair, Len in his lap, holding the baby by the wrists and hoisting him to sit up, then letting him go back down to mad giggles while the chair moved slowly. 

“Tiny little girl, pretty as a pearl, we’re so glad she came. Brings her mommy joy, daddy is her boy, Alemathia is her name,” first song made up, he began working on one for Len. Rumbling to the little one on his chest, “Ser Len’s name is too long. So I made up this song, to shorten it, so sing along.” Curious little rump wiggling almost to the rhythm of the song as he patted the small of her back, “Snuggled tight in the crib, eats no food - will need a bib, both little packages wrapped up tight, their laughter makes us light.”

Rumbling a low hum, or singing a phrase or two as he worked it together, Ferox was unaware of anything except this bit of warmth with large eyes struggling to climb higher on his chest. Nothing needed doing, and what he was making up was completely unnecessary. Those moments never occurred. Even during the days traveling, he was working out some plan or foreseeing troubles that would need to be overcome. The moment was absolutely nothing, nothing important, nothing vital, nothing being accomplished, and he wouldn’t trade it away. Watching the slow blinking of eyes settling down for a nap as two fingers shoved in her mouth, that was all he needed at the moment, such a small thing. As she dozed, Ferox hummed absently, as he began to listen to the chatter of the women and to watch Zevran with Len.

“Faugh, last time I went through this area of Thedas, I thought my head would turn to a block for shaving ice!” 

Amused, Ferox asked, “With or without a nice bottom to snuggle against? Or would she not let you place your face there? Your nose too cold?” 

The look Zevran shot him was arch, “Small ears?” 

Fergus started laughing, “Ah, now I know which one is Mother!” 

Moira giggled into whatever she was working on, “Zev, don’t scold. You sound like a hen. Besides, don’t forget where they grew up, they know the facts.” 

Nose crinkling, he grumbled then picked up Len to press a kiss to the neck, making noises that could only be described as ‘omnom’ as Len hugged his head giggling. “Mph, tasty baby. Ignore them my sweet boy, they will corrupt you, _mijo_. Naughty people.” 

“See what I put up with, Fergus? Next they will be running through my office making paper chains out of declarations and summons, orders and judgements. I see how your space has already been turned over to them. I am doomed.” 

“Oh, stop your horriblizing, Pup,” Fergus snorted from paperwork at the desk - the only one of the number that appeared to be _doing_ anything remotely productive. “I find it makes my work pass by faster. Though Thia’s feeding time does tend to result in...distraction.”

Alise laughed, a deep, throaty one from the sort of woman who was as brash as her husband. “Why Your Grace!” 

“Your study is not large enough for tag with a schoolyard of children or gymnastics. Except for the strategically placed furniture, which I swear someone moves in the middle of the night so I stub my toe or strike my shin, a sparring match could be held in that great auditorium which I call my office.” 

“Mmmn...just think, you used to reside there entirely on your own, while I had far easier access to the nursery,” more squeaking giggles that dropped down in tenor to a rough growly kind of ‘heh-heh-heh’ that worked an echoing one from Zevran as he put more kisses on the big pinched up cheeks and chubby arms. “And this tasty morsel. Mph. Who needs Antiva? Or big, quiet offices?” 

Throwing a look back at Fergus, Ferox saw the lay of the land and knew that he was doomed, so he returned to his rumbling entertainment. Grumbling, _’My bedroom is not too large...or would not be if you had the ceiling lowered as I suggested for your room, which I thought was practically the same size.’_

_’If you invent some practical way of doing so, I would be most thankful, but other than the highly impractical idea of importing one of those ceilings I described, I can think of nothing.’_ Ears were grabbed and Ferox felt the internal hiss of pain, though outwardly he only laughed, gently removing the strong grip. 

_’Posts in the corners could hold a beams along the walls over which a wooden ‘floor’ could be laid or lighter still, heavy fabric or tapestry weight cloth hung by hooks on either end along the beams...like a canopy.’_ Ferox pictures what he was proposing both with the wooden ceiling and with the fabric. 

_’Lover, you are brilliant... Except your bed is larger.’_

Teasing a bit of a chuckle in the link, _’And what exactly does the size of my bed have to do with being brilliant?’_

The look Zevran shot him from over Len’s head was all the warning he got before the feel/memory of something hard and hot, and - the memory was gone. Biting the inside of his cheek as he saw Zevran’s laughing eyes swinging back to Len for a funny noise and face contest, Ferox reined in the heat that had shot through him, originally not of his own making, but still leaving him in that state. Relieved that no one appeared to notice his discomfort. 

Sending through their link a far more serious matter, _’Tonight we must pull Fergus aside to discuss some matters that came to me on the ride. Some extra heads on a sticky problem of inheritance and the troubles I see ahead with the holdings in the Cousland name. You have already made him aware of our difficulty on the road, but even when we remove my presence, I want him to continue to be wary. Len is, and little Thia is potentially, heir to the throne. With the attack from the road, I’m worried.’_

None of the discussion showed on his face as he rubbed slow circles in Thia’s back. The dark pink of her woolen jumper contrasting with the Cousland swarthiness and the dark fuzz on her head, but the nose and chin - what could be discerned clearly - were different than Len’s. To say nothing of her temperament as she had a penchant for angry outbursts when there was nothing to keep her occupied, unlike Len who would fuss until held, Thia would continue to yowl, almost accusingly.

Zevran nodded as he rubbed his face against Len’s, a gumming kiss from son to father on a cheek, _’Yes, very pertinent things.’_

XXX

A large measure of whiskey was passed to Ferox, half of which he gulped down as soon as Fergus passed it to him after the night’s meal. The dining room wasn’t a _bad_ place, there were so many good memories at Highever, but they were not the ones clamouring like swords on chainmail or shields. _The study is safe,_ became his mantra all through the meal as he put on a strong front. He couldn’t wait to get back to the stables, to climb up into some place warm and safe and hide. Except he couldn’t do that. Ferox had not run in terror from an Archdemon, a Brood Mother (several Brood Mothers in fact), or been more than irritable at being dragged into the Fade completely aware on several occasions. He could sit through a _meal_ and smile and act as though the line of sweat that had sprung up on his spine was completely due to the large fire in the stone fireplace.

Holding the glass and feeling the alcohol starting to lift the tension in his stomach, “Here’s the thing that’s going to send the Landsmeet into a complete head-spin as soon as someone thinks about this...Len stands to inherit -” holding up a finger for each title, “a Crown, Gwaren which is one of two teyrnirs, and Amaranthine, an arling, if he so chooses. In the meantime, another Cousland holds Highever, the only other teyrnir. When the nobles figure out that we have the three positions locked up in addition to a smaller holding, that is about to become a lot more important thanks to its port, there’s going to be a lot more than shouting on the floor of the ‘Meet.”

Zevran waved off Fergus’ offer for a glass for himself, instead holding out his teacup filled most of the way with whatever the elf had brewed up recently. “Another thought that would be even more dangerous to the other nobles - if Thia and Len wed, it would not be unusual for a tight-knit and powerful clan to do such a thing. Then it would not be simply one family-clan unit, but a King and Queen who hold all three positions. Denerim, Amaranthine, West Hills, Highever, Redcliffe - these are where the most coin flows. To have much of that not just under one clan banner, but to have it in the hands of _two people_ would be... Enough to cause civil war, yes?”

A groan from Ferox, marriage... It was a thought he had clearly not entertained, Len was supposed to stay little forever. “That would definitely bring civil war or worse, civil war supported by Orlais, who would love to stick their fingers into that pie. Division, or at least _the apparent division_ of the titles and lands, is needed to keep the whole together.”

Fergus shook his head as he made himself comfortable in his chair, clearly bewildered. “Andraste’s bloody knickers. Where were you raised, Antiva? Orlais? This is Ferelden... No. Wait. I was about to say that we don’t do that sort of thing...” Sighing, his older brother buried his face in his hands, then groaned pouring himself a large measure of whiskey for himself and polished it off in one go, then poured another and drained it halfway. “We can’t afford this, not even in the next few generations. First Arland, second, Orlais coming and taking over, their occupation, and how the nation suffered. Then the war to oust them... And then a Blight _and_ civil war at the same time. Dammit all. Why would anyone think of doing something to weaken...”

“It is a game of chance, knowing the dice are weighted against you, those who take the risk think there is a good possibility of winning. It’s shortsighted, they think that consequences won’t come a’knocking on _their_ door, simply because they won the first round,” Ferox frowned at his cup then copied his brother, finishing the strong liquor off. “In this game, we hold all of the cards, but the other players will eventually jump us as we leave the table holding everything. We need to diversify the holdings, at least in name, if not in actuality. Otherwise, the Couslands don’t get to leave the table alive.”

Anger flashed in Fergus’ eyes, expression hardening. “The hell they won’t. Make a third teyrnir. Divide and conquer.” He slammed a fist down on his desk, “Put a Warden in, or a dwarf, or a flaming _elf_ for all I care.”

“Mn, might be a touch of a problem there, there is an elf as ‘head of security’ amongst other things,” Zevran leaned back, twisting to drape a leg over the armrest. 

“And I have other plans to put in elves in other places, they control some of the farmsteads outside of Denerim. There’s more, but for now, just trust me on this. I want no negative thought or thought of any kind of having of an elf or a dwarf as an arl, bann, or eventually teryna.”

His brother made a face, “Not that I’m saying elves aren’t capable, but... How will you make your wife swallow this? As long as I’ve known her, she’s always been a bit...stiff-necked.”

“Let me worry about Anora; if you haven’t thought of this, she hasn’t either. Now, if we make an arling into a teyrnir, and advance one bann to an arling, to keep the odd numbers, oh, and if needed put a replacement bann up in the mountains at Haven.” Sighing, “Somebody’s going to be perceived to be in our pockets unless we pick somebody who’s always against us.” 

His elf rose, snagging the decanter and filled up all around, “I might have a solution to Haven. Give it to the Chantry. And Honnleath to the Circle. Due to how winters are there, they will have to help each other, not rule one over the other, with that fellow whose father ‘owned’ Shayle as Bann of Honnleath, and our good little researcher and brother at large, Genetivi as Bann of Haven.”

Nearly spraying his drink out of his nose, Ferox coughed uncontrollably. When he finally regained breath he gasped hoarsely, “Why stop there? Templars at Haven and Circle at Honnleath, even worse,” thinking it had to be a great joke.

“No Templars for Haven, the lyrium would have them humping the rocks in no time,” Zevran was quite serious. “Only scholars, for both places. Have that be the rule. And only enough warriors to defend them, levied and supplied by arlings and rotated every year. The separatist mages could go to Honnleath, and what was it they consider their mission statement? ‘To be where they cannot hurt anyone and practice peaceably’ or some such foolish thing? And historians and Chantry pilgrims can be in Haven, to be closer to the final resting place of their martyr.”

“You’re serious?” 

Zevran sipped his heavily fortified tea, “And why should I not be? In the Landsmeet they will be too busy ignoring or bickering with each other to add any problems to the Landsmeet itself. Yet it will give ‘power’ that is perceived by both parties, while at the same time making them so dependant on each other, that they will have to learn to work together to keep themselves alive, clothed and fed.”

“The Grand Cleric, or whatever she wants to be called...anyway, her voice was, is certainly listened to, just the way it is now, but it’s the Circle without a voice there.”

Fergus interjected, “The problem with that, is giving what could be seen as a solid holding to the mages without strict Chantry oversight a voice when before they had none. Too many will think it’s...giving mages actual political power when they’re not allowed to ‘rule’ over man.”

“As long as as the Cleric’s ‘voice’ is tied to that bann rather being an additional voice, I don’t care. Unless the mages are given voice over two, Kinloch Hold and Honnleath.”

Zevran thought about it, head tilted, “No, leave Kinloch as it is. Make it the fully neutral ground. A training place for un-Harrowed mages. Not only that, you could give them voice, but not allowance to vote, as they are over matters ‘spiritual’.”

Muttering, “Everyone’s going to be begging to get out of there as soon as they can...if Honnleath is seen as a reward for completing the training...”

“Not a reward - for the apologists and separatists, a place of contemplation and study, a place where they do nothing other than work for the Chantry, the nation, and educate more healers... As well as teachers for other less mystic arts,” he tapped a finger on one hand as he listed the points.

“So they won’t have to resort to killing each other next time they disagree...” sarcastically. 

Zevran shrugged, “It is a thought. Nothing more, if you have objections to it, then go with your gut.”

“Not that it wasn’t fun last time, but some fresh air would do them some good and to have purpose. That would drive me crazy locked up there,” Ferox stretched his feet towards the fire, frowning.

“Anders is a product of such continued incarceration, if he had had some freedoms, do you think he would have become so...well. As he is, hmn?” 

“Zevran, you are ever thoughtful and always unexpected. I like this...Anora will hate it, which makes it something we need to do.”

Fergus laughed, “It’s a good thing you’re on our side, both of you.” He shifted, leaning his elbows on the desk. “The ban on non-humans entering military service should be lifted. I will start that here and send letters discussing it with Teagan as well as Wulff. He needs all the hands he can get reclaiming his lands from the Taint. Also, West Hills is a strong port city... It’s more open-minded, which means change will be easier there as well as here.”

“The people from Kirkwall are still signing up and returning, most of them are landing at the West Hills port,” Ferox shrugged. “After winter wheat and rye are in, why not use them in other places? Better than just doing road repair.”

“And Denerim has plenty of building projects,” Zevran reminded him. “Winter will come, and we do not wish West Hills, Highever or Amaranthine overwhelmed with them, so we must find winter camps for them so they survive through the spring to be of use to us.”

“The winter seas, thankfully, will close the ports and thus the influx of people. So moving what is currently here to outlying areas now, the few ports can handle what arrives during good weather or at the beginning of the season. Send them to Redcliffe, resettle Lothering...if they are outfitted, of course.” Ferox looked to his brother, “Anywhere else they are needed?”

Scratching at his beard thoughtfully, “Where are they _not_ needed? Half the country has gone to seed, it all needs resettling. Never being a rich country, life’s always been hard here. Roads are often little than dirt tracks, towns are a collection of hovels, what areas grow well are somewhat inhabited...”

“What about miners? Kirkwall’s Bone Pit keeps losing them and I haven’t put out a call. Well, we can’t rely on the dwarves for mining...foremen and teachers, perhaps, but there aren’t that many of them.”

“If they’d be willing to do that, then yes, we could put a hefty dent in what needs to be done rather than if we just muddle along as we’ve been doing under the old way of doing things,” Fergus stood to pace the study. “The mines are secondary to our fields and roads at the moment, but the mines are still important.”

Beside him, Zevran agreed, “What good is fine metal when your belly is empty, hmn? Yes. No one can work for long in that situation.” 

“Well, in the meantime we’re paying coin for the metal we buy from the dwarves,” Ferox was thinking of the draining coffers.

Zevran waved a hand, “Diplomatic ties, Helmi will bring a good amount of his House. Surely some Dust Towners could also be offered work in teaching how to mine. Pick and choose carefully, they are a hard lot, obviously. But enough of them given the chance to do something that does not involve busting heads or laying on their backs, and they just might take that chance instead. Behlen might have given them more rights, but we can offer the same, without any stigma at all. ‘Come to the Crown and receive respect for what you do, a chance to be something other than Casteless.’ Braska! But I wish Sigrun could be sent... They would listen to her. With their stonesense still intact, they would be able to carve out good veins quickly and gain us the necessary metals.”

“As you both say, that can wait a season or two, I’ll send Sig then. Between her and Dagna chatting everyone up, dwarves’ll be pouring out the gates. Behlen won’t be happy however.” Ferox wouldn’t be happy if someone were taking Ferelden’s limited population either. 

“The _Assembly_ will be pleased, at first, but then they will face the fact that they require the entire populace, not just a select few,” Zevran shrugged. “Behlen will see it long before they do. But I doubt he will act until he can be assured of their backing. By then, whatever measures they wish to enact will be enough to entice many dwarves to return, which will free up slots for those they have educated to take their places. All in all, a good plan. Perhaps one we should even divulge to him.”

He remembered being in Orzammar, of the dwarves camped at the gates and those few allowed back inside. “And make returning home something they _can_ do without special dispensation.”

A broad smile flashed white teeth in bronze skin, “Precisely. He has a fondness for the Casteless, perhaps if we point out that it might cause awareness of the fact of the limited number of dwarves, and that we have a solution that will cause the Assembly to roll over onto their backs and do whatever he says when it comes to implementing certain...policies... I believe we should mention that far-reaching consequence, yes? He would understand it and see how it benefits his people in the long term. And ours as well - if we fall, he is open to the Divine’s Marches to gain uncontrolled amounts of lyrium.” 

“And apostates. Stick your fingers in your ears, Fergus,” Ferox joked. 

“Nothing but an excuse to gain her actual goal,” his lover shrugged.

Fergus mimed doing so, “Oh I know this one, everything’s worse than I imagined. How wonderful.”

“That’s why you’re here, or we’re here rather, you’re unofficially part of the brain trust and we know where your loyalties lie.”

Zevran perched himself on Fergus’ desk, “And you have the ears of those we cannot go to directly who have their ultimate loyalty being Ferelden itself. If we went to them, it would be obvious, or they would deny these things. From you, a slightly neutral party, and a palatable one at that, they are far more likely to agree.”

“Like I said, I’m glad you’re both on our side,” Fergus shook his head wonderingly at how neatly things had been presented. 

_I should let him see some of Zevran’s lists... Then he would really be overwhelmed,_ amused as Ferox watched Fergus rub his face as he shook his head at them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhion: As a bit of pre-warning, upcoming Chapter 12, has some serious fubars. We were still new to co-writing at the time, and were trying to introduce some of the foundation ideas that create our overall metaverse of the Woven Songs - Tattered Towers. As such there's some massive mess in Chapter 12. We've both gone over it so many times and done what we can, but actually removing the chapter would throw off the entire metaverse's foundation. It's messy, ugly, and we hate it. That's why at the end of Chapter 12, I'll have a quick outline summary for those who can't slog through it. Any other chapters holding the themes from Ch 12 are much better. But like the first pancake always comes out messy, ugly and meh, that's how Ch 12 was.


	12. Multiple Headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be a quick outline at the bottom of this chapter that covers the swinging POV changes in a condensed fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errors, errors everywhere. There just isn't a way to fix them in some cases in this chapter. Readers, we apologize and promise that after this chapter, it goes back to normal. For the first half or so, Chapter 12 is 'normal'.
> 
>  
> 
> Dulsanaya: A Dalish healer with green elfroot leaf vines and vallaslin. She heals by touch, and only speaks through the amulets. Her 'story/layer' is different. Riordan survived, and she was the one carrying a spark of a baby when slaying the Archdemon. This resulted in miscarriage, and the Archdemon's soul, cleansed, is basically housed inside her now. 
> 
> Kirkwall Zevran: The duplicate Zevran that so freaks out Ferox. He was modified and twisted by blood magic at the Crows' behest, to make him what he is. He wears a matching amulet to Dulsanaya so they can easily speak to one another. He also carries a Vigilance sword, that has an active/awake dragon ghost in it. For some unknown reason, he is stuck in Kirkwall. Also, he comes from a Thedas where he and his Warden haven't finished the task of dealing with the Blight.

Having spent several days and nights visiting while getting Fergus up to speed, Ferox spent most of his time indoors in the study and in the new wing of Castle Highever. And on particularly bad nights he and Zevran would wind up bundled under mounds of hay and blankets in the stable’s loft. Those were the only nights when Len was not near, otherwise, he had taken up residence once more beside Ferox and Zevran on a down ticked mattress. Also Moira had had the time to switch out laundry for Len, swapping the old for the cleaned, which seemed to relieve her. It relieved Ferox too, seeing as it meant socks that weren’t stiff.

After having heard about Ferox’s first night, and then watching him at the dinner table the next evening, Moira and Alise both dictated that all family meals had to be taken in the study, as well as any other family matters, unless it could be done outdoors. Ferox was silently grateful to the two, who were like night and day. Moira was sweetly quiet and graceful, while Alise was clearly a soldier originally, some bann’s daughter who had fought in the Blight and healed his brother’s heart. Yet the two women had become odd little peas in a single pod, with Moira giving advice when it was needed on how to deal with tiny Thia, otherwise the two of them discussed their lives and what they wished for their children.

Ferox was grateful for the planned break from Highever, even with the changes, so he didn’t have to be where so much had occurred, just walking into the castle was a daily trial. Zevran knew the stuttering of thoughts and heartbeat as he neared it, he wasn’t fooling the assassin for a minute. 

After a kiss to each of the women’s cheeks, and the prerequisite hug and kiss from each of the little girls and a brief one from Moira, Ferox put his foot in the stirrup and swung a leg over, waiting for the fawning to stop over _his_ assassin. Moira was last, her arms wrapping around him as she pressed her lips to Zevran’s cheek, making Ferox wince internally at how the hug was more familiar than the time she had gotten on the boat. Squashing his irritation by looking away when it became obvious his lover was going to return that full body hug and that warm kiss, Ferox drew a deep breath, calming himself.

Sighing, he turned down the road, knowing that Zevran would catch up in a moment or two. Ferox did his best to keep his growling in check, aloud and through the amulet. Dwarves, Dagna and Helmi, the list in his mind, the agenda was set. Visualizing the underground city, he planned out each step, each move, started to make backup plans in case those he wanted to speak to were unavailable, or if what he wanted was denied. No plan survives... That was why there were other plans and why he thought through the options, or as many as he could come up with on his own. In preparation for battle, plans were useless, but the _act_ of planning was indispensable, it helped the mind move through the morass and react quickly when it counted. Only when he didn’t plan ahead was he caught, unable to move, frozen and useless.

 _’What was that about, **querido**?’_ Zevran caught up quickly his remount trotting along behind him. 

“Hrm?” absently. “Nothing important.”

Zevran looked at him with narrowed eyes, his mouth setting, then shook his head several times. “ _Como dessees, querido_. You will or will not say as is your prerogative.”

As if his only problem was that he couldn’t get away from the castle behind them fast enough, Ferox encouraged a quicker pace. “Fresh air is good, isn’t it?”

His assassin only grunted. “Yes, it is.” But Zevran wasn’t finished. _’I watched you through a Blight, years at the palace, and you think to hide something from me? How nice.’_

Grumping, _’Not hiding. Just not ready to talk about it. Happy now? If you were watching so closely then you’d be familiar with that too.’_

 _’You are never ‘ready’, it usually is pried out with pliers,’_ Zevran stared straight ahead at the road. _’You could have just said that you were not ready instead of side-stepping. Side-stepping makes me suspicious rather than being forthright, hmn? Do not worry, I will drop it until you are ‘prepared’ sufficiently.’_

_’You didn’t like it when I asked you to ‘let it go’ last time either, which I thought was being straightforward. Nor was it dropped if I recall.’_

Another grunt, hard irritation welling in the link with frustration and worry, _’Fine, allow me to rephrase - if you say you are not ready to speak on it, but will be at a later time, then I will accede to your wishes without a fight. And of course I do not like it, I do not like not knowing what is bothering you, I do not like not sharing, I do not like it when you withdraw, and I do not like it when I feel that you put me off, simply because a subject that is painful to you is also too troubling to share, as though I cannot bear it with you or as though you do not trust me. Now, consider the issue dropped.’_

With that, the assassin’s horse received heels tapped to flanks and it moved once more into a trot. Ferox felt everything from Zevran’s end go silent other than a tentative thread of connection, otherwise his emotions read as a complete blank. Gritting his teeth on the snarl that twisted his features, Ferox refused to do anything other than concentrate on the road.  
_Not even on the actual road yet either,_ snarling and snapping internally unable to concentrate on what he had been thinking and working on.

XXX

The two days of hard riding brought them to West Hills. The entire time Zevran wasn’t cool, but he didn’t initiate conversation, and at night he slept beside, rather than plastered to, Ferox. In the mornings, Ferox even found he wasn’t even remotely tangled as usual, which he perversely missed for some reason. Yet it didn’t feel like he was being cut off or shoved to the side or punished, it was more like Zevran was _contracting_ , as though to take up less space. 

_Is this what you want? If you send him to her, then it must be. Shut up! I thought that’s what he wanted._ Head pounding with the argument with himself, all Ferox wanted was a stone wall to finish it off. Having fallen asleep with an arm around Zevran, it wasn’t there when he woke up, even though it was clear his assassin hadn’t moved an inch in the night from his spot beside him. Ferox was certain he was growling in his sleep and at moments he wasn’t paying attention, because that was exactly how he felt. _Trying for a rabid mabari imitation? Going to win all the top prizes at this rate._

Stopping to see Arl Wulff for an evening, didn’t improve his disposition. Wulff hadn’t remarried, his sons died when the darkspawn overran the villages and fields while trying to save their people. They were boys, men actually, that he and Fergus grew up with. The arl hadn’t regained his earlier interest in all things growing, his crops, the timber harvest and re-plantings - nothing. He was stuck, just living day to day, hardly hearing the petitions brought to him. What family did he have left? Fergus must have seen it, known it, who would replace someone who had maintained this end of the border against Orlais? Did the boys have children? He didn’t recall, but it was possible... Again, it was something Fergus would know. However, he would also have to either shake up Wulff, or the man would need to step aside. That thought was almost like killing his own father and made Ferox feel sick. Someone had to find something for the man to do in his last days, however long that was. The man wasn’t _that_ old, he was just tired and heartsick.

Increased traffic made the port of West Hills important, it was growing much like Amaranthine, but without direction. While the city prospered, its leader had become an old man who had given up. After throwing himself at a stone wall of a one-sided conversation over dinner, Ferox went outside for air and to find a real wall, as that conversation was also less than enlightening. _I’ve had more fun arguing with emissaries._ Growling, he decided to discuss it with Fergus when he got back, it was Highever’s problem first, after that, it would become the Crown’s.

Laying awake, mind rolling over the problems as well as the improvements that needed to be made right away, the relocation of the ones returning from Kirkwall, the grain supplies, and the fact that so few fields had been planted this year, as if the arl’s decline had also reduced the productivity of the ground. Yes, contamination was a problem, but not everywhere. There was too much good soil to be so wasted, the people of the arling, the teyrnir, and the country, depended on it as part of their bread basket.

Sighing, he gave up fighting on the issue he couldn’t win that night and wrapped arms and legs around the warm body next to him, pressing his face into the bare shoulder. “I’m stupid and I can’t do this without you.”

“I have gone nowhere, _querido_ ,” his voice was soft, arm pressing Ferox’s to him tightly. “That will not change, I am here.”

“So you say, and so I try to believe, but it’s not an easy thing. You have shown me over and over, and yet doubt seizes me at small things. It’s as if looking at them makes them larger or more real. Gives them substance.”

The Antivan wove their fingers together. “ _Conozca tu a enimigo._ Know thy enemy. Once something has substance, only then can it be cornered, studied, and dealt with one way or another. There is water in the kitchen, do you just clean up the mess and not see whence it came? No, _amora_ , you clean it up, then you check the walls, the windows, the roof, so that you know what must be done. Whether the reason for the water is as simple as someone spilled that water, or the window needs closing because it is raining... Know and face what you feel you are up against, know it, and gain power over it.”

Unable to withhold another sigh, Ferox tightened his arms around Zevran, acknowledging the instructions and guidance with a hug. He didn’t turn to his back as usual, instead staying curled around the warmth, hoping to thaw enough to follow the directions given. In his arms Zevran twisted, rolling over to face him, sharing the same air as he pressed close. The phrenology session commenced with a hand slipping close to his scalp and cupping his head, and Ferox could feel Zevran’s heart beating steadily against their rib cages.

“What is it that you fear, _mi hermoso corizon_?” whispered softly as Ferox was near to finding some kind of sleep.

Rumbling, “Leaving, being left, hasn’t changed.” Starting to drift again, he pulled back enough to ask, “Why?”

“I do not know, but that does not seem to be the trigger,” Zevran murmured. “I will not leave you. It is you I spend my nights with, it is you I sleep beside, it is you that I remain near as often as it is physically possible.” A nose rubbed at his jaw, “If that is all that it is, then I will simply continue to do my best.”

“You do...I’m,” sounding almost drunk on sleep, “tha’ one who’s cracked.”

A hand slid under his shirt, stroking at his back in soothing patterns. “How are you cracked, _amante_?”

“Didn’t,” sigh, “find that..one yet?” Another pause, “You spend so much time...touching it...my head.”

“I do not think of you as cracked, but merely as yourself, _querido_ , and I touch your head because... Because your hair is soft and I like it. I could touch somewhere else, but I do not think you would approve of me holding your cock in my hand all night long and playing with it randomly to feel the silkiness of your skin and the nightly changes it goes from hard to soft and in between.” 

Soft breathing, “Head’s cracked.” Another breath, “Pay...attention...sometime.”

“Your head is not cracked, it is perfect, and what shall I pay attention to?” Zevran’s voice was hypnotic and rose and fell methodically, matching the stroking of Ferox’s back and his head.

“Flemeth fixed...it. Was cracked.”

“Mmn, she could be a very good healer sometimes, that is good that she fixed it,” lips joined the rhythmic movements. “What does a cracked head have to do with it?”

“With...what?” 

Zevran pulled him closer, their legs wrapping together, and Ferox sleepily noted how his bottom lip had been sucked between Zevran’s. “How does having a cracked head have to do with me doing my best? You said that the problem lays with you, not myself.”

“It’s true.”

“What is this problem, my love, tell me, please.”

“Ogres are big...an’ hit hard....’member helmet.”

Warm chuckles rocked Ferox gently as Zevran laughed. “Yes, they do. But we were discussing problems. Ones that you have, ones that we will fix. Why are you afraid I will leave you?”

Even wading through sleep and the dream of being lost in the Wild, he knew he shouldn’t answer that. “M’m stupid, I said that.”

“You are brilliant, _querido_ , and I love you, please tell me so that I know how to soothe you. That is what I wish to do, I wish to allay these fears, Ferox, please,” somehow his voice remained the same, but he could feel the thrill of anxiety and fear through the amulet. “I do not want you to be frightened, thinking you will be left alone in the dark...please tell me so that we may face it.”

“It would...change everythin’.” A sighing breath, “Don’t want to break that too.”

“Whatever it is, it will not break, unless it has to,” something was filling Ferox up, reassurance, that was what his mostly asleep mind recognized it as. “Ferox, tell me, I will listen, all will be well.”

Every bottled moment of insecurity, anger, fear rolled through the amulet. In the nursery, at Anora’s side hearing outrageous gossip and rumour, instances observed on the periphery of vision, greetings and farewells, each touch, each look on Moira’s face when she gazed on Zevran. And how much of it he returned, so easily, so openly, as though it was just an everyday thing, the sort of touches shared between Ferox’s parents. What was he compared to that?

Zevran absorbed it and then a giant chasm opened up beneath Ferox, sucking him down. He thought he would scream, thought he might have, the blazing was like walking on the sun. Details resolved slowly, gradually, as he was swamped and he realized he was looking at himself, or what he thought had been himself a moment before, the darkness not truly existing in their bed. Security, worry, something pervasive and unidentifiable because it was hard to put a name to it that was accurate, enveloped him and refused to let go, anything it could be called, would truly be too puny of a description anyway.

 _’This is what I feel, Ferox, this is for you,’_ came from all directions, his heart pumping blood, his fingers moving through thick mahogony hair, looking at the chiseled features across from him that was himself. 

Perspective swung, something smaller, important, but smaller, not as filling by any means, but still a great thing took its place. Affection, friendship, deep care, some attraction, and a healthy dose of protectiveness, _’This is what I feel for Moira.’_

Another swing and something that filled him to exploding, something unnameable and pure, shattering in its total perfection. If what Zevran first showed him was overwhelming, the new thing was enough to remake a world. To put a name to it or try to define it was impossible. 

_’ Our children,’_ were the only words for it, the only definition that could come close.

The withdrawal and returning to his own so much narrower scope left Ferox trembling, bereft, and fully awake. 

“I could no more leave you, than I could them, Ferox, you are my worlds,” weariness rang in his voice as though it had taxed Zevran greatly to pull Ferox in that deep. “I will show you every day if need be.”

Focusing on the face in front of him, Ferox was speechless, stunned, unfrozen, so he leaned in. Copying something Zevran had done, he kissed the lines on the forehead, the crinkles at the eyes, the spot between the expressive eyebrows, the lines of cheekbones, finally a soft kiss to the corners of the mouth before finding his voice, hoarsely strangling out the words, “Thank you.” 

It was inadequate, but was everything he had to give.

“Of course, _querido_ ,” so tired. “I told you it would not break. Trust your Zevran, hmn? Sometimes this old man is wily.”

“As you wish.”

His lover tucked in close, mumbling against Ferox’s neck, “Does it help some at least?”

“More than enough, Zevran. Sleep, I will be here,” clutching the Antivan sun to himself, Ferox squeezed him.

A huffing chuckle, “You must learn Antivan, so I can be flowery and expressive without sounding like a crooning, love sick girl.”

_’There are other ways. Which you are very good at.’_

Zevran grunted, vaguely pained. “I did not realize it would take so much out of me, eh? Did not even know I could do that...oh, _querido_ , I would show you that every moment if I could do it without so much concentration.”

Ferox’s tone was fervent, unabashed, as the words broke from his emotion roughened throat, “No, I would only bask in your heat as Ferelden went to ruin around me...around us, as you would never leave your bed.”

“Hmmnooo...a most unwise thing then,” he sighed shuddering once, then groaned. “I believe this counts as what Elissa would call an ‘ouchie’ moment.”

Feeling the flickers in the amulet that reminded him of the pain of the ‘over sending’ he had received from Zevran, Ferox pressed his thumbs to the elf’s temples and rubbed firmly as that had helped Ferox whenever he had a headache. Training would be good for both of them, perhaps this could be avoided, or there was something wrong with the amulet? That was something he was more inclined to believe, that the amulet somehow wasn’t made right. They could go to Kirkwall right away and get both things; training and a new amulet, if needed, or depending on the schedule they could go after Orzammar? It depended on the ships themselves, it was possible that they could leave from West Hills, it was one of two most direct routes, the other being Highever. Stable the horses at the keep, leave a couple Crows behind to care for them and to watch over Wulff. A side trip would mean a greater likelihood of over-wintering in Highever, of him spending Saturnalia in a barn. _Oh Maker, this is not what I had planned. Then make a new plan, Ferox, now._

Disturbed by the deepening pain he felt through the amuulet, Ferox said, “Zevran, I’m going to find your elfroot.” 

Unwrapping himself from the elf in spite of the grumpy protest, Ferox got to his feet, poured from the jug of water into the basin, and then dipped and wrung out a washcloth. Then, locating the familiar paste, he brought it over to be checked that it was the right one before smoothing a bit on Zevran’s forehead and cheeks as they were hot, inflamed while the rest of him seemed normal. No cuts, but it would be absorbed and likely help. Folding the cool damp cloth, he put it over the elf’s eyes hoping to ease the obvious discomfort.

Leaning down, Ferox kissed Zevran’s chin, reassuring him, “I’m going down the hall to the infirmary, I’ll only be a moment. Stay here.” 

Ferox went down to the barracks and spoke to one of the Crows quietly, information was needed as to when was the next ship to Kirkwall that could carry all of them minus two and no horses. _Was this even a possibility?_ The looks were odd as he was the one asking instead of Zevran, but the Crow, named something like Allowed-wish-us nodded. There was a quick conference in Antivan, the tenor was low in the points given by the rangy Crow to the others, who were all diverse, but each gave the appearance of having grown up in the sun. After having their universal agreement, minus the one he was certain was called Armand - something about errands was mentioned - Ferox left. But he still went for a quick stop at the castle’s infirmary to pick up a few more elfroot potions, Ferox returned to Zevran.

After insuring that the potion was drunk, he crawled back into the blankets, and held his lover, wishing he had not been pressed to show those wondrous things. _I’m so sorry._

“Thinking...too hard... _querido_. Mph, it is just a headache, they happen,” a hand reached out, cupping Ferox's cheek. "I probably do not need to be doing that so unprepared any time soon."

“I’m just looking at possibilities, for now as there is not yet enough information to make any decisions or choices. When there is, we will talk.”

Zevran lifted up the cloth to peer at him, “Mph. She may not even _be_ there. And I need to have words with my counterpart. Everything will be civil, but I must know if he has some coffee...”

“And now would be the time, as Len is safe and cared for. If not with you or I, Highever is the next best place.” A mental shake of the head, “Coffee, warmth, spices, boots... Your needs are few, but extravagant,” amused.

A grunt, “Socks. I can survive without the boots.”

“Camel hair, I have not forgotten.” Ferox’s eyes closed having done all he could think of to do, what possibilities he could imagine for the moment were being researched, just being there was all that was left that he could do. 

Chuckling originated somewhere near his armpit. “Ah, it is my turn to be nursed. Mmmn...I should get headaches more often. Or something requiring stitches, I will even allow you to shape it into an ‘F’ upon my posterior.”

Snorting, “Some headaches are helped by sleeping, try and see if this is one.”

More soft laughter, interspersed with a few audible winces, “Mmm...yes. I bow to your wisdom.”

XXX

Surprisingly, a day later, they were climbing onto the deck of a little vessel that made regular runs between West Hills and Kirkwall, a straight shot, no other stops. Ignacio’s Crows were nothing if not efficient in their seeing to orders. Ferox nearly danced a jig. Zevran basically did, soundly kissing Ferox in their cramped cabin, before he began to wobble once more. 

When the assassin had said it had taken a great deal of effort to pull Ferox into his mind, he had been vastly understating it. Not taking no for an answer, Zevran was sent to bed and after dosing him, Ferox curled ‘round his elf. Other than for trips to the deck for air, they kept fairly confined.

It was a bit trickier to locate the bodyguard and his healer the second time around in Kirkwall. Thankfully some routines continued and people always loved to talk. Unfortunately, the routine that was kept, was the healer’s daily trip to the Qunari Compound, a dangerous place to be. As to why she was there, he had already speculated, and nothing Ferox could come up with made sense. Waiting outside, Ferox watch the healer go in before stepping into the street to reveal himself to the duplicate. Not that he had any illusions that he hadn’t already been spotted by the warped Crow before that moment.

He didn’t hear anything, but the presence behind him was strong and Ferox turned to see the duplicate leaning casually against a wall, a thick tube of cigar crammed to one side of his mouth. “You are here early. And your _associate_ ,” the dark gold irises were focused on him, their glint mocking in reference to Zevran, “is here as well with a nice little flock too. What is it you have come for?”

Managing a level and even tone , Ferox refrained from flinching as a familiar face was twisted, like seeing someone well known wearing another’s clothes searched him impassively, “My associate has been injured and I am guessing that she’s the only one who knows what may have happened.” 

The other pushed free of the wall, waving a hand, “I will go get _em’lath’sa_ , you go to him. She will be brought shortly, as I know where you both have taken residence. Our modes of travel are faster than yours.”

 _Of course, you delivered a package to the door..._ Only nodding, Ferox returned to the estate in High Town he had purchased during his first visit. He had thought that it would make a good home base and embassy if needed. And if he made a few additions to the garden, well, who would mind?

XXX

“Why all this fussing?” Zevran sounded crotchety as Ferox handed him another cup of tea laced with elfroot. “It is not that I mind, but truly, _querido_ , it is just a headache.”

His lips thinned, “A headache that has lasted over a week. And you can’t even tolerate small sendings, Zevran, that’s not normal and you know it. Don’t be difficult.” 

“I had thought that training was our sole goal, _amante_ ,” mumbled around his cup. 

_If this is Avernus’ fault, he will be providing fertilizer for the caverns._

Zevran sat upright in the chair, hands going to his weapons, “We have company.”

A knock on the window before it swung open and in slid the other, who unfolded his unnaturally un-elven long frame and held out a hand to guide Dulsanaya into the room. The other took one look at Zevran, tilted his head to the side and stared unblinking for several long moments then grunted, clearly having assessed him as ‘not worth it’ even as a hand reached up to caress that hilt over his shoulder. Ferox’s Zevran only stared him down before finally relaxing, some unspoken assessment and agreement passing between them.

....  
[Dulsanaya]

Waiting for the Crows to sort things out, the little silver haired elf studied Ferox and his Zevran. The Warden’s hand rested on the assassin’s shoulder, not holding him back, but in reassurance, protecting, and claiming him. Something had changed, probably in matters between the two of them. That was good, the Warden had been so unhappy before; he was more relaxed, although he certainly was worried at the moment, he looked better than he had last visit.

Emerald eyes then shifted to one who looked so much like her own, one who had not yet come to join her, and she knew that the thrill and excitement of meeting another Zevran could be felt in the link, but she confined it to the one touching her. When _emma’mi_ had said that Gaeaf had returned with his Zevran and that that one was hurt, she had to come. Gods, there were too many duplicates to keep track of...’his’ and ‘mine’ and ‘hers’...the place called Kirkwall was truly Setheneran. [Land of waking dreams. A place where the Veil is thin. Literally: Tenuous waking dream place]. 

Territory was marked and the male jungle cats paced and fluffed their ruffs to make themselves look larger, showing their fangs and flicking their tails. _‘Emma’mi [My blade], that one is hurt just as Gaeaf [Winter] said.’_ She looked up at him, warming the hand which prevented her from bounding across the room, _‘But **na’asha** [your woman] cannot taste what the problem is if you do not let her touch him.’_ Outwardly, although her body was stationary, mentally she was bouncing on her toes waiting for him to decide that it was safe and release her.

...  
[Kirkwall Zevran]

‘Trouble’ and his puppet master had clearly consummated their agreement and contract, binding themselves to each other tighter. In doing so it, appeared that the lines between the one who controlled and the one who submitted, had blurred, blending together almost to a ‘healthy’ point of symbiosis. Releasing his little tree witch’s hand he nodded at the man who wore his face, and wore it all wrong, and the _shemlen_. 

_‘He is running on willpower alone, **em’lath’sa**. That one will die if pushed the wrong direction, something is wrong with his mind, as though he has taken a great blow - look at his right pupil and the tremor in his fingers as he grips. It is small, his puppet no doubt cannot see it.’_

Of course he wasn’t even pretending to make a diagnosis, instead only handing over knowledge of a much more limited self in that scenario, studying the minuscule details with a practiced eye. 

“You look like shit,” he said conversationally to his duplicate as his hand fell from his little tree witch’s hand. “Get in an argument?”

The soft version of himself grunted, “Not at all. I regularly feel as though an ogre had cracked my head wide open.” Before Zevran could bristle at the wounded version, that one held up a hand. “Playing with this interesting bit of jewelry yields odd results it appears.”

Zevran gave Dulsanaya a nod, “ _Em’lath’sa_ would know more than I on such subjects. Sit back, she knows her work.”

 _‘Gaeaf was paying attention, and here this **asha** thought you frightened his wits from him,’_ there was the caress from his green eyed nymph’s mind, teasing him.

Pulling out one of the ever-present fruits he kept with him, Zevran peeled the tangerine, _‘I did no such thing. If he chose to be afraid, then that was his issue, not something I intended. Now, **intimidation** is another matter entirely. But that does not necessarily inspire fear, **em’lath’sa**. Someone like him would lash out at what he fears, and since he did not...?’_ Seeing how the soft, short, slight version of himself eyed the fruit in his hand with concealed longing, Zevran took pity and threw him one. _‘A healthy respect is beneficial for all.’_

Fondly, _‘Snarly male, this one will have to ask many things. Don’t frighten or intimidate too much. Answers are important.’_ Quickly the light steps crossed the distance as Zevran watched her make her observations.

He only again grunted, watching the duplicate and his pet, popping sections of the fruit in his mouth. 

...  
[Ferox]

 _He just stares, that’s what it is,_ Ferox identified one of the strange things about the other. It was flat-eyed, as though nothing could impress or touch him ever, under any circumstance. There was no expression but one of patient annoyance, if annoyance could ever be patient, as though the world were some inconvenience to deal with and push out of the way. _Shark eyed. Blood stink and menace, nothing means anything to him, that’s what it’s like._ Yet Ferox watched pitying actions taken, a fruit Ferox had never seen before tossed to his gold haired Antivan from the blood scented one. _As though he knows just how long it’s been..._ Discomforted, Ferox remained silent.

...  
[Dulsanaya]

Kneeling next to the chair, Dulsanaya laid a hand on the leg of the wounded one and tilted her head as if listening, finding the way. As she found his sandalwood and a mix of spices swirled cognac, the little healer pressed her own to him, vanilla and pineapple mint. _‘ **Aneth ara. Harel’din** , Haf’cath , this **asha** will not seek your private thoughts,’_ pressing a hand to his chest, her five fingers spread in promise. [Greetings. Do not fear, Summer Cat.] The pain behind his eyes hurt her and she winced at the weight he was carrying. Worried, _’ **Lethallin** , this is too much to hold and it is getting worse.’_

 _‘It would have kept until time could be wasted on it. I did not wish to worry **mi querido**. He would only blame himself,’_ he held steady betraying as little of how much pressure was behind his eyes and how much the stabbing and throbbing repeated itself without cessation, but she could feel it. _‘Explanations can wait, unless you need them to find what is wrong?’_

 _‘Most can wait, Haf’cath.’_ Following the trail of the pain, she followed it back to the source. _This cannot wait.’_ With a glance up to the Warden, she saw that he didn’t know. Reaching in she found the weeping blood vessel to begin the delicate repair. To the one behind her _‘ **Emma’mi** , it is good this one came here,’_ then she quickly returned to the healing, becoming absorbed in the minute details.

...  
[Kirkwall Zevran]

Vigilance was pestering him, but Zevran did his best to ignore her. _No, remember last time when you told me to let Trouble take your hilt and you blasted him?_

 _I’ve no intention of doing that, he’s failing fast even in that link. He needs strength while she manages the little things and **she** only has so much energy after her morning bout,_ the ghostly spirit of the dragon queen whose soul was bound to the sword, was pacing, lashing back and forth, demanding and forcing her snarls into his mind. _And then your drake will be sad, or overtax herself if she’s successful._

Internally he snarled at Vigilance, then whipped the sword from the sheath, even as the _shemlen_ began to react, Zevran was wrapping his duplicate’s hand around the hilt. _Do not hurt him, or you hurt her, **emmi**._

...  
[Ferox]

Ferox was just about to launch himself at the other, no matter that it was a fight he didn’t think he could possibly win, no thought came to mind other than to protect and defend until his own assassin twitched, grunting as fingers wrapped around Vigilance’s hilt, held in place by the duplicate’s unnaturally strong grip. He remembered the snarling bite and strike slamming into his mind like a giant draconian tail, and was afraid his lover wouldn’t be able to take that kind of attack. Under his hand Zevran’s shoulder suddenly relaxed and he sighed in apparent relief. Warily, Ferox observed the duplicate and his assassin’s reactions.

...  
[Dulsanaya]

‘Atashi.’ Acknowledgement of what was being assisted, of what she could let go of and not expend precious drops of energy on, Dulsanaya resumed concentrating on the visible source of the problem. Drop by drop she pulled from the _vallaslin_ vines that were wrapped around her form. Watching the source, the taste of lin in her mind, voice low and soft, _‘Haf’cath, please show this **asha** exactly what caused this thing, so that the origin is known.’_

...  
[Zevran]

Zevran tried not to wince at all the ‘voices’ in his head, there was something that sounded like a constant dull roar, another that was distant, somehow linked from the hilt in his hand, the worried and repressed mutterings from his lover, and the much softer and soothing ones from the tiny elven healer. Gathering his will, he summoned up the image of desperation to show Ferox _exactly_ what he saw and felt for the soul-wounded Warden, using the amulets. It had been agonizing as he did it, but it was the only way to show his lover that he could believe. To see it firsthand, Ferox had to be pulled into him, and the resistance of ‘self’ with those inherent barriers had to be torn aside to grab Ferox’s consciousness. It wasn’t like showing him a memory, but actually using his own mind and body to house more than one complete person at once. The pain had been quite literally mind blowing, which Zevran had kept from Ferox, as his beloved had enough issues with guilt, abandonment and such on his plate without having that sort of thing thrown atop it.

Zevran hadn’t even known if it would work, he had only been heartsick at how afraid Ferox was that he would be left for another, to a point where words had no hope of getting through. The only thing the Antivan had been able to think of was showing everything in detail and contrasting to give points of reference, even as his grey matter had shuddered in agony at the willing invasion. He had had to suppress not just his own sense of self, but Ferox’s, at least enough to enable a single body to house two whole minds, no matter how briefly. And the amulet had not quite resisted, but Zevran had to pull from much of his own reserves to power that action, squeezing Ferox through such a thin link, it had been like a pipe channelling a large amount of water, forced to bulge in order to accommodate the greater volume.

...  
[Dulsanaya]

Shifting, she rose to her feet, while, maintaining the healing link, the contact, the touch necessary for such, and reached up to pull the amulet away from his skin, rolling it between her fingers, tasting it. _‘This one is not for you. Your skills are different and it cannot hold it all, cannot do what you wish it to. It is - ’_ it took a moment to search for the right word, _’- inadequate.’_ Still carefully holding the link, she lifted it from him, pulling the chain from around his neck over his head and handed it to Gaeaf. One voice from the cacophony in Zevran’s mind had been removed. _‘Were there any other sendings like this? Anything too loud or strong like this?’_

His lids slid closed, blocking out the light, _‘Ferox wished to know what a sirocco was and asked me to show him. He had told me that to send such images I would have to clear my mind and concentrate. I did, and he nearly fell from his horse. He also appeared as though he wished to double over and vomit for a moment or three, and was particularly...aggravated afterwards. To fix it, I showed him a soft memory, one where I did not concentrate on sending it to him, merely relaxed myself to show him. That appeared to take his pain and sickness from him, for which I am heartily glad.’_ There was a pause, the mind wandering for a moment, _‘It was a skill I used to overcome and break through his memory of what happened in his home, I gave him something else to think about and feel, supplanting all of his senses for that brief moment with a memory of my own.’_

 _‘As too much antidote can harm, so too can this skill, lethallin. It can be a very good thing, but you will have to take care not to tear things away from him...this asha knows these things, too well. It is good that others did not find this skill, yes?’_ Turning her focus back to the physical manifestation, she repaired the little damage that was done in the showing of the intense memory. Checking her work, _’ **Ma serannas** , Atashi, Emma’mi, you can let go now.’_ When they withdrew, the noise decreased suddenly. Then, taking in the rest of him, the little healer repaired small things, questioning when something was odd or different from those she already knew. _‘It may take several tries to find a new amulet that will work, but this is a small matter, Haf’cath.’_ She paused as if again searching for the right words, _‘This **da’asha** is glad that you came. Gaeaf is much happier...not whole, but better.’_

Zevran sent amusement through her touch as best he could, _‘Yes, I only had to break my mind to make him believe it to some degree. Boys are such difficult creatures at times. They say that logic and demonstration will sway them, but it requires beyond extraordinary effort for even a sliver to get through their overly hard craniums.’_ Rueful, _‘And here I had always believed that I was the one who had taken enough blows to the head for it to be hard, as the Guild worked ever so diligently to do so. One could drop a castle on **his** head and maybe a pebble might get through.’_

Giggling as she pulled out of the deep healing link, sending warmth and rising to a light link for communication only. _’Oh, I’d give him a stone or two, but you have to find just the right chink in his armour.’_ Blinking, disconnecting she has lost the taste of _lin_ , of the intimate taste of sandalwood and a mix of too many spices to list swirled in smoothly burning cognac, muscles and hardened bone, and flavours of magic she would like to see again for herself.

In the link to the Warden amulets, _‘We must make a new amulet to fit Haf’cath’s mind, else this may happen again. If it does, it may be too late. So, no next time, yes?’_

...  
[Ferox]

Ferox’s hand spasmed on his assassin’s shoulder, guilt assailing him. He had been lucky that Kirkwall was closer than Amaranthine, but the Circle would have been closer too. It had been a shot in the dark, hoping that the little healer girl would still be there, rather than on some other trek for a time, as it wasn’t time for their scheduled meeting. No matter the fact that Zevran had shown him something beyond infinitely precious, such a cost wasn’t worth it. Not ever, not for him.

For most people apparently the amulet Avernus made would have been fine, so there was no treachery, the old Warden just didn’t know exactly what he had on his hands. Had he been allowed to study the elf, the ratios could have been adjusted to better fit the mind that would be wielding it. Hearing that Avernus wanted to ‘study’ Zevran made for an interesting rumbling of thoughts, some good, some bad, Dulsanaya said as her specialities were different, and there always seemed to be a Zevran around, it didn’t occur to her. Ferox reasserted his reservations about such a plan, and given the instructions he had given his Avernus, this cautiousness was warranted. 

Turning her emerald gaze to ‘her’ Zevran, _‘What do you think, emma’mi? Would you do this thing?’_

“I have been ‘studied’ so much, _em’lath’sa_ , what does one more person mucking around seeking to understand what was done to me matter? However, Avernus is no healer, any damage he did would not be easily repaired,” he shrugged, juggling several kinds of fruit with one hand, flipping and rotating them in the air. “If I was made to understand exactly what sort of study that maleficar wished, then perhaps I would accede to his request. Otherwise? Him? No. I would not. Any other? Then yes, I would likely tolerate it.”

_’This one’s Avernus, although still a blood mage, has been most helpful in assisting this one in finding what makes the Joining survivable as well as adjusting the recipe to fit those who are initiated.’ _As if she had just remembered that she hadn’t shared these things, _’She should send these things with you... But, yours and Gaeaf’s Avernus do not sound the same. However, he may still have use.’_ Pulling out her sketchbook, Dulsanaya jotted down her notes on the Joining, types of blood used based on who is participating, the purpose of each thing. Just like her, those Wardens were left on their own to figure things out and were, faced with unpleasant facts.__

__XXX  
[Kirkwall Zevran]_ _

___’Are you going to show Haf’cath your boat?’_ Reviewing her notes on the different amulet recipes they have tried so far. Everyone up until this one contained varying amounts of darkspawn, Archdemon, lyrium, and Ferox’s blood. _ _

___‘Our boat, **em’lath’sa** , it is not mine alone,’_ he reminded her for the thousandth time. _‘Our home. Not mine, not yours, **ours**. Truly, **em’lath’sa** , you are forgetful, but you awoke hours ago. You seek to vex me.’__ _

__Light kisses in the link finding each crinkle at his eyes, _’Nope, just your attention. But will you? He may find it of some use.’__ _

__Watching the others from the corner of his eye, Zevran flicked fruit to his copy who barely twitched as he caught a pair of quince. _‘Perhaps. He does not seem like a weak prat at least.’__ _

___’And has some strengths you do not. Gaeaf would not like to be on the boat, so perhaps you have reason to share with both of them.’_ A soft snicker as she fused together the next trial piece, one she hoped would be the last - unlike the other pieces previous, it contained a drop of Haf’cath’s blood._ _

___‘Many people have strengths I do not, patience is one of them,’_ barely smiling at the sour face Trouble made as he bit into the unsoaked quince. _ _

__Pushing away from the table she leaned over to take away the fruit. _’Gaeaf, don’t eat that. This **asha** does not want to hear your growls and grumbles.’__ _

__....  
[Ferox]_ _

__Ferox pursed his lips, “They’re eating it just fine, and appear to be enjoying it. I don’t know _why_ , this is like the sourest apple I’ve ever been cursed with eating.”_ _

__Both Zevrans began laughing, a very eerie sound as both sounded identical. At least it sounded strange to his ears. Their heads were thrown back and faces scrunched, while the taller one rocked forward shaking his head, still laughing, even as Ferox’s reached out, plucking the golden toned, pear shaped fruit from the healer._ _

__“ _Querido_ , if you called for some water and salt, I could make it sweet enough for you,” still laughing. “And then you will understand. I forgot, not everyone has a taste for them in this state as I do.”_ _

__Ferox grumbled and growled just as predicted. “And _why_ couldn’t you have mentioned that first?”_ _

__The duplicate Zevran snickered as his teeth crunched into more fruit-flesh, chewing and pointing with a finger from the hand holding his own snack. “Where would the fun be in that? We live for the small amusements, or, at least I do.”_ _

__“Actually, I forgot, it _has_ been most of a decade since I last had the sweet flesh of _membrillo_ ,” Ferox’s Antivan sun shrugged._ _

__...  
[Dulsanaya]_ _

__Not amused by the **bechgyn** [boys], the healer dropped the amulet on settling it next to Haf’cath skin, _’This **da’sa** is ready, show me the sirocco again. All of it.’_ Making herself at home, she sat on the arm of his chair to keep contact._ _

__“Concentrate, or not?” Zevran asked warily, rather aware of his duplicate’s easy riling towards violence._ _

___’If this one is what this **da’asha** thinks it is, it can easily take concentration. It is the only way to test if your body can take it and to test if the amulet can accept what you can put through it.’_ _ _

__Ignoring what might be a snarl from his counterpart, Zevran pulled the small healer into his lap and kept her secure. “As you say then, but I do not think falling off a perch is the best idea, considering the first amulet.” He gave no warning, duplicating what he had done with Ferox the time he had shown the sirocco and the other times he had shown the healer._ _

__Pulling up the memory, he shaped it, cataloguing scent, taste, sight, texture, sound, the emotions of anxiety, fear, thrill and thought of it as a slim package made of an arrowhead, and shot it forward. He concentrated on the sounds of booming air, explosive aftershocks as they tore at his sensitive ears, the musty woollen smell of camel and llama, the stink of their fear rising, coppery warmth from the horses, sage grass and lemon balsam from Fewrlin, the coarse feel of blankets and leather tarpaulin tugged tight over them as they hoped and prayed for the sirocco to move past them quickly with few casualties. Of keeping the recently pregnant human woman beneath him as he protectively curled over her. He etched every fine detail, from the grit in his teeth, the way he sweat as they waited what was like a ticking eternity, like one of the fine water clocks he had seen once before._ _

__In the present, he kept a secure hold on the little healer girl, unsure of the violence of the effects as he forced the image through the link. This time he found it much easier, but it still felt like there was resistance, not entirely born of natural defenses. Frustrated Zevran let the memory go and unravel._ _

__“It is still fighting me,” growling uncharacteristically as he rubbed at his temples._ _

___’It was better...but this one is not who you would be talking to. Which could be the difference. Speaking with **emma’mi** is different than speaking with a Warden where there is always distance unless touch can be made, but even then it is not the same. A shared amulet is a very personal connection, it is...more.’_ Checking him for damage, she was pleased that it had been avoided. _’We are making progress.’__ _

__...  
[Ferox]_ _

__Ferox could no longer continue pacing and sat on the bed beside the strange copy. For what it was worth, the other did not turn to look at him, instead passing one of those strange rolled up things he puffed on frequently. It wasn’t like one of the hairy dwarf’s cigars, he could tell by its stink. Smelled like green herbs rather than pungent tobacco for the most part._ _

__“Go on, you inhale, do not swallow or you will vomit,” it was presented to him once more. “Nor will it kill you, but it will calm your need to pace so. It gives me a headache.”_ _

__Frowning at the item he gingerly accepted it, “It isn’t like that weird apple-pear?”_ _

__A dry grin was shot his way, “Nothing like it. You might cough, but wait until you exhale to do so, or your lungs will pay dearly. Which _I_ might find amusing, but I do not fancy having to haul a hissing and spitting alley cat by the scruff for offending his territory.”_ _

__“Don’t swallow, don’t cough until I exhale - any other points of advice?” asking as he tried not to wrinkle his nose at it._ _

__“Hold your breath for as long as you can, inhale slowly,” the copy shrugged nonchalantly. “It will calm those nerves and you will stop broadcasting it like a howling bitch in heat.”_ _

___’ **Emma’mi**? **Na’asha** knows that you wish to stop his annoying habits, but, can we have him do this first? It would be good to have his real thoughts.’_ _ _

__“It will make him more receptive and less resistant, less work for them both,” the duplicate pointed out easily._ _

___’But resistance is the issue and it won’t be the same later without it, **abelas.** ’_ _ _

__...  
[Kirkwall Zevran]_ _

__Growling, Zevran took Trouble’s hand by the wrist as he raised up the blunt, “Wait until yours makes the attempt. Then you can have as much as you need, until then -” plucking it from him and jamming it firmly between his own lips, “ _I_ will just have to medicate. And try to keep you from falling over this time.”_ _

__“Next time you get hit by an ogre fist right in the head, hopefully you’ll have someone around to point and laugh at you too,” Ferox’s lips twisted half into a frown and half smile._ _

__“Last time that happened, I had no helmet and I got back up,” Zevran snorted at him. “Then I had to remember to act like I was woozy so the others would not question why I got up.”_ _

__…  
[Dulsanaya]_ _

__Watching the snarly males still fluffing their fur ruffs, or in Gaeaf’s case, raising his mabari ridge from collar to rump, she wondered where they got this energy to strut and preen, and shared this image with Haf’cath, on whose lap she was still seated. _’Does yours do this at home too? This **asha** does not recall hers doing this, but then he does not really belong to this one. But, not even Sten or Riordan do this, and they have more right to than most.’__ _

__...  
[Zevran]_ _

___‘Anger, fear, insecurity,’_ he shrugged, watching his lover and the other version of himself snap and snarl. _‘The one you currently have is not right, there is something wrong with him. Ferox is uncomfortable because it is both like looking in a mirror, and because he sees what path I could have taken, and how it could have damaged me. Yours, if the one here, is not he, likely does not, for the same reason I do not do this when **mi querido** goes to his harpy.’_ Seeing she didn’t not understand, _‘Patience, or the semblance of it. Do not scare what you desire so much away by being possessive, which is a very aggressive stance. Build a cage for what you want and need so that it is never aware that you have claimed it, until it is far too late for it to care.’_ Smiling at her a little, _‘It is too late for you, you have been firmly ensnared, you just do not know it yet. When you do, you might fight some, but eventually you will realize that that cage is not a cage at all, but a home where you can be safe and where the outside world can do you no harm.’__ _

__Audible sigh, _’Again with the home. Why is this thing so important? Especially now that it is a cage?’__ _

__He rubbed the waist he was touching lightly. _‘You are so very young that you do not know, do not understand. That does not matter, you will see, or you will cause yourself and him pain. Both of them. I will tell you what I told **mi amante** \- it is not quantifiable, something you can measure. It is not a single item, a single action, or a single space. Is your love for the one here something you can measure as you would a cup of flour for bread? Will one grain here or there, a spoonful extra, a spoonful less, make or break it? Words mean nothing, and they mean everything. Actions are futile, and they are sublime. It is simply a thing that exists and is made yet cannot be put into tiny little boxes to be picked up and looked at.’__ _

___’Something is consistent, you both wash this **asha** with words, but she has heard them. However, she is older than you **da’len**.’_ _ _

__A soft growl, _‘You are as old as you act. You act as a child, you are therefore one. It is not a bad thing. It is simply a thing. And it was you who asked for an explanation, that you cannot grasp it yet has to do with your own experiences. But whether I explain or not, or another does, only you can provide your true answer with time.’__ _

__Laughter in the link, _’He is happy with his home and this one has said she will see this thing, to see if it is worth having. So far waking is back to being hard.’__ _

___‘ **Braska**! Little girl, you are the part that makes it a home for you!  Idiota, it is the people who make it a home,’_ the insult and reprimand was teasing not cruel._ _

___’He did not say those words, it was ‘a place to relax away from cares to be yourself.’’_ _ _

__He shook his head at her, _‘It is that in part. His explanation was no doubt catered to your idea of what people call ‘home’. And at the same time he is right. He wishes to be your home, a place where you both can ‘relax away from cares to be yourself’. It is stability, security, a place and a person. Even if there is no other there, it can still be a home for a single one. Both of you are impossibly silly.’_ Zevran amended, _‘All three of you are impossibly silly. The only cure for it is time.’_ Turning sad, not turning his gaze to his handsome heart, his beautiful world, _‘Which is a thing I will not have much of. So much of it wasted... I hope he never realizes.’__ _

___’There is more time than you think, Lethallin.’_ _ _

__Smiling at her sadly he shook his head, _‘Little girl, thousands of years would never be enough. How bereft will you be when he is gone? There you then have your answer.’__ _

___’This one belongs to another and he will be greatly missed. That is true.’_ _ _

___‘Silly child, you only see so far. When you lose all of them, ‘greatly missed’ will not be what you feel, but a great, gaping chasm that you will wonder how you can survive, but you will, somehow. Else you do him, either of them, an injustice, and whatever tasks you have given to your life to make purpose will also be greatly wronged if you do not continue on.’_ Zevran stared at the large green eyes in their dusky face, _‘I will not claim that you have not known loss, but you have not known that loss. When it happens, just as the understanding of what a home truly is, you will find that everything that you thought you understood will change, and you will wonder how it was you could not have seen it.’_ He warned her, _‘But hiding is no option either, it is the fool’s path. Do not take it, for it may seem easy, but it is not the way to walk for any but the absolute fool who has no ability or need or bravery. Life does not reward those who do not seize it with both hands, but shrink away in terror of potential loss.’__ _

___‘ **Asit tal-eb** ’._ Nodding, as she has heard this as well, _’Let us see if this one really does work. This one will need to watch to gauge it.__ _

__“ _Querido,_ I will show you a sirocco once more,” he announced giving no further warning or time to prepare, then repeated the process, trying not to pay attention to how his duplicate had to catch Ferox as he swayed a hand clapped to his head as he gritted his teeth._ _

__...  
[Ferox]_ _

__Ferox grunted as _two_ ogres smashed fists into his skull, ripping it wide. A frighteningly strong arm was around his shoulders holding him up enough to prevent him from falling face first to the floor, even as he fought to double over, dry heaving. _ _

__Leaning down, Dulsanaya made connection with his leather boot and grabbing the pain with a hiss, checked his head. _’Again with the headache...it is becoming tiresome. Was that concentrating or not, Haf’cath?’_ _ _

__“Concentrating,” he watched his lover worriedly. “The same technique I used the first time. Less resistance, but I still had to push through the link if that makes sense.”_ _

___‘You are very powerful and he cannot contain it. For distance, concentrating may be the answer, but not for close...unless you want him to fall, which can be useful sometimes.’_ Picking up rumbling from Ferox, whose foot she is still holding, _’Well it is.’_ Shrugging. _‘So is a properly used paralyze. Does not mean it needs to happen every day however.’__ _

__Ferox winced, realizing he had once more been depending on the duplicate’s physical strength from the sending. He was getting sick of siroccos. It made him not ever want to go to Antiva, no matter how lovingly his assassin described it. At least if there was any risk of him having to be packed in with a horse, a pregnant woman he didn’t like particularly, a camel and a llama. _Maker, if it had been Anora? Ugh, but the baby..._ twitching at the thought and knowing exactly what he would do anyway, no matter how much he despised the harpy._ _

__The healer let go of his boot, seeing no contact between them, either Zevran or himself, she murmured, _’Do it again, gently, lightly, a featherweight. He’s sitting down and is back to not hurting.’__ _

__Zevran’s amusement was felt while he prepared the memory once more. “I noticed you did not say ‘back to normal’. However, I assure you young lady, that whatever cursing and growling you heard is rather normal for whatever goes on in his head.”_ _

__“Thanks, I think,” Ferox replied sarcastically as he straightened up._ _

__Once more a sirocco struck, and Ferox was there, but it wasn’t accompanied by any large fists slamming into him. Only the wind battering him, the bleating, and the fact he was sure someone probably hadn’t bathed as often as he would in the city which wasn’t so bad, but the woman wasn’t quite as pleasant to his-their nose. Not to mention the fact that one of the beasts of burden had let out a noxious smell at some point as well._ _

__A pale eyebrow rose after checking Ferox, poking about in his head to confirm that there was no headache. _’How far could you actually send...and how many could you reach?’__ _

__The thought wafted over to Zevran and he shrugged, “How might I know such a thing? The only amulet I have ever worn was for _mi corizon_ , and we have not been separated since I put it on, other than when he went in search of you upon our arrival. After dosing me I might add from someone’s supply of poppy juice.” The last was growled in aggravation. “I will have to have a word with our...guards about that.”_ _

__“And I told you that you shouldn’t be trying to move around so much,” Ferox gave him a flat look, aggravated and refusing to justify his actions._ _

__...  
[Kirkwall Zevran]_ _

__Questions previously asked as well as others tumbled over each other as if Dulsanaya was talking over herself, _‘Emma’mi, what do you think, how far could he send? Could you do this thing too? What of reaching others? You have already said that distance is a small thing only in the mind.’__ _

__Zevran watched the mild aggravation between the two lovers, “Perhaps as far as I could reach for calling animal allies. Depending on my mental state, I can reach several days out with no effort applied. I reached you even when you were nearly four days distance from me when I was aggravated. But if I sank into a meditative state? More than a hand of days, certainly. Perhaps even ten days to two weeks’ ride. What that would do to me? I do not know.” Gesturing to the unmodified duplicate, “What it would do to _him_? His mind is clearly meant for such calling to highly sentient minds. Mine is more suited to the animal, as that is what I learned.”_ _

___’ **Na’asha** thinks part of the resistance he complained of was this one sticking her fingers in her ears. He is **very** loud. She will have to heal her ‘hearing’ after.’_ _ _

__...  
[Zevran]_ _

__“You are a ranger?” Zevran asked the altered version of himself. “ _Your_ Guild, one that did,” gesturing at the height, encompassing anything else that was done, “all that, allowed you to take on one of our people’s sacred personas?”_ _

__Gold eyes that were a mirror of his own sharpened, and Zevran came close to flinching under their weight. The words were pronounced methodically with complete detachment, “They allowed nothing for that. Or cared about it. Only that I was created to suit their designs and needs. It would not have been their choice, but by the time I returned to the nest, it was too late for it to matter.”_ _

__...  
[Ferox]_ _

__Uncertain what had just started, only that that particular voice of the duplicate was crawling up his spine, Ferox’s gaze flicked between the two before landing on the healer, who hadn’t moved nor did she seem too concerned, as if this was something to be expected. Unwilling to completely rely on this assessment, he continued to watch the Crows._ _

__His lover tilted his head, rubbing his chin, “Ah. I see. All for the Guild then, hmn?”_ _

__The smile was flat, “No. I give nothing to the Guild, I _gave_ nothing to it. They took.” Unfolding his lean frame from the bed, “ _You_ are soft, _you_ have room for it. _I_ am not, and _I_ do not.” Plucking the teapot that had been called for, he poured it into the cups, his tone suddenly conversational, “Do not make the mistake of thinking we stem from more than the same root, not that I think it likely that you would. But, it would be best for you to keep it firmly in mind. Tea?”_ _

___He is a **saar** [dangerous] thing._ These words again came to Ferox’s mind once again, and he wondered if they had been sent or if they were only a memory. Gaze flicking back to the two who could actually reach him, their attention was elsewhere, which meant it was memory._ _

__His elf accepted one of the cups passed to him, “But of course. Yet you are softer than you realize, playing coy in this room does not work entirely as well as you are accustomed to. Your healer is calm and content as though nothing is going on other than a bit of haggling in the plaza. And you are deflecting, very well, I concede that you are correct so far as you have said. It is in my nature to pry.”_ _

__The duplicate’s smile moved from flat to truly sardonic, “By all means, pry. It is a pity you and I cannot communicate the same way that they do, or that we do with our partners. Otherwise you could pry far more easily, and I could show you a great deal more, so as to slake your curiosity.”_ _

__“No, I think I would rather not, knowing your sense of humour, and the fact that I can guess at what you might show me to ‘slake’ my curiosity,” his assassin hoisted up his cup of tea, saluting._ _

__“Good, then we have an accord,” the tall one resumed a seat, but this time it was on the windowsill, uncaring of the target he presented to any enterprising archer._ _

__Hopping to her feet, Dulsanaya finished her notes making a clean copy of the recipe for the amulet for them other pair to take with them along with rest of her notes on the Joining. Adding the other things she had mentioned to him on his last trip, some of which she said she could not locate in his memory to refresh. Either he had not understood or he was not listening, but now it made a little more sense._ _

__....  
[Dulsanaya]_ _

__The Warden did share his Avernus’ Joining potion recipe, which was similar to what she had been working on, with some changes. They would have to take more time with that as it was close to what she was proposing in her letters to Loghain, longer lived Wardens able to sense the darkspawn, but unable to kill an Archdemon without a second Joining. A recipe to use between Blights, perhaps one that would even allow for easier reproduction, children - at the moment it was still only thoughts, but it might be the first clue, the first key to finally, truly unlocking the treasure chest._ _

___‘I could invite him to our **Dadahl’reth** , but he will not be unaccompanied by his Warden, that man will not part from his so recently damaged lover,’_ watching Ferox smoothing his own mask as Zevran sipped the tea slowly, covering the way his lip twitched. _‘It has dawned on the fool that his inability to accept what his Zevran showed and told him daily was at root, nearly the cause of that Crow’s death. And you are right, he is **very** loud, I could nearly hear clearly him through you.’__ _

__Finishing her notes, _’He knows. You saw his face. It will change things between them and it will be good. One will attempt to avoid doubting and the other,’_ amusement in the ‘voice’ only, _‘will attempt to avoid shouting. Otherwise he is quite soft spoken even when he rightly calls this one to task, much like you, that way. Except he explains using other words to wash this one away.’__ _

___‘Faugh, but they are sickening, each trying to act as though they do not wish to jump upon that bed and hold each other tightly, fools. As though we have not seen such things? And they have a legitimate reason, nor do they reek of saccharine sweet disgusting fakeness. They should just get it over with and hold hands, or kiss, or something, all this tension as they wait so ‘patiently’ is making **my** head ache,’_ grumbling through their shared amulet._ _

__Laughter in the link, _‘Gaeaf is Prince Consort and is always thinking of being proper when others are nearby, this is a good survival instinct.__ _

__Zevran knocked the heel of his boot against the wall, under his perch, “Ugh, will the two of you stop it? Just kiss and hold hands, or whatever it is that you do that allows you both to remain fully clothed, but please, do not say too many sweet things. You have amulets for that.” He waved a hand at the startled men, “Do you think I played matchmaker for no reason, bondage rope to play with? Does this jog your memories at all? Faugh! You both are stupid. You are in your bed chambers, Fortuna has cursed me that I would chance upon the only prudish version of myself ever created.”_ _

___‘ **See, em’lath’sa**? I do have a sense of humour,’_ snorted at her._ _

__Her gaze turned to Gaeaf feeling a churning. _’You said something very wrong, **emma’mi**.’__ _

___‘The boy will get over it, or he will not,’_ shrugging mentally._ _

__The soft Antivan interrupted, “I believe for today I am rather taxed. And I wish to be prudish until there is no company. Once we are alone, I will cease that act, and return to my usual unprudish self, hmn?”_ _

__....  
[Ferox]_ _

___’Gaeaf.’_ When he did not respond, Dulsanaya resorted to his actual name to gain his attention and stop the growling, snarling that he was broadcasting, _’Ferox.’_ Although he was listening, his eyes were looking at the unnatural elf in the window. _‘These are for you. This da’sa does not know if you should share them with your Avernus or not. You know if you can trust that one or not.’__ _

__Grabbing her sketchbook which also contained her copies of the notes from today’s experiments, she got to her feet and pressed a quick promise to him, _’You are important. You are precious. You are needed. You are loved.’_ She would not tell him that the promise had originated from Duncan, or else he would refuse it. _’Let it go, Gaeaf. Let this one continue to hit her head on that stone wall. You have what you came for and much more. Do not waste it.’__ _

__...  
[Ferox]_ _

__His lover came up and touched his elbow lightly, _’ Querido, that Zevran does not know, could not know. You said yourself his sense of humour is...macabre. It is not that he is thoughtless, I believe, but that he knows no better. He is a twisted and damaged thing, leave it be.’__ _

__It took a supreme effort of will to stop staring daggers at the warped duplicate, who only had a single brow raised as though he had said nor done anything wrong, and that it was _Ferox_ acting out of turn. Gritting his teeth, Ferox looked away and firmly wrapped an arm around his lover’s waist, needing the support. Needing the comfort. Needing the reassurance that his Zevran was not that mangled carrion creature smoking whatever that odd cigar was, so nonchalantly._ _

__...  
[Dulsanaya]_ _

__With a touch to Haf’cath, she gave him the warmth of his homeland on a summer evening complete with conversation, familiar stars, scent of the bay, meat grilling on the street corners, music and laughter, the warmth of stone under shoe-soles, flash of the lighthouse, bright, beautiful clothing, jingling of bracelets, charms, and wind chimes, the sunset singers from their parapets in the minarets, the constant singing and drumming of street performers, bells chiming from hips, ankles, throat, wrists and heads of the dancers. Antiva City when it was alive and most vital, the pure primal nightly reenactment that affirmed life once more, and another day survived._ _

___‘Another day **lived** , little girl. Another day lived,’_ chiding as it rang with gratefulness. _‘ **Mucho gracias, chica.** ’__ _

__Laughing emerald eyes turned away to haul her cranky one home._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zevran gets an aneurysm, a slow leaking one, when pulling Ferox into his own mind almost fully. He does this to show Ferox exactly how he feels. As a result, his mind, because the amulet Avernus made him, doesn't 'fit', it hurt Zevran badly. Ferox, desperate, takes Zevran to Kirkwall to be seen to by Dulsanaya. 
> 
> In Kirkwall, the local/duplicate Zevran notices Ferox searching for him. He thinks that Ferox got in some sort of row with the non-Kirkwall Zevran, but finds out that no it was user error/ineffectual amulet. 
> 
> Dulsanaya rushes from what she's doing at the Qun'ari Compound to heal Ferox's Zevran, then informs them the amulet isn't a good fit. Days are spent perfecting a better amulet, while the Kirkwall Zevran becomes somewhat fond of Ferox and the other Zevran. 
> 
> Zevran also goes on a pickpocketing spree in Kirkwall, coming away with a good forty or fifty sovereigns. It's a significant chunk of change considering the state of Ferelden's coffers. Enjoyment of coffee is shared.
> 
> Dulsanaya gives Ferox the 'map' to how to make water purification runestones that she and a Sandal created. This can be used to rebuild Ferox's Ferelden's wealth.


	13. The Lies We Tell Ourselves

Ferox was still angry, but it was better than being angry at himself. Then a very disturbing thought occurred: what if the other purposefully diverted his attention away from the agony of guilt he had been suffering over what had happened to his lover? And again, he was a puppet, twisted and turned, to suit another’s purpose. 

“Are they not what I told you, showed you?” 

Zevran was looking over the stall’s wares, a wealthy patron beside him, “I suspect they are more than either of us know, and less than we might believe.”

Pausing himself to look at the items, not even seeing them, “It is no doubt as you say, as the same is said of others, including ourselves. However, I was looking for your impressions.”

“She is older than she looks, but still a child,” Zevran pulled out a purse Ferox didn’t recognize to pay for his purchases, causing Ferox to muffle a snort. “Ah, yes, that one also. To bring out their eyes...” pointing at several ribbons and a few pairs of earrings. “She plans for things that she does, and does not, understand. Also, I thought you said she liked philosophy, but when we were talking, she complained that I use as many words as the other.”

Rolling his eyes, “As far as you are concerned, I agree. What does that have to do with liking philosophy? I get the idea she doesn’t understand half of what I say anyway.”

“And how much do _you_ understand of what _she_ says, hmn?” Zevran patted his shoulder companionably. “Different worlds, _querido_ , different minds.”

Letting the snort free this time. “Her Dalish clan is still outside. How far do they travel anyway?”

“My knowledge of my mother’s people is far more limited than what I know of the horseclans, I was...unwelcome...in my mother’s clan,” it was stated so off-handed that Ferox almost believed that there was nothing sad there, but that studied a calm wasn’t entirely natural.

Reminding him, “You know you’re wearing that amulet, right?”

“Ah, yes, and two silent men is ever so inconspicuous,” laughter chased the words through the link.

Sighing and shaking his head, “Thankfully she did help with my apparent inability to walk and talk at the same time.”

“Can you not rub your stomach and pat your head and speak while walking at the same time?” Zevran asked beginning to demonstrate. “But to answer your unasked question, half-breed was more than enough reason for them. To say nothing of the other epithets, none of which I understand the reason for - what _is_ a ghost elf anyway? I only remained for two weeks before I was riding to rejoin the clan that had guided me to my mother’s people.” He stopped his play, uncaring of the fact that several onlookers had given them very odd stares. “Never mind the minor fact that we are all halfbreeds. I was shorter than their shortest man, stronger and far too fast. And the ears made them...displeased...for whatever reason. The Keeper took one look at me and began jabbering at me, they tried to shove ‘gifts’ at me like some demon to be appeased to take my curse elsewhere. It is nothing, just old scars.”

None of this was information Ferox had heard before, and found himself curiously probing, “So where did you go after that?”

His lover drifted on to the next stall, another well-heeled patron, and a handful of small items purchased and looked over, brief, low toned haggling taking place. “I returned to the horseclan, and for a very long season or so we wound our way back towards Antiva City. By then, Ani was nearly ready to be born, but I had to leave. As is, it had been far too long. Like I said, the price for my life was the kinhorses I had been gifted with.”

Ignoring, to the best of his ability, how another new and unfamiliar purse appeared, “Ah, as you said. Did she have any other plans that we could provide for? The other piece worked well last time. As the uses are numerous.”

Ferox tried to watch without watching too keenly, but couldn’t even identify when the assassin lifted another purse. He only ever saw a new pouch when it was brought out to pay. _What is he trying to do? Refill the coffers?_

“She did not say, though truly, other than the information on what we stumbled across for our amulets, I can think of little,” he hummed pulling Ferox into a bakery. “Oh, now it has been a few years since I saw this - sesame cookies!” Going to the counter, “Three dozen if you have them.”

Ferox looked out the door at the pub. “Actually this was said to be the best place in town by that one. Breakfast and the beer were good too.”

Turning with his little sack of cookies, “Now that sounds like an excellent plan. My treat, hmn?”

 _’Exactly how much do you plan on plucking from the unwary?’_ doing his best to do no more than let his lips quirk.

 _’We will be here for several days, yes? I can do much in that time,’_ settling down at one of the tables that afforded a good view. _’I believe, by the weight, that I am close to ten sovereigns at the moment, from only seven marks. In Ferelden, it would take at least twenty or thirty marks to gain the same. Since they have much lose coin about, why let it go to waste?’_

“Just stay away from Hawke. Any of them. All of them.” _And of course, then there is the Dwarf._

“Do not worry, _corizon_ ,” the smile dancing over features and in the lambent gold eyes was playful. “I am a consummate professional when it takes a light touch.”

Ferox shook his head, as if trying to reconcile the playful Zevran with the one he was so worried about on the ship, the one dosed with poppy and elfroot, “I’m pleased you are feeling yourself.”

“I cannot help but feel myself,” Zevran feigned confusion. “I wear my own skin, and it is constantly touching itself, so how can I be _not_ feeling myself?”

“Could be embarrassing in public,” dryly.

“Ah, but you forget, I am a _prude_ apparently.” When the cup of coffee was set down in front of Zevran, Ferox thought his lover might swoon. Just as Ferox was about to say something, the elf held up a hand, one that trembled, then cupped his hands around the small vessel, bringing it up to his nose, eyes closed to inhale deeply. His expression was meditative as he murmured, “This alone was worth it. Such a tiny thing from home, a daily ritual and oft repeated throughout the evenings and mornings alike, in so many varieties. But it brings back everything, good and bad, a thin link to my homeland. Ah, Ferox, this, if I could point to a single item that signified my homeland, it would be this. It is there, day or night, ever present, always ready to roll over your tongue. Cold, hot, boiling, steaming, any temperature, any sweetness, any preparation, thickness, so much... There is an art to it all. To the pouring, to the grinding, to the gently methodical care it takes to create something so small. It could taste like dirty dishwater, and to tell the truth, _amora_ , I do not think I would notice at this point, only that this thing that is quintessentially Antivan is here, right now, in my grasp.”

Head resting on his hand, elbow on the table, Ferox watched this strange sight. A slow sip was taken, savoured, and Ferox could practically feel it rolling around in Zevran’s mouth, as though they shared it. With that sensation came a sensory overlay, meanings, experiences, entwining and mating and spawning multiple scenes, unfolding slowly with the robust scent and taste. Zevran was right, it wasn’t the taste itself that mattered at that moment, but merely the connection. Zevran took another short sip, eyes still closed, remembering what precisely, Ferox was not entirely sure. In fact he wasn’t even sure the memories themselves mattered, only the fact that the peacefulness was there on his lover’s face.

With a gentle click the cup was set back down, “Of course we do not serve beverages in these odd little bowls with handles as you folk do. Tall glasses, made of bright colours, or rimmed with silver or gold, or clearer than a maiden’s tears. The art here is not the same, here it is something hot to drink to perk a person up, or to go with whatever food they are about to gulp down. Rush, rush, rush, never realizing that one can rush and still live, they merely speed on to their eventual fates, never understanding even a hint of what they pass by, or take much note of it. Sad really.”

 _You gulp down food so as not to taste it too, not that I would comment._ “And with your recent brush, you have just noted these things? Words to share with the less fortunate?”

An indelicate snort, “No. If it was just plain Ferelden fare, or some random weeds and leaves I had dried to make tea, I would consume it as quickly as usual. They contain no connotations of life, other than something I chew or drink and swallow to regain some energy. Give me something worth paying attention to and I will.” He straightened finishing his coffee and gesturing for another. “I will have to see about finding what I need and items like yogurt are easy enough to make on my own. I _do_ possess an Antivan cookbook, not that I would need it _anyway_ , but it is good to have a list of reminders...”

“I am surprised that you are still sitting here and have not already gathered the name of their supplier.”

The elf snorted at him once more, “I would rather have the name of _his_ supplier. It would be much better quality.”

Leaning back, eyes closed to the sun, he was pleased that Zevran was feeling himself but he was tired of asking questions that led to strange answers, it was almost like arguing but he didn’t know the topic. Through slitted eyes he watched the worship of the second cup of coffee. The girl said once that they dance quickly, in answer to a question he had asked...was this what she meant?

Long boned fingers reached out, twining with his on the table-top, warmed from the cup of coffee. “You strike out so often. Or strike in. It taxes you, yes? Come, our breakfast is heading our way, and your Warden’s appetite must be making you hurt. Perhaps later he will provide a nice target for you to hit a little.”

“Who?” sitting up.

“The tall blond fellow who has a tendency to make a person unsure whether to try and rip his face off or crouch, pissing in fear,” squeezing his hand firmly. “The latter is an assessment I would agree with.”

Squeezing back. “And here I thought we left the children and hound at home. Although it doesn’t look as if the sword bit you.” Ferox turned the bronzed hand over and looked at it even though anything, if it had happened, would have been healed.

“No, she did not. She did me few favours and did require payment. It is odd the sorts of questions a dead dragon asks,” musing as he turned his attention to his meal. 

“Such as?” 

A shrug, “Life experiences, mostly she seemed to desire to understand the differences between myself and her bearer.”

Taking a bite of the potato whatever thing was in front of him, “Hrm. Anything interesting?” 

“Motivations - she commented that he and I are not dissimilar in those. Presentations, quite different,” Zevran folded in a spoonful of sugar, as that was the only word for it - folded, as he dipped it in, scooping from the bottom of the cup, allowing coffee and sugar to combine, and repeated the process until he was satisfied. “Yet apparently, I am not violent enough for her tastes. However, I have a theory, one that I saw proven with what information I do have thus far. Vigilance reflects her bearer, intensifying their core personality. If this is the case, then she is not...harmless, but neither is she malevolent.”

“So comparatively he was a pussycat before picking it up?”

His assassin shook his head, “No. That one would not sway easily under that sort of influence. It appears that they are _partners_. He provides the body and direction, she provides extra strength amongst other abilities. Dare I say it, but they seem to be friends rather than object and body. Vigilance is as sentient as you or I, but what agenda she has is obscure, perhaps it is simply to live in any format available. He gives her life and purpose, while she provides...friendship and constant companionship.” Zevran chuckled, “Not that _he_ would admit to such a need.”

Ferox scratched his head, “Wait a minute...he needs both a sword and a healer to prop him up?”

“‘Prop’ is not the word I would use. The healer is not _his_ Warden, she is a temporary person in his life, one he cares for obviously, but their partnership will not last a lifetime,” cutting his food up neatly.

“She had said that he was not hers and that she was waiting for another. That much I remember.”

Zevran rolled a glance up to him from his meal, “Do you not have those in your life whom you depend on for more than just their skills but their presence? Your brother, Len, Horsie, myself? Do we not ‘prop’ you up? Do you not do the same for us?”

Ferox found himself conceding, “Poor choice of words. You are correct, of course.”

“He has no life-threatening need for Vigilance, or Dulsanaya, but neither do I have the same for yourself or Len,” he popped a bit of sausage in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “But family is something else than a thing required to continue breathing. Is it so strange that someone, even as warped as he, might require something to hold onto to actually _live_? Do not mistake me, he is clearly still new to his losses. No more than a few years at most have passed for that one since Rinna died. I can see it in his eyes, that flatness is not entirely born of what was done to create him.”

“Of the stories that can be heard in this place, the Wardens have all completed their journey, or the companions of the Warden has. The worst stories heard are about this place, but that is neither here nor there. _He ___cannot be that soon to those events...according to the stories, and those I have met, it is as if no one is drawn here until afterward...after that night.”

_“Except for him? That is most...distressing,” Zevran’s brow furrowed. “That bodes ill of some sort, but I do not know how or why or what it could be. Other than he is the most...malformed of ‘us’. Someone like that must be of particular interest to someone.”_

_“She asked where I had entered Kirkwall from, as if it were an important question when we first met. Of course I answered from the docks.”_

_Puffing his cheeks, for a brief instant Zevran looked like a chipmunk. “We should speak with Avernus as soon as it is feasible. He might understand something of it that we do not, and that they are too close to see.”_

_“I don’t see how what gate one entered from as...important or vital information...it sounds like fortune telling.”_

_A terse shake of his head, “There is more to this world than you or I know. The whore who raised me told my fortune, that I would die an old man rather than young. She was, is, a shaman. Fortune telling is one of those things where there are many charlatans, but there are also some who truly do have such skills. Do not forget this is _Kirkwall_ , and if even a fraction of what I have heard of it is remotely based in fact, then there is more proof that ‘chicanery’ such as ‘fortune telling’ might have some stake in actual reality.”_

_“But a city gate? I know what you said when I questioned her name for me and I understand that she’s somehow looking inside, but...she really only seems to be able to do one thing - really well. Granted, I am not complaining.”_

_“She need not tell fortunes, she may have information that you and I do not have. In fact, I can say without a doubt that she _does_ have information that you and I do not have,” his tone was level as he finished the rest of his breakfast, flagging down the server for a fourth cup of coffee. “To sit here and draw conclusions or judge what little we see presented is sheer folly. In the end, those bits of information likely have little impact upon you or I, but would give her some clue as to how to handle us, or what to ask for. Nothing more complex, nothing less complex, yes? It is simple.”_

__Will not sigh._ He sighed. _Dammit. I knew I would do that._ “We do know she’s a Warden or has the ability to access an amulet. Seems to know what to do with lyrium, and all of the other components that go in a bit of charm. There are stories that are hers, just like the others, the Alistair here even knows her....”_

_“Then tell me - what is a gate?” Zevran leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “There are four gates that we can see, there are many duplicates. But what there is only _one_ of is a companion or Warden that has an incomplete ‘story’. Does this not strike you as odd? Does it not pair with the information asking what gate you arrived from? Do you not know that there are more than those four gates, as there _always_ is another gate.” _

_“By road or by water was the only difference, I saw at the time. There are Deep Roads underneath us and darkspawn there.”_

_“And what difference do you see _now_?” Tapping the tabletop, “The difference that I see, is that he is a puzzle piece that _does not fit_. He is being used somehow. Whether he knows it or not, I cannot say.” Looking off in the distance, “However, I would not be surprised if he at least suspects it.”_

__Will not ask if that is why that duplicate is irritable. Because every time I think I have him pinned down, it’s not the answer._ He took the last bite of his breakfast before he could do just that. Ferox couldn’t recall the last night he slept well...in searching his memory he found that it was on the mattress in front of the fire with Len and Zevran in the new wing at Highever, it wasn’t the best, but he slept nearly the whole night. Their last night there was with him snuggled between them as they gloated before falling asleep. When dreams woke him, they were breathing softly next to him and warm fingers flexed and massaged the bumps on his head and, instantly reassured, sleep had found him again._

_For nearly a week he had watched over Zevran’s deterioration doing what little he could. Holding him, dosing him, unable to sleep but in fits and starts, jerking wake as soon as he relaxed his vigilance. The pain that slipped through the amulet and made the body tense next to him and he was nearly helpless. Leaning back again, eyes closing to the sun, to Zevran’s near worship of coffee, listening to the sounds, tasting the flavours, smelling the rich scent from the memory Zevran held, all of it swirled around them. Ferox would question how the elf did it, but if he couldn’t understand what a gate was then he certainly wasn’t up for that discussion either._

_“A gate is a doorway,” the words were purred. “What do doorways do, but open onto a new room, building, street...and therefore another _place_? But such esoteric discussions can wait, let us find a few things to gawk over like tourists, then return to the estate. Once you have gained a bit of sleep, after I remind you of course how much of a prude I am not, then we can putter around and beat our skulls to such odd issues.”_

_Typical places to gawk...Chantry and the giant Andraste, already been to the HighTown markets, been through the courtyard with its giant statues...but Zevran probably didn’t notice them and neither did he this time around. Hanged Man was popular if properly disgusting, ‘course there was the more interesting location of DarkTown, at least interesting people and some actual views that couldn’t be obtained elsewhere. Interesting what can be seen from the holes along the cliff face. Of course the multiple lighthouses which were also lookout points because the entrance to the harbour was very dangerous, purposely so in not so ancient history. The Blooming Rose and the Crown were the brothel and the HighTown watering hole, respectively. All of these sites come to mind and are shared in the link as he is not certain what Zevran is after this morning._

_He watched his lover sort all the information with little blinks as though it was just a drawer of those odd hanging files with little colour stripes on them that Zevran used. “Mmn...perhaps after a nap. I would like to go to a lighthouse, but I do not wish to risk you on such climbs as I will be taking.” Ferox remembered seeing the healer climb a particular one with the other in tow or leading depending on the day and shared that memory._

_Observing another purse in the rogue’s hand he rolled his eyes. At this rate the assassin might actually refill a dent in the royal coffers. And keep them afloat until Dagna solved the riddle of the runestone... Although they _were_ in Kirkwall and they had already received notes on everything else. What was one more question? A recipe would shorten the time to actual production. He could use the excuse of other Alienages needing them right away, which was true, certainly not the only reason, however. It wouldn’t fool her, but would certainly persuade, knowing her soft spot for the city elves._

_Zevran shrugged, “A thought then, perhaps if you offered to keep watch during her hours at the clinic, myself and my counterpart might go haring off in search of information as a favour to them? It might count towards greasing the wheels.”_

_“Her new clinic is in the Alienage and it is fairly quiet there; he may allow it. That said, it is you I am concerned about.”_

_A hand went to temple, rubbing it thoughtfully. “The damage is gone, I can feel that, but my mind is not quite sure, so my head does pound from time to time.”_

_Worried, “Have her take another look. I would feel better if you did.” Ferox looked him over carefully. “What I meant, however, is that I am apprehensive about the other in regards to your safety.”_

_Elven features twisted quizzically. “That is a beast I will not tangle with, and that is a beast that does not go out of his way to start trouble for no reason. It is not as though I will be sparring with him - I am not suicidal. It would require, I believe from what I saw from his dragon and his little healer, me pushing him first. _Then_ I would find myself summarily picked up and thrown. Most likely from a very high vantage point.” Zevran shifted, leaning forward to take Ferox’s hand. “My temper takes far more to flare than yours, the two of you have difficulties, as you both are used to being the top predator in the food chain. As am I, but I am also at a point where useless pissing contests no longer even occur to me.”_

__Ah, but you do have them, just very differently. Shut up, Ferox - not up for that one either._ “No doubt. Don’t forget your cookies,” as they got to their feet. _

_XXX_

_Later that afternoon, the Alienage was quiet, gifts and other items that looked as if they had been placed there to trade or to help those in need were scattered around the Vhenadahl. The base of the tree had been painted with white chalk in a repeating ‘V’ pattern in white, two lines one at the top and the other at the base of the ‘V’ were also white. The spaces were colored with red earth. One merchant was in the square, little had changed, except the tree looked much healthier than last time Ferox was here. A runestone that filtered, purified water must have been employed to prevent the tree from dying of salt poisoning from the nearby sea. The broad limbs sheltered the entire small square around it; not even the Hightown parks had anything close to the size of it. There were still branches that remained clearly injured from the slow poisoning, but far less than before._

__Is she healing the tree too? Was that even possible? Well, if needed, it’s a good conversation starter._ _

_As they entered the lanky duplicate was at work with an array of bowls, mortar and pestles, scales, spoons, vessels and had a pile of waxed paper at his elbow. The table was tall enough that the altered Crow could stand as he worked, a set of drawers and hanging baskets under it. It was an odd scene to say the least._

_They were clearly unsurprised, as Dulsanaya had tasted the Warden’s amulet approaching. Cross-legged in a chair, she was repairing the corset of her armour, which appeared to have taken a rather nasty strike after they saw her the evening before. _’Come in Gaeaf. Pet your cath for me as he is too far to reach.’_ No needle or thread in her hand as the slice closed under her fingers._

_Passing the message and a feeling of hands massaging shoulders just for a bit of wickedness, Ferox stepped inside the surprisingly large room. He had remembered that this building had been divided into three rooms originally. There was a smaller room still at the back, but other than a few support columns the space was very open. “Good afternoon.”_

_Sitting across from the little healer, he watched the strange magic. Having observed her healing, even Ferox could tell that this took more time, more concentration, could nearly hear it in the amulet as if steps were being repeated in an underlying hum. As they had yesterday, the green vines on her skin faded; it was a very peculiar thing to watch so closely. The leather knit together, as if the flesh of it were healed. And melded without seam or any sign of prior damage._

_Curious, he asked, “What did that?”_

_Ferox nearly tipped the chair over, startled when she sent a picture of a massive axe, the sound of it cutting through the air, a grunt by the unrevealed entity wielding it, the impact as it landed and even rolling with the strike how she was hurled back. She labeled it Sataareth [enforcer, defender, or foundation, Literally: That which upholds]. Emerald green eyes glanced up and an eyebrow lifted for just a moment before the healer returned to the repair._

_Feeling the frown in the open link with Zevran, knowing he saw it too through him, Ferox wondered back, _’I’m not sure I want to ask...it’s bigger than she is...or worse, where was **he** for that?’__

__‘A most curious puzzle, one that we only have a single piece to, much like the question of by which route you arrived. It is a much larger thing that encompasses more than you or I.’_ Ferox could feel him scowling almost as darkly as the twisted one. _‘I suspect that they have their reasons, and that you and I are not much more than side business to them. Now, let us see if our own curiosity can be eased so that we may see if their own matters have any bearing on ours, yes?’__

__’Is that coffee I smell?’_ After having spent breakfast drenched in the scent, it could just be embedded in the memory of his nostrils, but Ferox didn’t think so._

_The duplicate was still at his work, silent other than the sound of stone on stone grinding hard seeds or roots or whatever it was he was doing. “Trouble - did you at least remember to pick up those things I gave you the list for? Or take him to some place almost civilized for a meal?”_

_Ferox heard the little healer Warden ‘chide’ in the same manner one would ‘remind’ someone frequently, _’Trouble is a mabari, emma’mi.’__

_“That looks like a mabari to me,” the ‘argument’ was obviously an old one. “Large, dark, growls, small ears, bad temper, hyper protective, but also when scratched just right, thumps a leg.”_

_Ferox felt his lover nearly choke on laughter which was quickly muffled. _’ **Pardoneme, amante** , but that is a rather apt description...’__

__I am in a room of the mad...crazy, yes, even the insane...I would almost guess lyrium crazed._ “Bakery.” Pausing, trying to think of the name, “Pub.” Remembering, _Three dozen cookies?!?_ “The rest will be delivered here.” With that one he had quickly learned to provide no more than what was requested._

_Zevran held out the small satchel, “Cookies? I have plenty.” He fished one out and began chomping on it rather happily._

_The duplicate made a face, “So I see. Do not eat those without _cafe_ , are you mad? Too bland otherwise.” Jerking a chin towards an odd brick like thing with a hip-height chest beside it, “Make us some bloody coffee if you must indulge in such sweets. Besides, my glass is nearly empty and I have no desire to remove the wax from my hands to make fresh.”_

__I knew I smelled coffee,_ Ferox watching as his lover contain himself externally, but in the link, Zevran was nearly jumping up and down like the girls did when they knew they were going to play hide and seek with the elf. _’What is that thing?’_ staring while Zevran began bustling around it, examining pots, pans and other things that Ferox wasn’t entirely sure of the use of._

__’A keep box,’_ opening the odd chest. _’Food items are kept cool to preserve them. Or to make them more palatable. Milk is well and good when it is fresh from the teat, but room temperature is a tad...mediocre. Not only that, but it is more difficult to use for quality coffee.’_ A strange wand with thin wires looped, a tall, narrow cook pot was placed on a grill like plate atop the orange brick device, _’And this is a stove, a proper one. Though there is no flue to take away smoke, ah! I see, runes...how ingenious...! That was far too costly for me to have ever seen in person, even in Antiva. No dwarves to make them, they have to be imported.’__

_Armour repaired and double checked, Dulsanaya stood and wrapped the corset around the vines twisting across her abdomen and back and laced it up. The slice in the armor would have been on her left side, but there was no scar, no mark, nothing. Where once Ferox had not been entirely certain of her abilities, seeing it done in that manner, clear, visible, irrefutable proof, made him reassess her just as he had the other when he saw what had been done to the Templars. Both of which he shared with Zevran._

__’ **Na’asha needs sun** , **emma’mi**. Just to the bench as before.’_ Five fingers spread in promise were pressed to his chest after she had gone over to him as he paused for her. _’No more coffee for this one, or she will hit her head on the ceiling again.’__

_The duplicate’s disposition hadn’t changed in any manner Ferox could put his finger on, but he watched curiously as the monster who wore Zevran’s face leaned in casually to kiss the little healer’s forehead, “Says the one who cannot become inebriated.”_

_Eyes laughing, _’Who says she does not take the bouncing too?’__

_She received only a snort and another kiss before being jostled with an arm to urge her to the outdoors. “I will hold the fort as it were.”_

_Looking out the window, Ferox watched her hug the tree, walk around it dragging a hand on the trunk while looking up into the branches. Nothing was there, no birds or children, and the leaves were turning red and orange just like every other leafed tree. Having walked round the entire thing, the little healer sat on a sunny bench across the square, her sun-bronzed face turned up to the light._

_His unaltered Zevran came by with an odd glass, with three tones of liquid in it and handed it to him, “Macchiato,” was all he said as though it explained everything._

_Watching his lover stir the third cup for the duplicate whose hands were busy, Ferox copied the actions, slightly aggravated that Zevran hadn’t done the same for him. _’What do I do with it?’__

_“The top layer is foamed milk, _amante_ , the middle is the coffee, and the lower portion is sugar and hot milk,” he explained aloud. “You drink it.” _’I also wished you to see the art of it. Pretty, is it not? Watch how the coffee and milk change colours as you stir.’__

__Drink it. Obviously._ Sighing instead of allowing a growl to break free, _’Reminds me of beer, a black and tan.’_ Taking a tentative sip, having been shown what ‘good’ coffee tasted like, Ferox was pleasantly surprised. _’Might want to double up on that order.’__

_The duplicate chuckled at Ferox, “I see it meets with approval. Good, it is from Rivain, the second best grower of coffee in Thedas. Much better than the Llomerryn shit that is served at The Flour Bar.”_

_“Eh, it was passable,” his assassin shrugged before leaning his elbows on the duplicate’s work table in a clear spot near the end. “Better than nothing, yes?”_

_A grunt, “Which is still better than that which most people have around here. _That_ is from the Free Marches. Truly, they do not know how to grow it properly. They have good land and climate for it, but their growing and roasting techniques leave it bitter and oily, suitable only for soaking rust and copper rot from metal.”_

_Ferox murmured, “Toggenburg goat.” To the pair of quizzical looks, he explained, “The milk is from a Toggenburg goat. Brown and white...never mind, don’t ask...and yes, it’s good. Just don’t let it age unless you are trying for cream.”_

_“I will make a farmer out of you yet,” Zevran’s eyes twinkled faintly._

_Snorting, “Someone else had a hand in that long before you, I’m afraid. Some of our ‘best’ arguments were over which crops to include and the number of years for a rotation.”_

_“A _proper_ farmer, of civilized means,” his lover stated archly. “With more variety than poor Ferelden has currently. There is so much that could grow there that no one has bothered to plant, so much that can be used, but is left to rot in the ground.” Turning to look at the duplicate, “Zevran - do you _know_ what they do with endive?! Blasphemous.”_

_“It is probably because it is perishable and doesn’t actually make it to the large cities as most of them are on the rainier coast where it doesn’t grow well. After the first rounds of frost, the Bannorn receives its snow and the chicory can’t be transported.”_

_The look his elf gave him was mockingly aggravated, “It could be easily pickled. Then at least the leafy parts could serve for hungry bellies in winter and ward off the scurvy.”_

_“It can grow in the dark, keep it covered and warm, and it will grow,” the duplicate added, continuing his work on whatever things he was creating. “When the head reaches a sufficient size, harvest it. As for the roots, they can be pulled at any point of maturity, sliced and boiled as though they are potatoes, or dried and baked, before being ground into a powder. It serves much like coffee in that state, works on the stomach, balances the acids and humours. It is also good for draining pus from wounds.”_

_“Ah, you are speaking of the witloof chicory,” clarified Ferox._

_“All chicory works these ways, Trouble,” a gesture with an elbow as though to take the place of a waved hand._

_“Unfortunately what Ferelden was ‘blessed’ with, a gift by the Orlesians if you will, was the _chicoree frisee_ , is curly and frizzy with little root. An indulgence.”_

_His lover crossed his arms on the table, “We could still bring in seeds to grow some decent endive and chicory. We do not have the climate for coffee... Not only that, but as I said, if it were pickled with some of the pervasive salt, the populace would take winter and spring ill less. More people would keep their teeth as well, yes? While it would make them easier to look at and speak to without being bowled over by their breath, it primarily would make them _healthier_. It takes so little room, there is no reason for them to remain so uneducated over what foods truly are edible.”_

__’I also had not thought of the white endive, as my counterpart pointed out so graciously, we could grow it underground, yes? Perhaps in some warm caverns...? With lichen?’_ _

__’Again, the problem of moisture that chicories universally dislike. But there are some hidden fields in the trees well off the road. We have been using them for grain, but they could be included in the rotation or along the edges.’_ _

_“Grain fills the belly and only provides so much, just as one cannot live entirely off of meat for long, one cannot survive off of naught but grain. Or the combination of the two. There must be variety not only for the sake of taste, but for the sake of health,” scolding._

_“Beans are already in the rotations along with actual real vegetables, Mother,” amusement as this was the argument she had turned on Ferox, his brother and Father quite often._

_“Yes, yes, yes, but I get bored with onions, potatoes, cabbage, and the occasional chunk of squash whenever I can find it,” mournful._

_“No, other brassicas as well.” Seeing the question, Ferox numbered on his fingers, “Cabbage, kohlrabi, broccoli, brussel sprouts, umm...nappa cabbage, cauliflower, raab, sea kale, collards, cress, mizuna, mustard, rape, rocket, turnip greens, tyfon, and watercress. The trouble is, if planted too close together they make for some strange cross-breeds - all edible, but unsaleable in the markets. Of course, the goosefoot greens are tasty too; beet greens and spinach for example. But the brassicas hold up better for transportation to the cities and store well in the cellars...alongside your precious squash.”_

_“Garlic! Ginger! We _can_ grow those things as well, _querido_ ,” throwing his hands in the air before returning to his coffee, grumbling into the cup. “We need city gardens.”_

_The duplicate was apparently amused as he measured out small portions of powders into the waxed paper which he made into small, clearly labeled packets. “It appears as though you are trying to bring a bit of home to your adoptive country. Window boxes and such would be a good addition if I might put that forward. And if city blocks had a communal small garden for those things that were not easily transportable but healthy and fast growing, it would cut food costs down.”_

_“And now is the time to put those proposals in writing, Ser City Planner, before spring comes. I’ll even loan you Alistair to help with planting, just to keep him out of my frelling fields,” slipping off a crown in favour of the commander’s gryphons._

_“Oh no, no, no, no. Keep him well away!” A heaved sigh, “At this rate I will have to go to Antiva City just to double check the layouts.”_

_“Put the Chantry boy to work hauling and heaving and rallying the ‘troops’ as it were,” the duplicate surprised Ferox by agreeing with him. “He could even wheedle help from the Sisters and Brothers. Penitents and Affirmed, he could cow them all with his terrible jokes. Put prisoners to work if you have not done so already, give them a five year contract. Five years of labour in trade for a commuted sentence for those who are not there for murder and rape, instead of wasting them on the gallows.”_

_Shrugs. “It’s her Royal Harpyness who has to approve the use of prisoners, but I have to admit it would probably work well.” Musing, “I wonder if we...you can get her drunk enough.”_

_The duplicate laughed, squatted and began digging through his baskets and drawers, coming up with a medium sized packet. “A spoonful of sugar,” said with a wink, “makes bitter medicine go down easier. By the time that hits, she will give you anything you desire, so long as you stick it in quick and do not stop until she passes out from exhaustion.”_

__Will not point out that it is hard to get something when one is passed out,_ taking another swallow of his coffee instead of voicing that opinion._

_Zevran opened it curiously and eyed the crystalline contents. “If this is what I think it is, you might need to hand over a few stamina boosting roots, as his work would be cut out for him.”_

__Maker don’t let me whimper, please. I ask for so very little, don’t abandon me now._ Sighing, Ferox focused on his coffee instead of listening the two putting their heads together discussing _his_ sexual duties to the Harpy. _Well, at least it wasn’t a whimper.__

_“You know, this is a good deal of -”_

_“Think of it as a favour,” a sardonic twist of lips. “It will make such tasks easier. And enough for fun for you and he at later dates.”_

__’And here I thought you said he was terrible. Rather amicable if you approach him correctly,’_ his lover put away the two packets the duplicate had given him._

_Desperately, _’Would you please think about what you are planning?’__

_His Zevran plucked the empty glasses up to make more coffee, _’I think over many plans, which one do you have issue with? This ‘happy spice’ will make the Harpy do whatever you want, so long as you promise to make her scream with joy. Short of signing over Ferelden of course, it cannot force a person to run too counter to their core drive. But to have freer rein? Hmn? Oh most certainly she will be clawing at the paperwork to sign over such concessions just for the chance of being bedded.’__

__’And there you have it.’_ _

__’It is just sex, **querido**. It is a job, something to be done, like taking out the trash or putting on socks for a march. A practical matter that means little if the person you are having it with means little,’_ a mental shrug. _

_Ferox smacked the heel of his palm into his eye socket with a sharp slap rubbing vigorously, trying to disbelieve this was happening, yet glad all at the same time that there wasn’t a roomful of Zevrans with ‘advice’._

__’What? You expect me to be jealous? She is no competition, and this is a thing I know well. You care as much for her as you do a blister on your heel or a case of foot rot,’_ milk was frothed with the odd wand as the assassin swirled and stirred it while it heated. _’ **Amora** , it is not that I wish you to go elsewhere, it is that you and I both know where the meaningful things are, who holds the important threads. She is a job, nothing more, nothing less.’__

__’I know...I need air. Ask him your questions, I’m going to go ask one of my own.’_ Enjoying the last bit of sweet from the bottom of the glass, Ferox got to his feet to follow the healer outside._

_...  
[Kirkwall Zevran]_

_Zevran watched Trouble leave from the periphery of his vision. _Good. The easy one will not speak until that one was out of our way._ Remaining silent during their obvious amulet conversation, he sorted the powders he had made, setting aside what he would need to make into poultices and antidotes next, as well as those that needed to be made into potions. _

_Eventually Zevran had to prompt the slighter version of himself, switching to Antivan. “I am not the patient sort, get your own snapping and growling out of the way.”_

_“That was not what I had in mind actually,” the response in the same language. “As you said yourself, we only stem from the same root, but are not the same plant. Your ways are not mine.”_

_“Obviously,” grunting at him. “Out with it then.”_

_“Which gate?” the question was odd, or would have been if Zevran hadn’t heard it before._

_“North,” pulling out a small grill plate with a fire rune, melting down plant fats with water before adding in careful measures of powders and liquids._

_The other’s eyes watched as he continued his work. “The route where the Dalish are encamped somewhere, yes? Did you arrive with them?”_

_“No,” he took out a few small jars, pulling them out one handed as his other kept stirring the beaker’s contents to a smooth consistency._

_“Curious.” A low slurp of coffee, “What is a gate?”_

_“A very large door that leads to another place,” rolling an eye to glance at him. “Your mind is obviously dancing over a puzzle not meant for you. Leave it, there is nothing to concern you there.” Instead Zevran asked the odd mirror, “What did you do with Vigilance?”_

_A glance was cast out the open door towards his little tree witch and Trouble. “She already told you. I gave her to the Crows. It bought their forgiveness.”_

_Zevran removed the beaker from the heat and began spooning and packing it into the small jars, “He has no idea? No, he would not. You would not be so naive as to tell him. What Vigilance was unable to communicate to me was the why of it. My guess is that you were aware of how special she is.”_

_“The one my beloved wielded was like he was at the time of her forging,” the cadence was soft, the faint note of worry brought Zevran’s head up to look at the other elf. “She would have fed his paranoia without end. It would cause the walls he had built to hide his true self behind to be so impenetrable that nothing could ever have gotten through. Not myself, not the fruit of his loins. Nothing. I could no more allow that, than you could allow it if it was the one you seek to return to in the same position. Your dragon is nothing like his, they are the same object, but different creatures and aspects.”_

_Zevran tilted his head to one side, acknowledging it. “Has he become aware of your manipulations?”_

_“Some of them,” the softer, more fortunate one pursed his lips. “They are not methods I need to resort to any longer.”_

_“Then you choose to leave the other ones in place?” a brow climbed on his forehead as he put small protective layers of waxed paper, muslin and then a cork in each pot, sealing them with dripped wax. “That seems wise, of course until he finds out about them.”_

_The flash of anger and irritation that Zevran had been waiting upon finally showed itself. “You will say nothing.”_

_“Of course not,” lips twitching. “It serves no purpose, not even one of humour.” Changing the subject, “Your amulet, is it better?”_

_Slowly the hard glint faded, replaced by the normal even set. “Better. It could be stronger, that would make for far less effort and concentration on my part.”_

_“Mph, have you explored the...impractical applications for it yet?” Noting the puzzlement, “In bed. You can give each other feedback, constantly. Not only that, but standing here, you could be stroking his back or holding his hand without actually doing so, rather than sending the memory of such an action.”_

_Rapid blinking, then white teeth flashed broadly. “I had not thought of that. My thanks.”_

_Once Zevran was finished with his day’s work, he cleaned up, content to let the other watch him. He took out a small leather box, pulling a set of glasses from where he always stored them and carefully wrapped the Antivan glass. In his homeland they were worth a pittance, but since there was little call for them outside his country, finding them was costly and difficult for those without proper connections. No doubt his duplicate had _plenty_ of those necessary people to deal with, but if the longing way he had looked at the silver rimmed cups was anything to go by, he had not spent what was likely to be very precious coin on them. Zevran had bartered for them easily, one of the Isabellas made regular runs, as did several of the dwarven sister ships. Packing them tightly with linen and bundles of ground spices, he wrapped up the box with twine. _

_The duplicate had turned to watch Trouble and his little tree witch as they conversed, expression pensive yet serene. Zevran set himself a task, not questioning it, but gathered up the items putting them in an easily carried box. In his head he made a fast list, weighing costs and how difficult it would be to replace what would be lost. Most of it were things he had an easy enough time gaining now, a year in Kirkwall had him well set up with all the little comforts that made life easier and pleasing between work and investigations._

_Plunking the box of glasses on his work table hard enough to jolt the bizarre ‘what could have been’ from his thoughts, “Here.”_

_A wary look, “And what might it be? Your sense of humour has a penchant to require...gardening.”_

_Smirking, “Yes, it does. No, take that, it is not for humour.”_

_“What -” mumbling as he opened the box enough to look in it. “I cannot take this, my friend. It is too much.”_

_“It is worth what? Eighty andriis? It is nothing, I can gain more, and I am not trying to rebuild a country,” he waved his altered hand dismissively. “Close it once more and save opening it for later. What is in it will keep. Since it includes an extra middle-man, I would think the cost from Kirkwall to Ferelden would be quite high, however, due to the amount I already purchase, what is here you may feel free to make use of.”_

_Eyes narrowed, “Your price?”_

_“Think on the puzzle of gates, as you would anyway, and perhaps you should ask your mabari when away from the prying eyes and ears of Kirkwall, how far into the journey myself and _em’lath’sa_ remained,” he tapped the box lightly. “I will consider such thoughts as much a favour as you consider this one. To a fellow countryman.” _

_...  
[Ferox]_

_Without opening her eyes, Dulsanaya greeted Ferox when he left the clinic. _‘Ar’Abelas, Gaeaf. This asha has said he does not belong to this one. She would guess you needed out long before you escaped.’ _Patting the bench. _’Your questions tumble on your face, come ask them.’____

___Growling, _’I am fine where I am,’ _sitting on the bench under the tree.___ _ _

_____The girl shrugged as it made no difference for mere communication. He was a Warden and carried an amulet, she did not have to touch him to talk to him, but other things couldn’t be done. Seeking to distract him from his frustration, _’ **Dirth dalen him na’nehn** [Speak of the child that is your joy].’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____For a moment, he didn’t know what she was talking about, but then the meaning of the words revealed themselves like a plant poking itself above the soil, the petals of an apple blossom opening, or the blade of a sword being pulled from its sheath. Sighing, he thought about it as if organizing his thoughts, then many things he showed her, even his troubles at the beginning, of watching Zevran play with Len while he stood on the threshold to the tiny palace apartment, the little things like how Len wrinkled his nose, his newest try at laughter, his baby scent, how they were using dirty laundry to keep him happy while they travel, how they curled around him when he slept..._ _ _ _ _

_____Interrupting, she pointed out that the picture of them in the bed with the child between them was a _vhenan_ [heart] like children make or sweethearts give each other. _ _ _ _ _

_____Without thought, he remembered what Zevran shared in regards to Len and his own feelings on both of them._ _ _ _ _

______’Silly, Gaeaf. They are **na’vhenan** [your heart]. This is good. Tell this one who are the **da’asha’len** [little girls]. They have meaning as well, yes?_ _ _ _ _ _

______’They are the children of Moira. She is the one who cares for Len. They,’ How to explain this...? ‘They treat him like he is their little brother and,’_ almost proudly, not that he would have admitted it to any other, _’I have become their uncle.’__ _ _ _ _

_____Opening her eyes, Dulsanaya looked over, tilting her head, _’This is family, Gaeaf. It is good and it makes you happy, and makes Haf’cath happy too. You have shared these things with this **asha** , that makes this one happy also.’_ Amused and teasing, _’This **da’sa** would not question Haf’cath on how happy it makes him, else he will be very loud in his eagerness to show you.’_ The healer knew of the loud sharing, as well as other circumstances, were what caused Ferox’s early return to Kirkwall with Zevran in tow. _’Now, you have a question.’__ _ _ _ _

_____Ferox winced at the reminder, but she sent warmth and reassurance through the amulet, and thus prompted he asked, “What gate did you enter from?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Mildly, _’The east gate with Sten.’__ _ _ _ _

_____“Why did you come here, to Kirkwall?”_ _ _ _ _

______‘Sten answered the call of the Arishok. You have heard that he is here, yes?’ ____ _ _ _ _

_______Ferox nodded, as he had heard this and saw the horned Qunari at the gates to the Compound, one who was larger and more bestial than Sten. Sten had spoken of the Arishok as being a leader of the Qunari. “But why would he be here?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’This is the question all of Kirkwall asks, Warden. They were shipwrecked and say that they wait for a ship to return home.’_ Her ‘voice’ changed slightly, more mature and as if she had become more fluent in the language, _‘It is not as if they are poised to invade Ferelden. And even if they did, there are too few of them to take a country. This is not a worry you must carry.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Ah. Why does it make a difference what gate somebody enters from?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Shrugging, _’It indicates the direction one came from and where they might be headed. Again, this is not a worry for you.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________But you worry about it._ “I do need another recipe, the one for the runestone, if you know it. The Archdemon damaged...well, leveled much of Denerim and contaminated several water supplies...” Ferox trailed off as the healer was already fishing her sketchbook and a cloth bag from out of the satchel he never saw her without. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______As if preparing to play a game, she opened the bag and began to drop green glass beads, silver charms, and tiny silver bells in an intricate pattern around her, until she was surrounded. Ferox wondered what type of game or magic this was. Copying the pattern into the sketchbook, she labeled each item as to what it represented, then its purpose and any particular notes as to how it was to be gathered or prepared. Tearing the page from her book, Dulsanaya held it out to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Looking at her oddly, he stood and came over to take the sheet, covered front and back. “This is the recipe?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______She nodded._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Then what’s this?” Ferox pointed to the pattern on the swept ground of the Alienage’s square._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Stooping to pick up the pieces, _’This is how I remember it, Gaeaf.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“How is that ‘remembering?” He folded the instructions, tucked them under his armor, then knelt to help her._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______She snorted, _’You slept with Morrigan so you did not feel it as much. When Archdemons die, it does not leave a Warden whole; it damages much. Others did not survive.’_ Firmly, _’You have listened to these tales already, Gaeaf. You already know this one’s story. It is how she was found by **na’haf’cath** [your summer cat].’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______After all of the stones were gathered and returned to the pouch, the healer looked up, _’Gaeaf, send a message to the Hanged Man before you come next time, perhaps several months before, as this one may be traveling by then.’_ Warning, _’Even though you will wish for it sooner, you will not be ready for two years and there will be no more after that. This **asha** would be pleased if you returned with Haf’cath when next you come.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Two years? Two years before I can return? That means Her Harpyness will be a thorn for another three at least, depending on how long the healing takes this time, longer than last she had already said._ As he reined in the cold that settled over him, Ferox answered automatically, “I will see what can be done, at that time.” Emerald eyes laughed up at him knowing winter when she saw it, tasting it in the link. Thankfully, she left him there standing in the autumn sun._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______...  
[Dulsanaya]_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’ **Emma mi, na’asha** may have been bad and needs a reward.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Amusement reached out for her, caressing her mind with strong and familiar hands, _‘You? Bad? Hmn, I will have to investigate. Time to go berry picking.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Giggles only in the link as she tried to be stern, _’No berries! That is not a good reward for making Gaeaf crankier than you did.’ _____ _ _ _ _ _

__________‘Oh, I think it is, lots of squirm inducing berries, a whole basket full of them,’_ echoing and warm laughter filled her head as mental fingers danced over the vines on her abdomen. _‘Do not worry over it, his neck ruff will be quickly smoothed. No one can remain cranky due to your actions for very long **em’lath’sa**. Besides, his little Crow will soothe his growling, as I have made a few presents for them,_ she was shown the box of Antivan glasses for coffee, tea, juice, or any ‘normal’ (as _emma mi_ called them) beverage, as well as hefty packets of spices, even some starter seeds for the fast growing items. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Just as he had reached out, she did too, arms tight around his waist, head pressed to his chest, _’You like him, **emma’mi**.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________‘Perhaps, or perhaps I pity him. Or envy him, either way, does it matter? Besides his mind is tumbling over pieces of puzzles that I need solved and he has a fresh set of eyes,’_ she felt him shrugging as his ‘face’ rubbed into the side of her ‘neck’. _‘He asked me what a gate was, a question that I would not expect to hear from myself, or any version of myself. It is an esoteric thought. In that question I heard Zamitie for a moment. That outlook is valuable enough that doing with less of my little luxuries for a while is well worth it.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________She pressed her mind, arching it into his mental touch like a cat, sending her amusement to him, which she felt him reply to with a snort. _‘Must we have berries, **emma’mi**?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Laughter aloud and within, _‘Yes, we must.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	14. Plans In Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, managed to stick with us through the fubar of Ch12 and the (mostly more cogent) substance of Ch 13? Well, we love you and thank you for your forbearance. Now, we are only human so there's going to be errors. Anyone who is willing to assist on some betaing, or even if you just catch an error here or there, please, feel free to comment or PM us. Thanks a bundle!

Ferox had thought his lover might go insane with joy at the large boxes and crates that had been loaded onto the ship they had chartered to take them back to West Hills. What appeared to be nearly half a tonne of coffee beans, the same amount of sugar, several small saplings that Zevran _cooed_ over, seed and root stocks, and many items that Ferox had not the faintest clue as to their uses... _How much am I having to pay for all this?_

That had been the thing. Apparently he, and by extension the Crown, paid for nothing. Even the fact that the captain said that the goods would be offloaded in Amaranthine minus several barrels and crates that would be unloaded at Highever first - everything was _paid_ for by someone else. The cargo hold had been filled to the brim, and Ferox couldn’t pretend to know a fraction of what it was worth. Large bales of cotton, wool - not like Ferelden didn’t produce a goodly amount of it in decent quality, some of it even excellent, but when Ferox had touched it, it had been shiny and silken - several bolts of silk... He could only stare as he followed, ducking behind his lover as he moved from one item to the next. Everything in the cargo hold was apparently _theirs_.

“This is a fortune, isn’t it?” Ferox muttered. “What did you _do_?”

Zevran shoved a hand into a crate pulling out several of those abominable pear-apple sour things, pressing his nose to the golden skinned flesh. “Nothing. I asked him what a gate was, that was all, _querido_. I made no promises, asked for nothing, and this just showed up. Truthfully, I am as baffled as you.”

“I asked her about gates too. And although I think she answered the question, she told me it was not my worry to carry.” 

“ _Mierda!_ This is honey! _Good_ honey!” swearing as he poked at one of several heavy narrow necked clay jugs, bending to sniff the unopened vessels. “This alone...? In _Ferelden_? One jug, easily forty sovereigns. In the market here, I saw an amphora about half this size go for seven. Even so...”

“When I arranged for the ship to Kirkwall, I have to admit that I didn’t see this in the plans.” Shaking his head, wondering where the joke was. 

_Well, you already saw part one in your future. Why be so eager to be put in another?_ Leaving Zevran to root around in the bowels of the ship, Ferox went up for air. _’Holler if you find anything. Better make certain those plants have instructions. Varel is the safest one to care for them, unless you know someone better. Although having them shipped to Denerim might not be a bad idea either, as there are those glassed greenhouses. They should be warm enough as it provides food year round.’_

 _‘Ignacio and Ceasar would treat them with the same care you and I treat Len,’_ happy little grunts echoed in the link, all the while Ferox felt as though something akin to a Zevran sized cat were twining and rolling around him with each step he took.

 _’Denerim it is then.’_ Deep breath as they left the protected and confining harbour and entered the rough waters of the Waking Sea.

Crowing laughter came from their cabin, audible within and without, making Ferox’s head whip around. _‘What is it?’_

There was so much laughing that even through the amulet, Ferox couldn’t understand more than a garbled demand that he go to their cabin. Upon entry he saw his lover bent over, slapping a thigh, with a paper in his other hand, shaking his head, tears running down his face as he roared with good humour. Frowning at him, slightly worried that he might have gotten into that ‘happy spice’ that the twisted duplicate had given him, Ferox took the paper. And then sat down on the bunk, chuckling.

_...Parting is not a sweet sorrow. Actually it is a relief to not have to stare down at myself. But I am a civilized man who does not like to leave others in pain. Well, usually. And not for long. Usually. Take this with my compliments on successful dances, making of fat babies, well, one baby at the moment, and other various and sundry rigmarole that seems to be important to you. You are too thin, obviously it is because you have been living on that steaming pile of shit Fereldens dare to call ‘food’ for too long. If you do not get greedy, this should last until you scrape enough together to actually take care of yourself. Next time I see you, as I know I no doubt will - unfortunately - you had best not look like such a weakling. I had wanted someone to spar with, clearly you were worthless for that pursuit at this juncture. If that is a state that is repeated, I will be irritable._

_\- Zevran_

_P.S. He means it as gift, to both of you, Haf’cath and Gaeaf._

_P.P.S. Blasted woman writing over my shoulder. She cheats, just touches the bloody paper and makes words. Good for when I need to correct something, not so good when she interrupts. Hope the boots fit, yours are worthless at this point. Put them in a museum. Where they belong with other ancient and unusable things. Also, I believe Saturnalia, Feastday, whatever day you claim as a birthday, and baby gifting has been covered. Do not ask for more. At least not until there is another brat to celebrate._

“I believe that this means he likes us,” Zevran dove onto the bed beside him as Ferox had to reread the letter a third time, still uncertain on that point. 

XXX

Orzammar, another great deep hole in the ground, something to look forward to. Stabling the horses at the gates, Ferox hoped that they would not have to stay long or at least that he could escape often enough ‘for air.’ Bhelen was king, his crown provided by Carridin himself, and was still up to his wily ways, smooth and dangerous. _This should be fun or treacherous, probably both._

As they stepped over the threshold, Ferox muttered, quoting Carridin, words the dwarf turned golem said as he stepped off into the lava, " _Atrast nal tunsha_." [May you always find your way in the dark]

Bhelen was rather enamoured of the basket of fruit Zevran had provided him with, a small selection that his lover said was a good idea. And so it proved. The dwarven monarch had invited them to a surprisingly informal meal, one with just himself and his family. Talk of politics was off the table and not present, much like the fact that the deshyrs from the Assembly were absent. Even the little Casteless Consort was there, with a trundling little boy who took after his father. Once the meal was finished, Rica - _Yes, that was the name_ \- and her son Bhelen - _Named after the father of course, no chance to debate parentage_ \- had retired. 

“And to what do I owe this visit? It’s a bit late in the season, winter approaching and all that,” Bhelen relaxed at the table, an orange in one strong and stubby hand, peeling the rind away after having observed Zevran’s method. “I had news that you left Denerim with your son, but I’m surprised. I hadn’t expected a social call, or at least not strictly a social call for that matter.”

“Having ridden so far, what is a few more days? I must admit that it _has_ been pleasant to be up and doing things. It’s troublesome when other matters interfere with such small enjoyments. But now that you mention it, a thought had occurred to me on the ride...” Cutting a slice from a pear Ferox munched it thoughtfully, “I wonder if you would like to appoint a delegate, a representative of Orzammar to Denerim. With the city being rebuilt, we’ve been discussing plans of where to place embassies from neighbouring nations, something that was sadly lacking in its previous design. I was intending that they be similar in privacy to the estates of Ferelden’s own ranking officials who have them.” 

Sharp, deep set blue eyes twinkled as Ferox watched the gears clicking into place. “It is a good idea, one that would allow for continued good relations between neighbouring kingdoms. Now I doubt it’s something that just came to you during your pleasure outing to West Hills and Highever. So, what is in it for my people?”

Zevran leaned forward, one elbow resting on the stone tabletop, an apricot rolled in his hand with deft elegance. “Front line gossip amongst other things. Certain chances that fortuitous news might provide, that otherwise might be lost...” His associate rolled a glance up from the fruit after taking a bite of it, “Also, my people have utilized such institutions for many reasons in the past. There are always those with loud voices, who either cause trouble, or rub those you wish to bring to your way of thinking the wrong way. Or someone you wish to have forgotten for a time, until you are ready to use them.”

“I’m listening,” a blond bushy brow that was mostly hidden under the broom like cut of hair arched as the king leaned forward, mirroring Zevran’s posture.

“The Assembly is slow to change, no matter how rapidly you have been able to implement much change already. Allowing a few of those who had gone topside for a long period of time to return, allowing Casteless to join the Legion, even having your woman acknowledged as your Consort,” the assassin sucked the weeping juice from his soft skinned fruit. “Not popular changes obviously, and the Assembly is a viper’s nest. They look for, and target, any that might be construed as your staunch supporters of change, yes? Make them forget about one or two of those supporters, because their voices are too loud. The Assembly’s guard will drop once the loud ones are out of the way, but not too far from your reach.”

“You should work for me,” Bhelen chuckled, slapping the table once. 

_’And if these walls didn’t have eyes, I’d kiss you.’_

_‘Mmn, bribery, **querido**? Tchk, I am such a bad influence,’_ playful and teasingly chiding.

_’I know a job offer when I hear one. Just trying to match it,’ _amused.__

__Another bite was taken, the juice rapidly licked away, an image, thought and intimate sensation sent Ferox’s way, _‘Do not worry, Bhelen has nothing I desire that he could pay me with, I much prefer my ‘employment’ with you.’_ Zevran gestured with the apricot, “A fine notion, but I am deeply invested financially at the moment. Perhaps accommodations for some joint work might be reached. Orzammar has fine mines, but we have some of our own, sadly lacking in skilled labourers. How much would it cost to rent a few Miner Caste to train a few of our own men to dig in some of our far off mines?”_ _

__A wily glint entered the deceptively friendly blue eyes, _He should have been a Crow,_ as Bhelen leaned back in his chair. “Well now, that depends.”_ _

__Ferox finally spoke, “Kal’hirol. Have your miners that you are willing to spare as teachers for our own at Amaranthine, while the Vigil can provide a safe base of operations to work from for some of your Warrior Caste and the Legion to finish clearing out what little I left undone on my last visit. Of course the Deep Roads between Kal’Hirol and Orzammar aren’t clear, so they would have to travel over land, or sea, even after the thaig was made habitable once more, but it’s not so arduous of a journey.”_ _

__Zevran darted in for the kill, striking from behind, “Another feather to the Aeducan hat, or crown as the case is. More bargaining power that the Assembly cannot fight.”_ _

__“It is food for thought,” Bhelen went mildly impassive, but Ferox could tell they had him. “Now, this embassy you want. I believe I have several potential...diplomats to consider. Shall we discuss it and the terms that they can wield with my voice? And who I can expect to be dealing with here.”_ _

__Beside him, Zevran leaned away, crossing his legs, an arm draped over his stomach, smiling as he turned his attention on to his fruit in full. “That is the rub. There are too few useful nobles to hand them over willy nilly.”_ _

__“A Warden would earn continual goodwill,” Bhelen scratched his beard. “The warriors, Legion and deshyrs always like someone who is willing to go in and get their hands dirty.”_ _

__Ferox shook his head, “Not enough of them. And the newer ones aren’t tested enough. However that’s a good idea. Sending in a few to get the rough polished off of them for several months and rotating them out, and working with the Legion and warriors to clear the Deep Road routes to Kal’Hirol and some of the other nearby thaigs, like Ortan and Cadash. I could easily lend two at a time, possibly three.”_ _

__“Drydens,” Zevran set the small pit down. “They number a genius smith, who is gruff enough to impress warriors with actions, not just his wares. And the smiths will plumb his skills, he is the one who made Ferox’s Starfang. Tchk, but his manner is a touch forward and abrasive...”_ _

__Bhelen frowned in thought, “Send him anyway. Some abrasiveness is tolerable, it is me he will mostly be dealing with when it comes down to actual business.”_ _

___Easier to manipulate?_ Ferox contained the snort waiting in the wings. _Mikheal Dryden is not so easy as that.__ _

__“Well now, I have a feeling that you have other matters you wanted to deal with Warden. Anything I need to worry about? Riots in my cities or bodies littering my streets?” Bhelen appeared rather self satisfied, which was just how Ferox wanted him._ _

__“Just an ambassador from the Orzammar Circle,” Ferox shrugged. “To be granted the same diplomatic immunity as whichever...loud voice...you choose to send.”_ _

__“I only maintain a nominal hand on Lady Dagna. I’ve found that leaving her to her own devices has been most profitable, so that is how it remains. I let no one muddle with her business and so the crown profits quite admirably due to her work,” Bhelen waved his hand before reaching into the bowl of fruit, pulling up a cherry sized thing Zevran had said was a ‘kumquat’. “But since you’ve had dealings with her, you won’t need any letter from me of introduction.”_ _

___’Probably can’t get through ‘Hello’ without hearing everything she’s done for the past week.’_ _ _

__Zevran sent him a smirk internally, _‘And his Consort probably would not care much for the two becoming...friendly, shall we say? He appears to have a penchant for the cute ones. While little Dagna would do anything to ensure the safety and productivity of her mages.’__ _

___’Rica is cute? Dagna is cute...but Rica?’_ _ _

___‘She flees from big intimidating humans like yourself, but I had a chance to speak with her on our last visit. Quite a sweet woman, very cultured as well,’_ Zevran yawned lightly through the night’s - not that Ferox could tell what time it actually was without any sunlight to go by - goodbyes. _ _

__XXX_ _

__Aeducan thaig had been cleaned up _considerably_ since he last passed through it. Signs of habitation were everywhere, from lichen plots to broad swaths of fungi growing happily and clearly tended. Pens of nugs and even lyrium sproutings that gave light to surface plants like tomatoes imported from warmer climates than most of Ferelden had, and such were placed in between buildings. Cracks and pits had been repaired, or the carved stone buildings had simply been blasted away in some spots. _ _

__“Elfroot, and a great deal of it, turnips, beets, carrots, beans...” Zevran listed things off. “Surely there are places we could do similar, _querido_. A cellar could be made dry and hot for such. Perhaps one under a smithy or lined with firerock or runes to dry out the air.”_ _

__Chuckling, “I expected a barrage, after which I would have requested a list. On the flat roofs you will tell me to plant......?”_ _

__“Tchk, no flat roofs, too much snow,” it was grumpy. “The peaks are not suitable that we have, that is being corrected in new buildings.”_ _

__“Argh, I had forgotten. Is that on one of the lists? You know I keep them merely to gaze on your neat handwriting. I am going to sew them into a book, you know. A book of lists covering all subjects, my favourite is still ‘Laundry.’”_ _

__Zevran actually _stuck his tongue out_ at him, clearly a habit he had picked up from the girls. He hoped. “I am so under appreciated.”_ _

__“Sigh, does this mean I will not receive my monthly - or it is weekly? - epistle from my retired Seneschal turned City Planner, Building Inspector, Head of Security, Spymaster, Crown Assassin, Minister of Agricultural Interests, Laundress - or is it Launderer? - and Consort’s Consort?”_ _

__“I am sure there should be a ‘Zevran’ and Resident Loud Mind somewhere in that pack of titles,” the expression shot his way was ‘sour.’_ _

__Waggling a finger at him, “Now, now, just think, if it were Alistair trying to list your copious amount of titles that you are given as you are so greatly appreciated, would be Ser Launderpants. And as for being loud, who else could I hear clear across Ferelden?_ _

__Zevran slid an arm around his waist, “We actually do not know the amulet’s range, _querido_.”_ _

__“Unfortunately it would mean actually leaving your side to test it, something I am not inclined to do in the foreseeable future,” reaching round to rest a hand on Zevran’s hip, emphasizing his feeling on the matter._ _

__“Oh! Warden! Hello! Hello, Warden! Warden, over here!” jumping up and down from the roof of one of the houses nearby, Dagna was waving enthusiastically._ _

___’You know, Sig is very calm compared to Dagna,’ ___appreciating his acting second more._ _

____‘Our dwarva Warden comes from a much harsher life, **amante** , she is happy and content for the most part, yes. But she never knew the same security and safety that little Dagna did,’_ was pointed out to him gently. _‘If the two switched birth places, you would likely find that Sigrun would turn out nearly identical to this Dagna, and Dagna would turn out much like our Sigrun. Just as if I had been born in the other Antiva, I would become like the angry one, and he would have turned out like me.’__ _ _

___Valid points they may be, but Ferox flinched internally at the comparison. The mere thought of the man beside him going through whatever had forged the beast that the other was, made his skin crawl and his stomach roil. Squeezing Zevran’s hip, Ferox hoped to convey all that, along with his gratefulness that he had not gone through that life. _’Possibly.’_ A moment later as if to put that thought behind him, but it led to another...other...duplicate. _’The little healer lit up when she saw you though. Felt it through the amulet.’__ _ _

___“Dagna!” smiling. Ferox did like the little ‘mage’, wished she breathed more between paragraphs, but she was always pleasant._ _ _

___“Oh, give me a moment I’m coming down, unless one of you two can catch me?!” she bounced._ _ _

___Zevran stepped forward, bowing quickly, “I am well acquainted with plucking sweets from the air. Allow me.”_ _ _

___A giggle, bounce and then she was plummeting the short drop and snatched from the air securely with Zevran taking several easy appearing steps back at the impact to set her down firmly. “Oh that was fun!” long dwarven arms wrapped around Zevran squeezing him once before she bounced over to Ferox giving him the same treatment. “It’s so good to see you, Warden! Or should I call you Prince? Or should I call you Ferox? Or Warden Commander? What brings you here? Is there anything you need? Oh, it’s nearly lunch time, there’s going to be lichen and deep mushroom and nug stew!”_ _ _

___“Good to see you, too; Warden is fine; we’ve come to see you; yes, there is something we need; and certainly lunch is always welcome.” Ferox cracked a grin. “Did I miss anything?”_ _ _

___“Oh yes, Finn is here, did you know? He’s done all sorts of studies on some of the old things we keep finding and digging up, and wow the two of you, huh? That’s so cute! And about sodding time too! Oh, oops, forgive the language!” Ferox found himself dragged by a hand, Zevran beside him also receiving the same treatment as they were hauled to what appeared to be a large communal dining area._ _ _

____’We could have had a Tranquil. I’m certain we would have been able to sleep at night.’_ _ _ _

____‘Oh, but the Tranquil make others uneasy, no one would think that this sweet child had a thought in her head,’_ Zevran laughed at him as he gamely kept up with the stout dwarva._ _ _

___Once the mealtime madness had passed, Dagna showed them some of what had been worked on, runes, spells, studies on the connection to the Fade, lyrium, and far too many things to be seen in a single day. By then it was nearly mealtime again, but she bade them get good sized bowls of stew and large toasted sandwiches to take to her house. It was there that the effervescence eased as she made some form of tea out of Maker knew what, but it was tasty enough._ _ _

___“So, you want to make it so the mages have a place to study without the Chantry trying to hunt them down and cage them?” pigtails bobbing as her head moved side to side as she puzzled it all over._ _ _

___“Not only that, but healing clinics like what I observed in Kirkwall. They were underfunded, but the individuals had the right idea. Normal everyday people don’t trust mages. Not in many places at least. I want to change that perception with the Crown supporting that vital and necessary change. We should be working together, not limiting and denying those who can aid us and themselves, simply because they have the ability to light a candle without flint or steel.”_ _ _

___Zevran added, “Do not rush into this, _da’len_ , without seeing the benefits of the here and now as well as the ones that we hope to bring about. A few mages that you know are easygoing and friendly, that are healers, would be a good start. What you and they would gain in the present, is freedom of movement at least in city centers at first, until the word spread of the Crown’s endorsement of these ambassadors and healers. Diplomatic immunity as it were, with writs that enabled them to travel and work.”_ _ _

___Ferox picked up the thread, “As the common folk and the nobles see how this works in Denerim, they will all want to set up a clinic. Healers will be able to travel from one to another taking in opportunities available in each city. Yes, we do also wish to devote an entire town to the study of magic, but popular support is necessary to obtain that without much fuss. The clinics are the first step to the bigger goal.” Ferox took a sip of the odd tea, “And I do want to talk to you about your lichens and mushrooms...later.”_ _ _

___He added the last for Zevran of course, and his lover’s obsession with growing things. And perhaps other lichens in the Peak’s caverns would improve Oghren’s beer. As it was, it was merely powerful and extremely foul tasting._ _ _

___“That’s great, it’s a good idea, but it’s a lot to think about,” Dagna looked down at her mug. “If it was just me, I’d jump on it, you’re right. But I’m responsible for the others now too. This isn’t like the Circle of Ferelden, these mages are free and can come and go as they please. So, I’ll ask, and put it forward to them, but I need to think about it.”_ _ _

___“But they can’t really go far outside?” Ferox asked softly._ _ _

___“They still have that choice though,” Dagna didn’t get what Ferox would call a ‘stubborn’ look on her face, but it was set. She had matured since their encounters. “And I won’t try and tell them what they have to do. I’ll think about it, and I’ll discuss it with them. That’s all I can promise, I’m sorry.”_ _ _

___Zevran lay a hand on his thigh, _‘She will come to our way of thinking, but she is also headstrong. Provide any perceived resistance and she may not. Remember, she is young, but also she was tough enough to defy her father, her entire upbringing, her whole culture.’__ _ _

___Nodding. “Thank you, Dagna that’s all we’re asking for...and, there is something I would like you to look at.” Pulling out the recipe for the runestone and handing it to her. “How hard do you think it would be to make this sort of runestone?”_ _ _

___She took it from him and blinked at it, chewing on her lip and tugging a pigtail. “If all the materials were on hand, I could make one every two or three months if it was just me.”_ _ _

___“If you had an example, a prototype, would this help in making the first one?”_ _ _

___“Sure, definitely. And after making the first few, I could make them faster. Another Smith Caste could probably do the same, but my skills are a little rusty,” her tongue poked out the side of her mouth as she mused over the details. “At the same time, I don’t think you would want many Smith Caste looking at this. They would try and price gouge you while selling to others that you might not want having access to it.”_ _ _

___“Which is why we came straight to you. One of the dwarves that traveled with us was quite talented, even if his conversation skills were somewhat lacking. He and an elvish healer came up with this, and I’ve promised to give the first ones to the Alienages.”_ _ _

___Dagna cocked her head, “It’s for water? If I’m understanding these notes, well, I’d like one for the thaig, and for Dust Town too. Water isn’t always unTainted out here you know.”_ _ _

___“If you have a bucket of dirty water, I can show you.”_ _ _

___“Plenty of it!” The dwarva bounced up with more of her customary verve and left the house for a few minutes, returning with a bucket in hand. “Here, this dirty enough?”_ _ _

___Unwrapping the precious tile, he turned it over to show Zevran the markings on the back, a letter ‘S’ was intertwined with a ‘D’ stamped into the stone. His elf had been quiet for the most part, but sent him a thread of a chuckle, as well as encouragement. “Yes, that should do,” saying as he deposited the stone in the bucket._ _ _

___The water bubbled and roiled briefly then settled, becoming completely clear, the tree painted on the top of the tile visible. Gesturing for her to pass him a second bucket, he slowly poured off the clean, revealing in the bottom a layer of sediment held back by the faintly green glowing rune. Prying it from the grit, the dirt remained a thick sludge with only enough moisture to make it a slurry left in the bucket._ _ _

___“The first one I make will go to us, then the second to your Alienage, the third to Dust Town, then the rest to whatever you want, just pay for the cost of making them after the Dust Town one,” Dagna had sat down heavily, staring in awe at the purifying magic even as she drove her bargain._ _ _

___“Most of the ingredients are less costly here, yes?” speaking once more, Zevran stroked Ferox’s thigh lightly. “You can gain a good price for those items?”_ _ _

___“Sure, of course, way better than you topsiders could,” Dagna nodded._ _ _

___Concerned by the promise he had made, Ferox asked, “Once you make the first one, will you need that one or will the first be an example enough?”_ _ _

___Dagna gave herself a quick shake, “Oh, sure! The one I make for us here will be enough or I wasn’t born Smith Caste!”_ _ _

___“Thank you, I did not want to break a promise; she was quite clear when the gift was made. The Denerim Alienage can have the first one made, the original, which is rather fitting.”_ _ _

___XXX_ _ _

___After a bit of browsing and shopping in the markets, their matters of business at Orzammar settled, Ferox and Zevran rode back to West Hills, then Highever._ _ _

___On the climb back up into the hills surrounding Highever’s plateau, Ferox was quiet again, not overly so, not cloaked in a sheet of ice, just quiet. Once in a while he would point out something, but most of the time he just looked at the trees and shrubs, their limbs now bare of their leaves. The nip of frost was heavy and he wondered at the refugees on the road heading to Redcliffe. Before leaving for Kirkwall, he had ordered them south and sent a company of Arl Wulff’s guards with them while Wulff had just looked on and nodded._ _ _

___Looking through a clear patch to the east, the direction weather came, the sky was streaked with clouds, but the first storm of the season was not in sight... Soon enough it would be. If he was not looking forward to spending winter in a barn, then Zevran was certainly not going to be happy with that, bricks or no bricks, two pairs of socks or forty. Where he would pull on another heavier tunic, Zevran would pull one off. Why the elf couldn’t regularly sleep with clothes on, Ferox wasn’t about to guess at that mystery. Nor was he going to complain as it gave him greater access to all things Zevran._ _ _

___Since Kirkwall, and a few minor bumps in the road, as it were, they were closer because of the amulets. Not that his assassin was in his head constantly, but there was always something there, the warmth of that sun, reassurance. It was as if they had become more aware of each other, when one shifted towards the other or looked up, the other reached out or looked back. Just to prove the point to himself he looked over at Zevran and the amber eyes glanced up, Ferox reflected that warmth back for a moment before turning his eyes back to the sky._ _ _

___“I think we have a day at most of good weather remaining.”_ _ _

___Something was in the air that would have his father bringing the stock closer to the barn. There was definitely a storm moving up the Waking Sea and he pointed it out as they crested the plateau just as the bitter cold pushed ahead of the storm lifting the skirts of leaves and swirling them around the trunks._ _ _

___With relief shared through the amulet, glad that the children were not outside, they rode straight into the barn, following behind the stock, the heavy doors closing behind them. No doubt Fergus had already strung the ropes between the barns; blizzards this early in the season were rare, but that storm looked bad. As a hard gust of wind hit the barn, a glance at the rest of the company told him they were grateful that they had arrived just in time as well._ _ _

___Remembering cartwheels of flame from strong wind blowing down the chimneys in similar storm, sternly Ferox reminded himself that Fergus knew what he was doing and had watched their father much longer than he. _Fergus may be playful, but he’s no fool. Let it go.__ _ _

___Horses left in capable hands, gear that they needed weighing them down, the rest securely stored away, Ferox briefed the company on the ropes not caring if they already knew it, he wasn’t going to risk it. “Keep your hand on the rope, do not let go for any reason. If the wind is as bad as it sounds, it will be difficult to see and we will not be able to find you until it lets up, probably days from now. I mean it, do not let go, not for anyone or anything. We’ll follow it to the door and get inside as quickly and safely as we can.” _’Welcome to a sirocco, Ferelden style.’__ _ _

___After a word to the young men staying in the large barn that night, Ferox led the way, throwing his bags over his shoulders and opened the door. The blackness outside was thick as though it were the deepest night, but no stars, moon, or lights could be seen other than what they were leaving behind them. The wind was a wall he had to push against, no snow had fallen yet, but the taste was heavy in the air along with dirt, leaves and other forest litter that flew unseen striking their bodies and faces. The largest, he bore the brunt, breaking the wind, sheltering those behind. The walk between the building was normally a few seconds, this nightmare lasted much longer. Reaching the end of the rope secured at a ring next to the door, Ferox’s fingers were frozen, and despite his admonishment to not let go, he leaned into the building to steady himself and using both hands and shoving with his shoulder he got the door open._ _ _

___Wiping damp hair from his face streaked with dust and sweat, Ferox held the door and counted as dusty, filthy bodies came stumbling in the door. It was impossible to tell who was who. _’Zevran?’_ Knowing without asking that he would have been last out the barn door. _ _ _

____’I am here, there should be loops of rope to attach to belts with a lock of some sort, easy to open, easy to close. It is what we would do during a storm upon a sea-vessel, or the spring storms that come in from the water to land,’_ entering the castle with a last bang of the door._ _ _

___Relieved, Ferox kept him upright, _’Metal can easily snap and break in the cold, but the loops in the ropes will be an improvement even with frozen fingers.’_ He pictured the umbilical ropes linking one outbuilding to another, often two ropes as even they could fail. Only the amber eyes that lit him and the constant flare of sun in the amulet differentiated Zevran from any of the others._ _ _

___An easy answer was shown, carved from stone. A hook that had a gap in it just wide enough to accept a loop of rope that could be wound around a waist. _’Wood might work as well, or bone.’__ _ _

____’Fergus is king of this castle.’_ _ _ _

___Amusement as the broad scarf and hat and gloves were removed, “Good, then he will be easier to convince.”_ _ _

___The Crows no longer flinched whenever Zevran or Ferox ‘randomly’ said things aloud, but what their thoughts on it were, he did not know. _Perhaps they believe it has to do with Zevran’s ‘illness’? If so, they are closer to the truth than they know.__ _ _

___The mud room, as his Mother had named this entry, was covered in everything that blew in with them. His leathers were covered, cloak or no. Pealing off what he could leave behind for now, everything was going to have to be cleaned. The pants and tunic worn beneath the armor had odd streaks of dirt where the wind had worked its way in. _Well, it was probably time to apply a new coating of beeswax to the leathers with the change of the season anyway._ _ _ _

___“I think that our arrival has been noticed men, time to look sharp.” Ferox stopped at the wash basin to remove the dirt from his face and hands, loosening the leaves from his curls before pulling it back again in a simple tail._ _ _

___Squealing, bouncing, running girls wove through the Crows, who deftly moved out of their way mere moments before the girls impacted Ferox hard enough for him to take a step back. _He_ had expected them to finish darting past him for Zevran. Instead he got legs and armfuls of girls, arms and hands digging at him, pulling him down as though he were in battle, so that they could kiss and hug him. Before he could finish returning a token of the same affection, they had moved on like locusts to Zevran. _ _ _

___Using the cleared path to the door and Zevran’s distraction, Ferox made for Fergus, who was holding Len in the corridor. _’Dibs!’__ _ _

___“Oh, yes, why thank you!” Antivan accent on the words, laughter in the voice, even as he wrestled the girls up to carry one on each hip. “Did I not tell you _before_ that I only have so many hands?”_ _ _

___With an arm around his brother, Ferox hugged him before claiming Len, “Thank you, Fergus, for keeping everything safe.”_ _ _

___“Moira and Alise would have my balls and kick them around like toys if I didn’t keep everything safe, Pup.” Behind them Elissa was already getting ready to ask a question, if Fergus’ fast ‘save’ was anything to go by, “You have your balls to play with girls, nice pigskin with a bit of a bounce. Remember, just use the big rooms and the hallways for that. So long as you don’t tell your mother or Alise that I said you could. Get caught, and you’re on your own!”_ _ _

___Zevran snorted, his armour jangling and short girl legs kicked at his thighs with each step, “What? Is there no solidarity amongst allies? _You_ are as bad as the Crows. When we get caught, the only help we get is if we ask for the ‘special meal’.”_ _ _

___“What happens then?” Eleanor craned her head up as she leaned away, the arm looped around Zevran’s neck firmly affixed as any tick._ _ _

___“Well, then you get rescued,” Zevran explained, _‘Well, actually you die, but that is about as ‘rescued’ as one can get in those situations.’_ _ _ _

___“Liver and onions with mushrooms and anything else you don’t like to eat.” Ferox dryly added not wishing for more curious questions on the topic, “I would like to know if the new bouncing balls can actually hit the ceiling like Len was just telling me.”_ _ _

___The earnest nonsensical babbling of his continued in counterpoint._ _ _

___“I like onions, and I like liver, well, only when Zev makes it!” Eleanor said it as she squeezed her arm around his Zevran’s neck until the elf made ‘strangling’ and gagging sounds, which had them dissolving into giggles. The younger, and far more gregarious of the girls, Eleanor made a face. “Nooo they can’t bounce that high! You have to kick them, silly!”_ _ _

___“Ah then I’m guessing that Uncle Fergus showed you some of the games two boys used to play when they could not go outside. My favourite one was race, where we rolled the balls down from the family quarters...that corner is the tricky spot.”_ _ _

___Fergus elbowed him, “Giving them ideas, I’m blaming you, just so you know, when they get caught.”_ _ _

___Laughing easily, “Oh no. Mother never referred to me as ‘The Troublemaker,’ that was you my dear brother.” _Trouble indeed._ Realizing that he was in one of the long stone corridors. “And if you’re going to complain that I tricked you into numerous things, you’ll have to do it trailing behind me to the study.” The voices bouncing between the stones made the walk bearable, that, and he was holding and talking to Len, asking questions between the pauses of ‘conversation.’ _ _ _

___Nursey, _Probably should start calling her ‘Sarah’, dumb as a doornail, but honestly not that bad...likes Len and Thia, so I suppose those are points to like about her... Sort of,_ was knitting, wonder of wonders, with Moira, while Alise had a shawl over her breast and shoulder. Thia’s small legs jutted out from under it, so obviously it was _someone’s_ mealtime. _ _ _

___Once the girls were done with their little bouncing and skipping they went to play near the hearth with the dollies they had brought with them. That left Zevran to reaching hungrily for Len, while he rotated his wrist, displaying the amulet Avernus had made initially for them. Ferox hadn’t thought to ask what had been done with the other amulets Dulsanaya had made, he had just thought they had been destroyed. But Zevran had them, which was a safe place to have them, however... “What are you doing?”_ _ _

___The assassin picked their son up who was happily grabbing at Zevran’s face while the elf peppered little sucking kisses over chubby cheeks, “Testing something out, _querido._ Do not worry.”_ _ _

___With that, the Antivan took the leather thong necklace that had been wrapped around his wrist and slipped it under the shirt that kept the baby warm, and pressed the amulet to Len’s round belly. Suddenly happiness and garbled but intense images bloomed in his mind. Security, joy, such pure, simple joy, soared through the link. Reeling, Ferox could only reach out to wrap his arms around Zevran and his son, tucking his face in to hide the fact that moisture had welled up in his eyes, spilling over his cheeks._ _ _

____’Papi-Dada-safe-warm-happy-joy-joy-fun-joy-Dada-Papi-Mama- love-safe-happy-family-Lissy-Nori-happy-Gus-Leez-Dia-wooflove,’_ were almost words, but also were all pure emotion and images in a riot of image-emotion-scent-sensation-sound association. Ferox had to piece the constant flashing together, chuckling over the ‘names’ for Elissa, Eleanor, Fergus, Alise, Thia, and Horse then was brought up short for a second as to who ‘Mama’ was. The scent-sound-sensation of Moira filled baby’s mind and heart, a thread of not fully understood by an infantile mind song wafting and curling every which way._ _ _

___Inside Ferox, Zevran was moving/listening through him to touch Len’s small mind, sending a gentle feedback of those same emotions, a sliver of what Zevran had shown the night his mind exploded. _’Yes, Len, you are loved also.’__ _ _

___Overwhelmed and unable to say a word, Ferox squeezed them both and kissed their cheeks and sent his love. He hadn’t imagined such a possibility, sometimes he had wished he could do more than _tell_ Len, or show by holding and talking, that he cared for him so much. But to be able to slide into the basic yet very complex mind and soul to speak _directly_ , it was nearly as miraculous as Len’s existence itself._ _ _

____’Food?’_ image-word-scent-taste-touch, warm, sweet and thick milk splashing and leaking against a lapping and suckling tongue, pebbled nipple, musky and welcome, Len’s request was met with a kiss to the tip of a pert nose._ _ _

___“Yes, food, you can have some Len,” Zevran rocked the boy gently, passing him to Alise who already had Thia at her breast._ _ _

___Clearing his throat, Ferox made himself comfortable, accepting a large mug of tea, welcome for the distraction and its warmth. His gaze slid around Fergus’ office, startled once more that evening, by seeing Moira watch longingly at how Alise suckled the children. The large part of Ferox that wanted Zevran happy hoped that the two could have that with each other, even as the part of him that wanted to keep his assassin all to himself snarled possessively._ _ _


	15. Feast Day Pranks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pokes self then Briala*Yup, still meat popsicles of vaguely humanoid shape. As humans, we are prone to error. Anyone willing to assist in reducing those errors, would be welcome. Or anyone who notices a particular error, feel free to PM or comment to berate our muckups - you will be met with gratitude.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, for some reason AO3's HTML is not always recognizing italics for some odd reason. I'll go back and fix that at some point, for the moment, enjoy!

“It’s a good thing Grandfather wasn’t around to be a pain,” Fergus was finishing the last of his brandy, the others off doing things in the main hall. 

Ferox winced, “What makes you say that? And really, falling from the roof at eighty summers because he wished to try out his new fire-wheel toys wasn’t exactly the most...dignified way to go.” Pausing, “Explosive, certainly, entertaining for the children for a few minutes, but not dignified. And likely was rather painful.”

Fergus’ head rocked back as he laughed. “Right you are, Pup. Though, actually I was referring to the plethora of ‘foreigners’ in the family. He was always on about me marrying an Antivan. But _you_ would never have heard the end of it, an elven Antivan _Crow_. Ah, just imagining his expression makes me laugh.” His brother leaned back in his chair, thumping his boots atop the desk. “I for one think it’s a fine thing. Cagey as he is, I thought at the Royal Processions and all that, that his poor eyes would pop right out of his head with that mooncalf look he kept giving you.”

 _I haven’t married him, unfortunately, as I’m stuck with her Royal Harpyness._ Ferox snorted, “You are seeing things or exaggerating as usual.”

“Likely both,” the snort was echoed identically. Turning serious, “I still say it was about damn time. He’s good for you. You can’t know how much better that makes me feel. And I think after Father got over the initial surprise, he would agree and Mother would have been amused by him immediately.”

“Regardless, appearances must be kept. Anora believes that he is discretely entertaining himself with Moira, and I will not have that belief changed.”

Fergus grunted, his hands clasped over his stomach. “Of course they must. I’m not saying give that up. But you should still hear it from someone that _knows_ you that they are proud and glad to see you more yourself than you’ve been in years. And if I can’t tell you that, then what sort of brother am I? I haven’t always been the best, or been there for you, but you’re still my little brother, Ferox, and I want you to have some shred of peace.”

Shrugging, “Things happen, good and bad, at the moment they are good. And yes,” wondering if he was actually joking or not, and trying to sound like he was, “I’m already making backup plans.”

“Not everything requires them, Pup. There are some things you can depend on in this Maker forsaken world. He’s one of them.”

A flash of anger, hot for a moment before chilling, Ferox’s voice was calm and even, “Fergus, one thing I have had beaten into my head, is that anything, everything, can be taken away in a blink. One night can change the world.” _Highever, Ostagar, Redcliffe, Kinloch Hold, Denerim, and just this trip, West Hills and Kirkwall... There is hardly a place on the map of Ferelden where one night didn’t change everything. When will the list end?_

A haunted shadow entered his brother’s eyes, “I know. I know it just as much as you do. But it doesn’t change that so long as we breathe, there’s something still to live for.”

“And thus the need for a backup plan, else one might unintentionally take a walk off a well-placed tower.” _Ishal, Kinloch Hold, Fort Drakon or even the lava at the Carridin’s Anvil - all so very convenient._ Ferox swirled his glass for a moment, “On that very subject, I want you to do something for Wulff. Bring him here and turn him into a grandfather. The man is lonely, filled with grief over the loss of his sons, and is about to take his own leap off a tower. Personally, that would not do him justice; unlike Howe, he deserves more.”

“I feared as much, but had hoped a visit from you might do something for him,” Fergus sighed. “You always were his favourite ‘not-son-son’, carting you on his shoulders even when you got too big for Father to do the same.”

“I don’t even think he knew I was there, not even when approving orders given in his name. He is letting his city and arling run to ruin. Find somebody, anybody, to run it correctly, I don’t care if you have to make up a third cousin on his mother’s side. The best person for the job, I care not who they are, the colour of their blood, their height, or the shape of their ears, I only care that he or she can get the job done. Local handling would be best because by springtime this matter will have easily come to the Crown’s attention. I would rather that it only has to give official blessing to the actions the arl’s liege lord has already taken. Do this swiftly, as Eamon has been too quick to suggest for appointment those whom you would not like as your neighbour or your vassal.”

“I’ll take your advice on it, Pup.” But those eyes were appraising him, “As you are so good at finding your own reflection, I’m glad you went.”

Ferox grunted before setting down his glass and getting to his feet, as the hour was late. “I do what I can.”

As he reached the door, “Ferox, your present is down the hall, to the left, second to the last door. Have a warm winter, Pup.”

Frowning, Ferox thought of the mental map of the changes and things left unchanged, and wasn’t entirely certain what that area housed. “Good night, Fergus.”

When he went to his and Zevran’s room it was empty. None of their belongings were there. His lover wasn’t there. Shock and surprise thrust themselves into his mind, ice, having already made an appearance that night, crashed back into his veins. Apparently it was time for one of those backup plans. 

Hoping the desperation didn’t bleed through, _’Zevran?_

 _’ **Si, amora,** \- wait, what is wrong?’_ alarm sounded and he felt Zevran moving quickly, the amulet coming closer at a breakneck speed, even as Ferox was numbly sitting down to stare at the room. Riffling fingers worked their way into his mind even though Ferox almost tried to bat them aside, knowing it was futile, but the frozen anger was enough to urge him to at least _try_ to resist. “ _Maldicion, querido,_ what are you doing in _here_?” A sugar sprinkle of snow was on his blond hair, and he was wearing nothing more than leggings and a tunic, his belt loose, and the Voice of Velvet strapped to his thigh. “Did Fergus not tell you where we were?”

Growl barely restrained, “No. He only spoke of a present and it is not yet Saturnalia. Where are ‘we’?” He was even unsure of who that included.

Zevran sighed in obvious relief and irritation, moving to sit beside him. “Some place safe. And warm. With room for Len. And a room for ourselves, while the girls have one, and Moira and Sarah have another. When you and I wish time completely alone, they can go back to the nursery for a night or two.”

“So why...” Ferox shook his head, “Never mind. Show me where you have found this hideaway. I do not recommend the rooms under the stairs.”

Fingers went to his hair, tugging the loose tail free, massaging his scalp. “There is a section where the wings create a large ‘H’, the new kitchen and its garden are in one of the cross parts. Between that and the wings, there is the customary little food garden...and caddied up to the walls is a small cottage. Or what is basically a cottage. For the groundskeeper I assume. Or some such. A little bit of shuffling and everything was put to rights. Fergus was to distract you while we finished our work.”

“I think he got more than he bargained for, then. Are you saying that this is a present?” 

“I believe that was what Moira called it, she and Alise had their heads together while we were gone, saying it was a ‘perfect little present.’ Why?” the back of his skull was cupped, circular motions tugging the roots but not hard as he was pulled towards Zevran’s shoulder, allowing the assassin better access.

“Presents are not opened before Saturnalia. So I understood ‘Keep Out’, as Mother would say.”

Zevran tutted at him and pressed the line of his jaw to Ferox’s crown, “Presents are not only for Saturnalia, _amante_ , as I have always understood it. Else, why give so many of them when it was not such holidays?”

“Formal occasions, birthdays...this is none of these.” _Why is this important?_

“You gave me gloves, bars of gold and silver, boots. As I recall, not a single one of those gifts was given on a holiday, except the brandy and that stupid chastity belt, good thing I am an excellent thief so that I could purloin that key,” lips touched Ferox’s temple briefly.

“That was from Alistair and you know it. As for the rest, I can only point to being frequently hit on the head and the fact you needed new boots and gloves. _And_ last I checked, you’re from Antiva, what do you know of igloos and Ferelden holidays?” good humour returning slowly as Zevran’s preternatural warmth seeped in, despite his cool fingertips. Ferox’s eyes closed, enjoying the familiar calming touch. “You could tell me that there was a present in my desk drawer, and even if my favourite quill were in the drawer, I would not open it to look inside until permission was given to do so.”

The amulet where it pressed against his chest warmed with a soft vibration as though it were picking up Zevran’s spoken word. “I do have a present for you, five of them to be precise, but they will wait. And if your favourite quill was in that drawer, then all you need to is tell me it is there, and I will fetch it so you do not peek, hmn?” 

“Only because you do not wish me to ruin the nub on yours,” chuckling.

A snort, “You could take as many quills of mine as you wish. I go through them so fast that there is no time to develop a favourite.” His lover nuzzled at him, tip of nose pressing itself tight behind Ferox’s ear, “The gift of comfort and warmth and safety is one that needs no special holiday, _querido._ Come, let us go find it, yes?”

Rumbles, “As you wish. However as my brother so generously pointed out, you are the one who gets yelled at if we are caught.” Hesitating before he clarified, ”And if you are desiring that I make guesses about presents, you will have to say.”

The elf stood and stretched then held out a hand, grabbing Ferox’s arm about the wrist firmly. “Tchk, if we are talking about that present, then it is a gift you may have the surprise of any day or night in particular.” Between them as the door was pushed open, _’I believe your brother may have played a bit of a prank on you, yes? Quick, rumple those bedsheets, a shame there is nothing to throw on them just to prove a point. Augh, win some pranks, counter others, and simply tolerate and laugh at yourself for the other types.’_

Ferox gave Zevran an odd look, as if he were deciding something, which path to take or what plan to put into place, _’So put the pillows under the sheets for guilt.’ ___

__Zevran’s teeth flashed in his customary grin, _’Ah, here you said you were not good at pranks! I knew you were just having me on!’_ The elf quickly made the bed rumpled looking, then tucked up blankets over pillows, going so far as to pull out the spare covers stored in each room for those who got cold easily. By the time they were finished, the little mound appeared as though there were a large sleeper under the blankets, _’There we go, you are quite brilliant, my ridiculously awesome, **corizon. Muy sexo**.’__ _

___’The joke could have played for you...you were not up.’ Are you giving Fergus the benefit of the doubt? Apparently._ Fergus was the snooper, which was why he often knew everything before it was unwrapped. No doubt, except for the sealed crates and barrels, he already knew everything and just had to guess who it was meant for._ _

___’I was, but I was waiting for you,’_ Zevran made a face._ _

__Ice melted and balance restored, Ferox grasped his lover’s hand, twining their fingers and he followed gamely to the heavy door Fergus had pointed out. Pausing on the threshold for a moment, cold air swirling around them blowing snow, he was tugged outside. It was still dark, but the front of the storm had passed, and along with it the harsh striking wind, now it was dumping large flakes of snow. The short path to the little cottage had been cleared perhaps an hour ago but was already covered with several inches of fluffy whiteness - of course, the shovel would be leaning next to the cottage. It was separate without being unprotected, private without being cut off._ _

__All of this was new, not there that night, not contaminated with nightmares of blood and smoke, clean, not even containing memories of before. Virgin and waiting. Stepping onto the covered porch, they stomped and brushed off snow before opening the door to the little enclosed entry to remove said snowy boots._ _

__Asking as he put his boots away, “Where did the...grounds’ keep relocate?”_ _

__“The old family apartments for them, do not worry, we are not putting anyone out,” Zevran shivered, going to the hearth where a pot hung on a hook beside the coals, pouring hearty mugs of spicy smelling cider for them both, then pulling a flask out and putting a hefty dose of its contents into the mugs._ _

__“Ah.” Outwardly there was no response, but the shudder was felt in the link. Closing the entry door behind him, leaving the cold behind, Ferox followed into the main communal room, curious of the new construction. It reminded him a bit of a dwarven layout, but it wasn’t all carved stone._ _

__Moira poked her head out from a doorway, “Len is abed, but I can get him for you.” Her voice was soft, “The girls are down for the night as is Sarah. She’s got breakfast duties, so I told her to get some rest while I waited for you. I was beginning to get worried.” A shawl was tugged around her shoulders as she puttered around, hair pinned up for the night, “I’ll just bank the fires for you.”_ _

__“Fergus kept us longer than he had intended,” Ferox kept his rumble to a minimum._ _

__Zevran was gulping and clutching at his mug and poured himself a second cup, _’I am sorry, **querido** , I should have come and waited as soon as the last little things were seen to.’__ _

___’Not your fault, mine for not listening._ “You are cold, shall we get you warm before taking Len? Or will that do it?”_ _

__Moira breezed past them, a hand laying briefly against Zevran’s cheek as she tutted, “Oh you, ser, are going to need to be much warmer than _that_ to hold him. He will awake and cry, both of you know how he doesn’t like to be chilly. If it were even possible, I would say that between the two of you, you planted Len into...you know who...with not a bit of her blood to that boy.” She harumphed at Ferox, “He has both of your dispositions.” Then she smiled, “It’s funny how children just take after whomever. Sometimes a cousin, sometimes a parent, sometimes a family friend.”_ _

__“Then he had your disposition even before meeting you, Moira. Why don’t you keep Len for tonight and I’ll see that this delicate hot house flower returns to room temperature, at least.”_ _

__A be-socked foot nudged him in the thigh, “Cactus.”_ _

__Snorting, “Oh yes, the made up thing that is ‘fun.’ I ‘forgot’.”_ _

__Moira rolled her eyes at him, leaned up to peck his cheek, then over to Zevran for one on his temple, “You two boys have a good night.”_ _

__After Moira went to her room, Ferox looked over at Zevran, “I would warm those hands and feet but I don’t know what is behind the doors.”_ _

__A long brown finger was pointed to the first door, “Moira and Sarah’s room, Len is with them.” The middle door, “Elissa and Eleanor’s room. The last is the storage and pantry. And that -” pointing to where a short ladder that could be pulled up, “- is the way to up there -” the position of the fingertip changed, pointing directly overhead, “- to our room. The loft. Yes, you should be able to stand throughout most of it, _querido_ , yes there is a large bed, yes there is a source of heat, yes, our gear is there, and yes, you are aware, now at least, of what is behind the doors. And there are bookshelves that have been stocked in the loft, down here, there is enough space for your brother, his wife, and Thia to visit. This is our winter roost, _amora_ , the only thing we _have_ to gain from the castle, is stores. We only have enough for a week or so.”_ _

__“It’s only a step or two away and the ropes have already been strung in case the worst happens. Did Fergus...of course he did.” Ferox explained, “He would have connected the cottage to the artesian well. That’s why the water bubbles out when the pipe is uncapped.” Gesturing at the pipe, under which a rain barrel sat. “The spring is under the plateau and is one of the main reasons why the castle was placed here.”_ _

__“Fresh flowing water is always a good reason to put something somewhere,” his assassin finished his cider and stretched with a groan. “Shall we go test out that pile of mattresses upstairs?”_ _

__“After you my fair rogue.” Curiously, _’Is it only a pile of mattresses because you are including me?’__ _

__Laughter as he scrambled up the ladder, _’Ah, part of the present to me was no fewer than two mattresses. Three counting yourself.’_ Just as Ferox was clearing the trapdoor a tunic landed atop his head, a thump from a body impacting those touted mattresses, and a happy muffled sound. “Ah, there is even still a bit of a warm spot left! Auck, no, those are bricks. Even better.”_ _

__Plfpting and putting the cloth from his face, Ferox let his eyes adjust to the dim light before moving to crawl in next to the squirmy elf searching for a bit of remaining warmth. Steeling himself for the inevitable touch of frozen hands, nose and whatever else was cold, Ferox reached out to take his ‘punishment.’ _Probably was another trap that I did not realize was so at the time._ _ _

__Instead he found the elf surprisingly warm, but before he had more than a moment to frown, slickness was reaching for him even as lips met his with a grin. _’Expecting something, _querido_?’_ while the assassin’s other hand was already worming its way under Ferox’s shirt. _’Cold hands perhaps?’__ _

__“Always, along with the rest of a cold assassin. Did you find a hot spring somewhere we do know know about?”_ _

__A nonchalant shrug, “I picked up the freshest brick that was baking beside the fire.”_ _

__“Is that all? Next you will be swimming in lava just to warm yourself a bit,” amused._ _

__“I wished to entice you to have those dreadful barriers removed, and cold hands was not the way to do it,” rolling onto his back, Zevran stretched until there was a single soft pop and an enticingly contented moan. “It is not as though anyone will be scampering up those rungs to interrupt in the night or morning. Nor are there any flimsy tents, barely able to block out the wind. You will be overheated... And I, myself would like access to all things Ferox,” the smirk was there, echoing a sentiment Ferox had had about Zevran._ _

__Apparently it was a sentiment that had slipped through without him noticing._ _

__As he pulled off his leggings and tunic, Ferox rumbled, “You needed only to ask.”_ _

__“A power and ability to be used wisely,” arms pulled Ferox in close, oil slick and began kneading at the tightness of his shoulders. “You are growling enough, I had no wish to press, so devised the method of warm hands. For my feet, I cannot make any promises.”_ _

__Ferox sighed, a rare contented one, as he began to relax under the warm and sure hands. “I didn’t think I had growled much today...well, at Fergus, but I wasn’t willing to take instructions on what could, or could not, be depended on and ended giving him some on Wulff and necessity of having a backup plan. Probably provoking the ‘joke.’”_ _

__The Antivan twisted around him, straddling his thighs, tugging on the muscles. “Perhaps ‘growl’ was not the correct term, but you were very agitated and I seek to make it less. But it is good to see that there is something to be done about the old arl. He seemed a rather kind fellow and dutiful, if still heavily wounded of soul and heart.”_ _

__“I suggested he be brought here to play grandfather and a new arl be sought. The man needs to heal and this would be a good place for what he needs...he lost three sons and I don’t recall any of them having children. Oh, that’s nice...right there,” as Zevran found another knot. “I think that family and farm might wake him up. Wulff’s not done yet...and I won’t have another useless death or a wasted life on my head.”_ _

__A section of vertebrae shifted as the muscles that had locked them into an off-kilter position loosened, the force of a heel digging in and realigning them properly, was a hard pressure but not unpleasant, “Mmmn, no high vantages, yes? Enough temptation for a strong man, too much for a weakened one.”_ _

__“Despair and loss of purpose...and he has no one to keep him from the edge. I said as much to Fergus. I do not think it was something he had considered such an outcome for either of us.”_ _

__Zevran shifted, moving to scoot beneath the covers enough so he could reach Ferox’s leg, “It is hard to acknowledge when someone who has always been strong, impervious, always dependable and stable, has taken a blow that was of such force that they may tumble if there is nothing put in place to steady them.”_ _

__“Even a tower can fall if enough stones are removed from its footing. Rot can warp and crumble the supports.” Ferox rolled over when he was given a strong tap on a hip, freeing his lover to work on the muscles of stomach and chest, “Anything can fall given the right circumstances. The first tower, one that belonged to the Wardens - Morrigan pointed out that ‘T’was a tower no longer’ - it was a ruin in a swamp. The buildings around it sinking into the marsh.” Muttering, “If that wasn’t a metaphor for what happened next, I’m a muskox.”_ _

__“Glad I am that you were correct then, for as much as I value the smell of you, if you were a muskox I think that would be akin to the cat piss and lilac you detest so much, yes?” Zevran arched over and down for a moment to brush his mouth over forehead, eyes, the corners of Ferox’s mouth, and the last one over the hollow of his throat, before sliding to the side. “Since you are not a muskox then, this proves the veracity of your supposition.”_ _

__“Zevran, did you swallow a few dictionaries when you were a child?” Ferox grunted at his elf._ _

__The fact that the Crow had to _think_ about that as it took a few moments before there was a response - was disturbing. “No, why?”_ _

__“Never mind,” rolling his eyes in the dimness as he waited for Zevran to settle in for the night. “Since we are trapped here until the weather breaks, or my guess, the winter, would you teach me how to do this for you, to give a massage? You seem to like to give them and I like to receive, perhaps the opposite would be true.”_ _

__Surprise blended with pleasure flowing through the link, “I should like to think that I would like that very much, _amante._ ”_ _

__XXX_ _

__Eleanor was in his lap and demanded that Uncle Fox read to her._ _

__Unfortunately, he held a rather dull tome, one he found interesting but one that would not make for interesting reading. Undeterred after hearing his concern, she asked again. Ferox said, “ The Studious Theologian by Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar.” Just as he always began with Len’s ‘studies,’ he explained, “Always cite your source at the beginning and at the end, this way the listener knows what the subject will be, and then again at the end so they are reminded of who wrote what they just heard.” _ _

__Clearing his throat, “For most good folk, the details of our calendar have little purpose. It is useful only for telling them when the Summerday Festival will be held, when the snows are expected to begin and when the best time to harvest will be. The naming of the years are a matter for historians and taxmen, and few could even tell you if pressed the reason that our current Age is named after dragons.”_ _

__“It is 9:30 Dragon Age, the thirtieth year of the Ninth Age since the first began with the crowning of the Chantry’s first Divine.” Interrupting himself, “At least, when he wrote this, that was the date.”_ _

__“Each Age is exactly one-hundred years, with the next Age being named on the ninety-ninth year of the previous. It is said that the scholars in Val Royeaux advise the Chantry of portents that have been sighted on that ninety-ninth year, portents that are sorted and pored over for months by the Chantry authorities until finally the Divine announces the name of the Age to come. The name is said to be an omen of what is to come, of what the people of Thedas will face for the next hundred years.”_ _

__“It is interesting to note that the current Age was not originally meant to be the Dragon Age.” As an aside, Ferox hummed, “Hrm, I did not know this. It’s news to me.” Returning to the book, “Throughout the last months of the Blessed Age, the Chantry was, in fact, fully preparing to declare the Sun Age, named after the symbol of the Orlesian Empire that, at the time, sprawled over much of the south of Thedas and controlled both Ferelden and much what is today Nevarra. It was to be a celebration of Orlesian imperial glory.” Taking a book from the table next them, Ferox opened to a large coloured map. “We are here now. This is Denerim where the palace is. Here,” pointing at Amaranthine, “is where you climbed on the ship. Zev and I then rode along this road to meet you here at Highever. We then rode to West Hills, which is over here along this same road, to see my Uncle Wolf.”_ _

__“Where are the Frostback Mountains?” Eleanor waited with startling patience for him to finish, her legs tucked to one side as she leaned up against his chest peering both at Len and the open book curiously._ _

__Ferox pointed to each area, then pointed to the triangles on the page, “These are mountains, when you see shapes like this on the map. And these words here tell the person looking at it, that these are the Frostback Mountains.” Tapping one area, along the coast, “And this is where we are now, at Highever Castle in the Coastland Mountains. It is many many days travel from here and very cold. The winds blow up from the south between the snowy mountains and the icy glaciers. Zev did not like being there at all and it wasn’t even winter. Sometimes I wonder at the shades of blue he turned, like a glacier calving. When pieces of ice fall off of a glacier, they are blue like the sky on the bluest day you can think of.”_ _

__Eleanor grinned, pressing her giggling face into Ferox’s bicep. “Zev doesn’t ‘moo.’”_ _

__“Ahh, calving it what it is called when pieces of the glacier fall off. There is usually a very loud noise and then the broken pieces tumble down the mountain or, if there is a lake in front of them, they fall into water to make a giant splash. The pieces are then icebergs floating in the lake. Some of these pieces are collected, wrapped in blankets or hay, and shipped to large cities to be stored in underground caves to cool party drinks in the summertime or make iced cream. However, I prefer using frozen lake water, as it has much less dirt in it.”_ _

__“Ohhh,” with a wiggle she had her arms around Len to prop him up to watch the map and the pages of the book._ _

__Returning to the history book, Ferox kept the book of maps open as well, on the armrest and referred to it each time he named a new place or location. “As the rebellion in Ferelden reached a head and the decisive Battle of River Dane was about to begin, however, a peculiar event occurred: a Rampage, the rising of a dreaded high dragon occurred. The dragons had been thought practically extinct since the days of the Nevarran dragon hunts, and to see this great beast rise from the Frostbacks was said to be both a majestic and terrifying sight. As the Rampage began and the high dragon began decimating the countryside in its search for food, the elderly Divine Faustine II abruptly declared the Dragon Age.”_ _

__Pausing to re-emphasize, “The Dragon Age is our current calendar Age. And both Zev and I met three different High Dragons. The High Dragons are the biggest size ever observed. My leather armour is made of the leather of one of these dragons and one of my very heavy armours was made from another’s scales. Their skins are very tough. The wings can also be made into armour too, which is very flexible and hardly weighs anything. Zev’s armour is made from this type of leather. He likes to move quickly, while I do not move around much at all in my heavy armour. It would be very difficult for me to play tag or do somersaults like he can. Sometimes, when he thinks I’m not paying attention, Zev likes to jump off of my back. If I was wearing armour like his, it would not work as well, because it bends too much. What I wear is much like stone and it is not flexible, so it does not bend at all,” ending the explanation._ _

__“Some say that the Divine did this to declare support for Orlais in the coming battle against Ferelden, the dragon being found in the Dufayel family heraldry belonging to King Meghren of Ferelden, the so-called ‘Usurper King.’ Be that as it may, the high dragon’s Rampage turned towards the Orlesian side of the Frostback Mountains, killing hundreds and sending thousands fleeing to the northern coast, and the Fereldan rebels won the Battle of River Dane, ultimately securing their independence.”_ _

___’Now would be a good time to remind Len that he has the blood of heroes in his veins, **querido**. His logic was uninformed and flawed, but it would have been very easy for you to fall in the same holes Loghain did,’_ Zevran touched his mind lightly. _’He was a man like any other, just as Len will be eventually when he has grown. See the man, see the deeds, but do not forget that both sides always have a point.’__ _

___’In saving the army from needless slaughter and attempting to persuade a silly king and another who should have known better from making a stupid mistake, I still maintain that Loghain did what was best for Ferelden at Ostagar. What happened next...well, the man was not a politician, he was a general who had already had much education and many unpleasant experiences at the hand of the Orlesians. I hold no grudge for that.’_ _ _

__Having used the time to converse using the amulets to pull the book of maps closer, Ferox pointed out the River. “This is the River Dane which was named after a man named Dane who lived a long time ago. He is said to have owned a pack of wolves, from which the mabari war dogs descended - that said however, other sources say that mabari were bred in Tevinter and later came to Ferelden. Other countries have not embraced the,” looking to the hound who is looking back at them very attentively, “very intelligent and loyal mabari. Some say that that some breeds of horses are intelligent, but I have yet to determine if they are as loyal however.”_ _

__“Back to our river, here at this spot,” tapping the page, “Len’s grandfather, the Queen’s father, Loghain Mac Tir and his good friend, King Maric along with the king’s soldiers, defeated many Orlesian troops. Orlais, here,” pointing to the country, “had sent many soldiers into Ferelden to take things away from the people who lived here. Loghain became known as the Hero of River Dane because of his many brave acts that day. It is said that the armour he wore from that point afterwards was taken from a chevalier who commanded the Orlesian troops. Zev and I saw him wearing that very armour. One of the things I liked best about him, was Loghain’s large collection of maps. Many of them are hung in important rooms of the palace. Some of these maps he even drew himself.”_ _

__“Oh! I want to see them!” she squeaked as she hugged Len, who released a hiccuping burp and a bit of spit up, that she crinkled her nose at before Ferox could clean it up, mopping it away first._ _

__“Len and I often take walks at lunchtime, through many of these rooms where the maps are hung. Perhaps he would be willing to trade a day and let you come in his place. Len has not been very interested in maps yet, but says that the food in the kitchen is always good.” _Oh that was excellent, Ferox. Went and stuck your foot right in that trap, you didn’t even look under the leaves first. It’s gonna bruise, I can tell...you just wait._ He didn’t mention the maps in his office or Nathaniel’s office or Zevran’s new office next door._ _

__Ferox picked back up the history book, “It is thus thought by many that the Dragon Age may, in fact, come to represent a time of violent and dramatic change for all of Thedas. It remains to be seen whether this will be so.” Pausing, “Remember, to restate the source; we just read from The Studious Theologian by Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar.”_ _

__Eleanor was yawning and trying to hide it, while Elissa was already passed out, half draped over Horse. Apparently his version of ‘bedtime stories’ hadn’t gone over very well. Except Eleanor kept peering at the maps and whispering to Len as she took on Ferox’s tone. Ferox nearly chuckled at it, but when the young girl’s yawns became bigger and bigger, Moira finally stepped in and carted her off to bed as Zevran had already gotten the older Elissa settled in._ _

__XXX_ _

__It was as if the first little misunderstanding of the present behind the door and the blankets and pillows in the bed started the season of Feastday jokes and pranks. Ferox tried to keep his head down, but as he was usually the tallest in any room unless Fergus was present, or a few of the guards, this was difficult. He tried to be the neutral party, not involving himself in any prank and thus became the straight man for jokes and unknowingly the method of delivery for many of tricks and traps._ _

__Except the time when Zevran pulled him aside, shadow and muffling pulled around them with the assassin’s skill. To Fergus’ study they went, sneaking in like common thieves, _Or little boys about to do something naughty. Don’t sigh Ferox, don’t sigh,_ where Zevran snickered, sounding most certainly like a little boy as he poured out the whiskey into an empty flask, then switched it with something else that _smelled_ like whiskey for the most part. Then the rogue knelt at Fergus’ desk, wiping something along handles, then sticking an odd pouch in the seat cushion before taking Ferox’s hand and racing away. Later he found out that the ‘whiskey’ had been nothing but vinegar and few splashes of whiskey and some tea to keep it dark enough and mask the initial scent. And that the stuff wiped on the handles had been glue, while what was put between the seat cushions was a foul smelling bladder filled with some noxious concoction that stank of rotten eggs and pig shit. _ _

__And when Fergus was scratching away, apparently his clothes hadn’t been left safe - itching nettle had been sprinkled in his small clothes. Alise wasn’t very happy with Zevran for that one, who protested long and loud that _he_ hadn’t put anything in Fergus’ smalls. Ferox was rather certain that the assassin _hadn’t_ , but had likely been the one who came up with that prank, directly overseeing it. _ _

__When they had all begun to take turns at changing the babies, another prank was found. A very large, squirting pile of prank. _That_ one had even Ferox green around the gills while everyone laughed. Until it was their turn. Of course by some ‘miracle’ Zevran was never the one who had a turn come up with a farting, laughing, and squishily disgusting baby to change. _ _

__“Truly, _querido_ , why you blame that one on me, I have no clue. Here, let me change Thia, it is...oh dear Maker it is that bad,” making a face. _’Honestly, it was not me. Aiesh, this smells like toddler with coffee runs...’__ _

___’Who else would think of that then if not you?’_ growling and rumbling at his lover._ _

___’Somebody who knows coffee? Surely other than myself there is another who fits that bill, **amora** ,’_ the protest very innocent._ _

___’Do you wish me to go through the room full of your Crows tossing them out of the way over my shoulders as I search for the perpetrator? Or will you stop?’_ _ _

__Zevran rolled his eyes towards Fergus who was currently making faces at Len, _’It is not only Antivans who know fine drink.’__ _

___’Then why is it that you’ve never had a turn?’_ Ferox pointed out._ _

___’Easy enough to answer, no hard riddle there - diverting attention and scrutiny,’_ which was admittedly quite plausible - too plausible and therefore, unable to be trusted._ _

__XXX_ _

__Everywhere, not only were pranks going on, but baking and preparations commenced for the actual Feast Day. During clear day, wearing snowshoes, Ferox led a group into the evergreen forest to gather greenery for decorations. The girls helped paint delicate sugar cookie stars that would be hung or placed in the greenery. After the stars, gingerbreads, little boys and girls received their decorations and were set aside to run into hungry mouths later. The braided fruit filled breads, brushed with egg white, lightweight and tasty. Ferox’s personal favourite was the vaisiu pyragas, a sweet fruity bread. Zevran’s ‘treasure chests’ of delicacies were very popular in the kitchens and raided freely._ _

__Alise crafted a feather tree as a table centerpiece made of white goose feathers and even went as far to put red beads on the ends of each branch to look like berries. Wooden decorations were dug out of storage, painted or decorated with tiny glass beads or charms. Garlands made of twisted fabrics, more beads, or strings of fruit that needed drying anyway, were everywhere. Something that fascinated the girls was the women twining and wrapping white thread on pegs tapped into lumber from the reverse side, making intricate designs that looked like snowflakes were created on these forms. The end of the wooden pegs, were dipped in a liquid starch and when the threads were still slightly damp, the dainty and fragile snowflakes were lifted away from the boards to finish drying._ _

__It was impossible to hide as there were jobs for everyone. Anyone whose hands were empty, their arms were quickly filled and they were pointed in a direction and given instructions._ _

__And the pranks continued._ _

__There was a morning Ferox came down the ladder and put a foot into a pan of melting snow. With a chill that had little to do with a wet foot, he climbed back up, put on a dry sock, hanging the wet one next to the chimney, and went out to put the guard through their paces with little mercy._ _

__Later that week, Geoffrey finally received the sparring match that had first been proposed months ago. In the weighty armour with massive weapons, it was a game of sorts. When a touch was made, they separated and the man who was struck laid down the weapon he was carrying and exchanged it for a different one placed outside of the circle - sword and shield, axe, even the duel wielding of weapons, whatever the company carried with them was set out and made available. He lost track of how many weapons they went through and how many strikes were made. The next day, rested, and in leathers lighter than the layers of steel, they began again, quicker strikes, faster steps, arms moving more rapidly, it was a display that drew the men from their posts. At the end of the bout, with an arm around the other, both men laughing, something had been restored, almost made right. It must have been the air, because Ferox didn’t touch others like that, but it had felt right, easy in the moment._ _

__Shortly after that, Ferox found himself hauled off by Zevran for reasons unknown until a secure closet was found. Strong hands had pulled him in enough to press a crushing and devouring mouth to his and Ferox had to slam a hand on the door for balance, the other going to tug at his lover. A lover who had other things on his mind, the cod piece of Ferox’s armour removed and shoved aside, swallowing heat, a blond head at his hip, greedily pulling at him and tasting him, until all Ferox could do was groan and release._ _

__As Zevran was deftly rearranging Ferox’s armour, the assassin growled in his ear, “ _Mino, todo le mino._ ” [Mine, all mine.]_ _

__An arm round the elf, “What?” voice cracking and heart still racing._ _

__Long tongue licked and sucked at his bottom lip, he could feel it as it moved, flicking to taste the salt of exertion on Ferox’s throat. Strong fingers dug into the back of Ferox’s neck as the assassin pressed his nose to the underside of Ferox’s strong jaw, inhaling deeply, a low-level vibration constantly rolling from the elf’s chest. “ _Mine._ ”_ _

__“Always.” Ferox was wracking his mind which seemed to be sadly lacking at the moment. “Why?” _What caused this? That was a good one, ask that._ “Zevran? What did I do?” _No, that wasn’t it...try again._ Except it was particularly difficult to think clearly with the fact that the Antivan kept _licking_ his neck, growling without stop. Holding back a hiss when teeth nipped him once down near the collar of his armour, Ferox prodded once more as valiantly as he could muster, “Zevran? What is it?”_ _

__All he got was deeper growl and another long lick with the utterly inaccurate answer of, “It is nothing.”_ _

___It is **not** ‘nothing’ or wasn’t._ Ferox was however becoming aware of the closed in space, the lack of movement of air._ _

__Zevran pulled away a dark gleam in his eyes within their resting place in his brown face, turning around to open the door, forcing Ferox to finally stop leaning his weight on it. _’It is nothing, I was merely feeling territorial, **querido**. I am much better now.’_ _ _

___Is that all?_ Shaking his head as if water would not leave one ear, off balance. _’As you say.’ Closets should come with windows. ‘What can I do for you?’_ _ _

___’As I said, I am fine, anything can wait until later, **mi hermoso amante** ,’_ the words purred into Ferox’s mind as the assassin moved to open the door and grant freedom. _ _

___What the frell just happened?_ breathing air that wasn’t trapped in a closet. The edge of wild, snapping and snarling starting to rise in him, began to fade instead. _I’m not complaining. Why, yes, I am. No, you are not. Complaining would be very stupid. Which is why I’m not doing it. Right. Right.__ _

__XXX_ _

__After the children and women had gone to bed, Zevran, Fergus, and Ferox discussed the world in general and Ferelden in particular in Fergus’ study. Why they had gathered there instead at the little cottage, Ferox didn’t remember. Having suggested the topic of implementing a regular messenger service, Zevran steeped tea then distributed the large mugs before flopping in and stretching over a comfortable armchair. Ferox, making use of a foot stool, and was referring to the book of maps spread on his lap as they discussed how to do this, who should be employed to do it, how to fund it, and should the Crown support it or should it be an independent for profit entity. Horses were a must, fast ones, good riders...as the Crows were employed in so many things already that that was a suggestion quickly dismissed._ _

__“Tryouts. Call them races and have games of skill, it might help us locate riders...even if we have to loan a few horses to some riders,” Ferox suggested, feeling a bit off._ _

__“We’ve never had much in the way of horses, now it seems like the Crown owns most of them...” a peculiar expression on Fergus’ face made Ferox feel like laughing as his stomach twitched._ _

__Zevran smirked over the rim of his mug, and it was a very _odd_ looking smirk, or was it just...? Ferox shook his head once, blinking rapidly trying to catch the thread of what Zevran was saying. “Horseclans...hardy...nomadic....”_ _

__If they were anything like Zevran, then of _course_ they were hardy. Which made Ferox start laughing, for whatever reason, but it was impossibly funny, and he just couldn’t help it. That started a chain of events that had Fergus laughing as well, both of them sounding giddy as little boys._ _

__“Well that happened faster than expected,” Zevran’s tone was mild._ _

__Fergus was gasping as he nearly giggled, “What-what did you give us?”_ _

__“Mushrooms,” even though the carefully enunciated word sounded like ‘muchrooms’ to Ferox who slid from his chair balling up to giggle._ _

__“You’re such a fungi, fun guy!” Ferox thought he might have said that, or maybe it was Fergus. He couldn’t really tell. Suddenly stopping in his laughter as there was a small little ball hanging down in front of his face, which was _utterly_ fascinating. “Oh...”_ _

__Zevran’s voice was from far off while fingers ran over Ferox’s forehead, the little ball on the string, he knew it was on a string because he had batted it once in curiosity to find out how that ball got there and was floating in the air in the _first place_ , all keeping him relatively entertained, “Well now, you both appear to be having fun, yes? Anyone wish to discuss the philosophy of the all?”_ _

__Ferox had no intention of discussing such things, he would leave that to the others. He just wanted to press his face into Zevran’s side and listen to the way accented words tripped off of that long tongue that tasted so good when he sucked on it, a memory that made him rumble. Rolling onto his side on the floor, his head resting on the Antivan’s thigh, he watched the way clothes shifted and moved with each word, each breath, finding meaningful patterns in the weave. If he stared at it long enough he might finally understand something...vital. What that vital thing was, much like many other things, Ferox wasn’t sure._ _

__As fingers dragged from his crown to the ends of his hair, the motion of Zevran tucking his head down to look at Ferox drew Ferox’s eye, “Oh my you do have very large eyes, _querido._ How are you feeling?”_ _

__“Your tunic’s got explodin’ stars in it, how’d they get there?” he was undecided if he wanted to stare at his lover’s shirt more, or up at his dark bronze face, with all those etched and sloping angles. “Suns don’t have explodin’ stars.”_ _

__The assassin chuckled at him, “I will take that as you are feeling very fine indeed, no?”_ _

__The laugh triggered and sent Ferox off into fits of his own. Every time he thought he might stop, the expression of Fergus or Zevran trying to repress their own set them all a’giggling again. At some point Fergus had grabbed pen and paper and began to scribble things. It left Ferox and Zevran virtually alone in the study, even with the faint scratch-scratch-scratch-grunt of Fergus’ mad writing, the crackle-licking-crack of the fire devouring the wood slowly. It wasn’t something he did much, which seemed to be a very vast crime, but he looked at Zevran, looked at him hard._ _

__It was a crime because those amber eyes were his sun, even though he shouldn’t stare at the sun, but they were so pretty, brilliant, glowing in the deeply golden face with those fine rays on either side crinkling. Warmth, everything shared, and no thought to it. A feeling like what was shared before, the overwhelming surface of the sun, heat, light, safety...love, adoration was remembered. All of it had come from these eyes, this face, Ferox wanted to share that back, or share it again, some more. How did the sun get golden brown? Licking a thumb, he reached up to see if it would rub off on him and ended up tracing the three marks instead...they didn’t rub off either. The crinkles deepened. He loved those eyes, loved how they looked at him, warmed him. Fingers wandering off on their own to trace a fascinating ear watching it bend and curl. He loved those ears, loved the hisses that came with the movement. Oh, then there was that lovely blond hair, so fine it caught on his fingers and they became tangled. He loved that hair, loved it braided or undone, framing the eyes that he would do anything for, give anything to, they only had to ask. Somehow he knew, even though nothing had moved other than the hand that was lost in the smooth locks, he was certain that he was wrapped around his sun, coiling around his back, skin to skin, golden to brown. Somehow he saw all of this even as he looked up into this beautiful sun he loved._ _

__“You’re beautiful,” words popped out of their own accord weighty with reverence._ _

__Zevran’s nose crinkled at him, “Shall we compete for who can say it the most?”_ _

__Ferox shook his head a little, “You nearly blind me with it but you’re so bright, I can’t look away.”_ _

__“You can if you want to,” fingers curled around and slid up Ferox’s wrist to his elbow, then his shoulder._ _

__Again he shook his head, a light rock side to side in the negative, his gaze not moving from the unblinking stare. “I’ll be cold again if I look away.”_ _

__“Do not worry, I will not let you be cold,” the voice filled his ears, mind and swallowed Ferox whole, or was that the lips on his?_ _

__Brief eternity where all Ferox was was a puff of breath carried on a tide of pure sensation, the room and reality spinning from the shining center that was anchoring him in one place. The room and every object and person orbited the bright sun that licked the inside of his mouth with a gently crackling flame. Was he standing, laying or spinning in place? Ferox was sure he had been staring at the ceiling while spinning in place, like in childhood games seeking the swooping-dizziness and stuttering balance._ _

__Returning to focus, Ferox tried to blink, first one sliding down smoothly at the direction, the second following much slower. Pressing a hand to Zevran’s cheek, the warmth burning away fog while making more, “These are not like your others.”_ _

__“Faded you mean? The artist who did them originally, is long dead and the one who did much of my other work refused to re-lay these in,” so steady, Ferox wondered why Zevran was so grounded._ _

__“Why?” tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth for a moment._ _

__“It is one thing that could not be taken away by the Crows, the one thing that my mother gave me that no one could rob me of,” backs of fingers grazed Ferox’s cheek, then slipped along his jaw._ _

__Shifting his head on Zevran’s supporting arm, “I thought you said...”_ _

__“Those were _items_ , just as my life was. But what could never be taken away was the last place she touched me,” a gliding caress from just above Ferox’s eyebrow down to the outer corner of his mouth was dragged. “But we do not mark the places a person who died has touched us, it is a bad omen, so that is why it is faded, no fresh ink has been pressed into the skin. It is my first tattoo and thus the oldest, time, sun and weather have left it this shade rather than the stark black you see elsewhere on me.”_ _

__“Do you...do you want them...black again?” Dark marks on his sun? Would it change it? Be less bright?_ _

__The hand in his hair tugged and massaged, no longer combing through the sable waves. “I miss them but it has been...fifteen years? Twenty? Since they last popped with sooty darkness. Unlike the rest of my body, I could not keep my face shaded entirely from sunlight or weather. As to whether I wish them back, if my arms would twist into a position and angle that allowed it, I would have re-tapped them into my face long ago.”_ _

__Fingers in his hair, rubbing the indented crack in his skull, ohhhh, he loved that too, it was his favourite, no, wait...the eyes were his favourite, right? _Yes._ Then the fingers, they were next...with everything else. Rumbling, he knew there was a question, it was really important... _We don’t mark..._ Oh... “Who’s we?”_ _

__Golden orbs blinked rapidly, “Ah. A slip of the tongue. Tchk, my tolerance is not as great as it once was. Well...when pressed, I will generally identify as ‘Antivan’, yes?” Ferox nodded, understanding that much at least. “But I must say a...great deal of me is the byproduct of Zamitie raising me and my time amongst the horseclans. Antiva is my homeland, my country, the horseclans are my people.”_ _

__“That’s why you always called the Dalish ‘my mother’s people,’ isn’t it?” tumbling onto that question that broke free without his conscious mind even realizing that that had been something that bugged him for years. “They do colours.”_ _

__“So do the horseclans,” Zevran shrugged. “But it is usually indigo or black predominately. Colours that last a very long time in a harsh climate. And the Dalish markings are dedications to the Creators, not to the self and the whole and identity. I feel no need to bind myself to a god that has turned its gaze from this world. Maker or Creator. The divine is within each of us, we need no external force, at least not one that has abandoned us, yes?”_ _

__Ferox was pretty certain about this, “No, she lives in Orlais.”_ _

__“That is _The_ Divine. Not divinity and spirit within us, she is some old biddy sitting upon a golden throne, dictating and ruling far too much of the world, as even monarchs live in fear of her,” the Crow grunted. _ _

__“Talk to me...tell me everything...I want more words.” _Sure about that? Yes!__ _

__Zevran leaned in to rub the tip of their noses together, smiling faintly, “And what do you wish me to talk to you about, _amora_? You know I am versed on many topics.”_ _

__He hadn’t thought that far, but the last time he asked the first thing that came to mind, it had turned out rather well, “Umm, tell something I don’t know.”_ _

__“You are are the best father I have ever seen,” the hand in his hair left, moving down to rub at a spot over his heart, but Ferox didn’t have time to be sad over the fact that the phrenology session had ended, because the hand that belonged to the arm he was laying on, took the first hand’s place._ _

__“Nooo, I know that one too. It’s Fergus. He laughs and likes children and plays games. Where’s Fergus?” Mumbling as Ferox rubbed his head into Zevran’s hand, “Oh don’t stop doing that.”_ _

__Zevran picked up his head, looking over towards the desk, “I believe he is engrossed in writing love letters or a treatise on something deep and meaningful. So long as he is not crying, then everything is fine. If he starts, or you start to feel sad, there is some juice I made from some of the oranges, it will make this experience stop, but that is alright, yes? It is supposed to remain fun for us.”_ _

__Feeling oddly innocent and pure, “Fergus always wanted to write a book, so he is happy and I am with you and cannot be sad. I love that too.”_ _

__“Hmmn, I still say that you are the best father I have ever had the privilege of seeing, _querido_. Your heart is much larger than you give yourself credit for,” with that the palm over Ferox’s heart pressed firmly as though to touch the pumping muscle. “You would not have been so cold if you could not hurt so much. And for you to have hurt so much, this, this must be very large indeed.” _ _

__“Fergus said that he knew how much it hurt, just as much as me, but you said that I didn’t say, didn’t tell him,” urgently._ _

__Zevran’s expressive brows twisted in confusion and Ferox felt his assassin moving through his memories a moment, “Did not say - ah. Wait, yes. No, no, still your worries, _mi hermoso corizon_ , things that had to be left unsaid to protect others, were left where they belong - unsaid. But he too is a warrior, like yourself. He saw what happened to you the first night here, like myself, he knew what it would take to do something like that. Your brother is no naive, green sapling, untried and unused to war and its depravities. He was already aware you were here that evening, both of you lost much then.”_ _

__“Hmmm,” Ferox turned his head so another spot could be scritched. “Still,” concentrating on the fingers and losing the thread._ _

__Laughter, “You are perfection.” A pause, “I believe I need more tea, mostly to prevent either of you from finishing it and going too far, secondly because I am not near your state. How unfair.”_ _

__“My cup is there.” Vague mental gesture, “I’ll share that with you too. What else do you need...want?”_ _

__The world shifted a little as Zevran sat up, one hand still cupping and pillowing Ferox’s head, “The same thing I always want and need - you.” Ferox managed to sit up, using Zevran’s shoulder as leverage, watching him finish off the cup in one long, Adam’s apple bobbing pull, “Gah, tastes better with all the honey. I should have chopped it up into chocolate. Perhaps I will do that some other time.”_ _

__“Chocolate...you already have me. What else?” Inhaling the spicy sandalwood and rumbling, “And how do you smell so nice all of the time? I love that too.”_ _

__“Soap, oils, foods,” shrugging. “After awhile it becomes part of you I suppose...? I am....I am,” laughter exploded out of the elf. “Unsure. Ah, elven, elven, oh digestion is a marvel...ah,” more laughter. With a very slow series of motions the elf rose, somehow still appearing steady, “Well that or the fact that I chopped some up into the honey for my mug...eh... Logic,” he waved his hands after hooking thumbs together, “has flown the coop.” Those long hands that were strong boned without being bulky were held out to Ferox, “I have seen you fly. You move too fast, so fast, like flying. Sometimes.”_ _

__“No, you are the flyer and the dancer and Fergus is the father. I think I know that one too.” Reaching up to take a hold, to pull himself up, or to pull Zevran back down? Ferox had forgotten. “Did I fly today? I wanted to.”_ _

__Ferox found himself pulled to stand though he wasn’t very steady on his feet, it was a bit like they were shuffle-dancing in place, “You flew like the great gorgeous beast you are, my fiercely beautiful heart.” One of those surprising growls welled up from the elf, vibrating through the whole lean body in his arms, “ _Mino, todo le mino._ ”_ _

__Blinking owlishly as he sorted out what he was feeling from the amulet. “You’re...jealous...?”_ _

__“Ah...um...yes,” almond shaped golden eyes looked up at him, rather chagrined. “It is something I am...unaccustomed to. _Melidicion_ , that was not supposed to come out.”_ _

__“But you wanted me to spar with him, I wanted to make you happy that I had done it...even here where it was difficult. I tried to make it a game...pretended to be you and play for points.”_ _

__“No, no, no, no, that is, auck, you are...you were...no - you _are_ poetry in motion, beautiful, fierce,” the elf rambled, so odd to see his words stumbling around without their usual guarded grace. “I was jealous of all who looked upon you.”_ _

__Laughing, “There were many eyes, Zevran.”_ _

__“Oh, I know, and I wished to gouge all of them out! A horrifically uncharacteristic and catty feeling to have,” there was some drum beat in the air and Ferox realized they were dancing to it, or the room was._ _

__Leaning in close, he had a good secret to tell, it needed to be imparted to those special ears that listened for everything, “Do you want to know a secret? I only danced for you...every quick move was where you could see, I made sure...but you can’t tell, ‘cause it’s a secret.”_ _

__The slanted eyes widened, full mouth turning into a bit of an ‘o’, “Ohh...that is a good secret. Do not worry, you know your secrets are safe with me.”_ _

__“And....” _and what?_ Oh... “And I wasn’t looking at them anyway.” Confidentially, “I wanted to know what you thought when I was done, but I had to tell Geoff that he did well first.”_ _

__“Ahh...my hauling you off to a closet to reassert my claim was not demonstrative enough? Hmmn, perhaps we shall have to give Fergus some juice and then I can haul you off once more and be much more clear,” the elf nodded sagely._ _

__Laughing. “You were _very_ clear. Just...” _Hard to understand? No..._ “Unexpectedly surprisin’? I expected words in a marvelous accent, not a tongue lashing.”_ _

__There was that nose again pressing into Ferox’s throat, “I could not help it, the entire time I wanted to yell for them all to leave, so that I could tell you exactly what I was thinking from all that weapon swinging and...and those things. Yes. The word brain was not working. Either that or everything would have been in Antivan, which I _still_ have yet to teach you...um...pronouns...we should start there? No no...”_ _

__Ferox was still wrapping whatever that part of him moved without really thinking about, wrapping around Zevran like a - _Don’t say that! You can’t ruin the Saturnalia present! La la la la la la la. Hey, Fergus left half of his mug of tea too.__ _

__“We should split that,” pointing at the desk, Ferox said very seriously. “You had half of mine.”_ _

__“Well, there is also the teapot,” Zevran glided over to the desk, perching on it to peer down at Fergus’ writing. “Dirty poetry?”_ _

__Fergus’ head wobbled as he nodded, “No...I mean yes, no. No it’s not dirty. It’s about Alise...and all the things I admire about her. Pristine and glorious, unmarred by man’s hands - uh...no matter how much - oh hey that’s a good one.”_ _

__“I can _see_ that my friend,” he reached out to ruffle Fergus’ hair. “I think we should break out that present you filched from the crate that was for you. And I do not think you need the rest of this mug, yes?”_ _

__“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Have it,” waving a hand before it fumbled at the drawer pulling out a nearly identical to the duplicate’s pouch and plunking it on the table._ _

__Zevran grinned broadly as he bounced and stalked forward with the prizes, passing Ferox the mug then grabbed the teapot topping it off. “You never did get to try one of my favourite Antivan things. Ganja!” A thoughtful expression, “You know, we could probably grow this too... It is good for pain. And colicky babies. Why, my Zama, she used to make this oil and whenever I was not going down for my nap, she would rub my back and my feet with it, then I would just doze off.”_ _

__Blinking at him, “Your Zama?”_ _

__“Ah, the whore who raised me, Zamitie,” another sage nod, weighty with wisdom._ _

__“Your Zama drugged you?” confused even as he drank a good portion of the tea._ _

__“It worked, that is what matters, yes? It also made me frightfully hungry, which was also good, I had a hard time getting the meat to stick to my bones,” the assassin jabbed himself in the ribs once in emphasis._ _

__Wonderingly, Ferox asked aloud, “Oh, the letter! He said you were scrawny. I didn’t think it was true and would have growled...but, maybe it was the same for him?”_ _

__Zevran cocked his head as he plunked down beside the hearth, “That he is scrawny?”_ _

__Tugged along, Ferox ended up on the floor too. “Was.” With great care, Fergus’ mug was set on the hearth as if it might slip from his grasp._ _

__“Well...he does have the same tattoo,” Zevran reached up touching the faded grey-ish sepia markings. “And while his are darker than mine, they are still quite clearly faded, while the tattoos on his forearms and wrists appeared good and dark, yes? Also...also I do not think he...he had to have some form of foundation, otherwise he truly would have been rabid. Instead he is...is...” He waved a hand, encompassing the dangerousness but the absence of malice, “As he is. Yes, yes, I think it is correct. We stem from the same root.”_ _

__“Like maples, raspberries, and lilacs...suckers,” a snicker._ _

__Befuddled curiosity as he swayed to lean against Ferox, “‘Splain? ‘Laborate.”_ _

__“Plants, ummm, send up new plants, from the roots. The new ones are called suckers,” Ferox chuckles again._ _

__“Ah, now I understand, yes,” Zevran hummed nodding over the task his skillful hands was engrossed in, then held aloft a neat tube. “Ah! There we go.”_ _

__Ferox was about to protest, a thrill of anxiety and fear going through him as Zevran reached into the edge of the fire, fingers juggling a hot coal as he put the tube to his lips and puffed it to light. But when the assassin tossed the coal back in and wiped his fingers off on his trews, Ferox grabbed his wrist checking for damage and upon seeing that the tips were only pinked, he relaxed and licked them. By then the Antivan was puffing and making faces as his tongue poked holes in the little smoke clouds._ _

__XXX_ _

__Ferox’s memories of the night before were a bit fuzzy, but he did remember that there had been some sort of tea, weird poetry read by his brother, Zevran and he dancing in front of the fire, and that the night had been quite fun. Now he was hungover, his muscles protesting that he had been tense, yet everything he remembered was relaxed. And filled with laughter - not just Zevran’s or Fergus’, but his own. Including, horror of horrors, _giggles_. Except those had appeared to charm Zevran, who had wound up giving him a foot rub at some point, amongst other things, and it had been a rather good time._ _

__Groaning, he rolled over to see Zevran sprawled, passed out still, in the guest room they had spent time in during their first stay in Highever. Rubbing his sore jaw, Ferox flopped back down, surprised that Zevran didn’t do more than grunt and twitch in his sleep. On the bedside table were two large mugs with flowing script that said ‘drink me when you wake up.’ Blinking through the throbbing, Ferox reached over Zevran’s bare and heavily tattooed and scarred chest for one of the mugs, draining it. Chilled and slightly icy from the air, piquant orange juice and pulp from a few other fruits, the sharp tang of elfroot, poured down his gullet. Mashing his face in Zevran’s chest, the rising and falling rhythm helped as did the mug’s contents, sending the booming headache fleeing._ _

__With that, he drifted back, wondering faintly if that tea was the last of the pranks._ _


	16. Feast Day Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to our two guest kudos! We're both tickled pink, and appreciative! Also - wow! 150 hits in a week, not bad. Thanks everyone so far for your interest. We hope that any errors you see (and we would love it if you PMd us where those are so they can be fixed) don't detract overtly from your enjoyment!

Every night and every morning two pairs of blue eyes shined hopefully as the bodies they belonged to bounced up and down, “Is it Saturnalia tomorrow?” 

And so the days were counted down. After each one was ticked off of fingers, the girls would share with everyone what the count was at. Everyone they saw was informed, every day, sometimes twice, as the girls forgot who had been told. Len and Thia were told more frequently than others and the count was demonstrated each time, patiently teaching counting, explaining the various activities and preparations, and counseling patience in their best ‘grownup’ voices. The night before, after listening to to another boring recitation on the history and practices of Saturnalia, the girls tumbled willingly into bed. Late that night, or was it early the next morning? - the adults followed.

“Zevran,” Ferox was almost whimpering as his head hit the pillow. “If morning arrives in anything less than four hours, I’m going to growl and I won’t be able to stop it... I suggest you make up a story _now_ about a Saturnalia Grizzly.”

A rolling chuckle, evil and bedeviling hands coasting over his torso, “Tchk, I will make sure that the Saturnalia Grizzly is well into hibernation.”

So the grizzly slept well and soundly, while Ferox received a quite pleasant wake-up call before his assassin left the bed to make sure that there was coffee ready to be put on to heat and mulled cider for those who preferred that. It was a good preparation because it left Ferox awake enough to cope with the egregious indignity of girls squealing and bouncing, squabbling in ‘hushed’ voices at the foot of the ladder as to whether they should go up or not. 

“I go get Uncle Fox, you get Zev!” Elissa was prim and firm.

Beside him Zevran was rolled over, smirking at him. Ferox had tunic and leggings on, but Zevran was his customary shirtless, and each time Ferox had poked his lover while shoving a shirt at him, the elf had just snorted and waved it away. Something about being topless being socially acceptable. 

_’And you complain about eyes on me?’_

The wink he got was rakish, _’The girls do not look other than to trace ink. And Moira is too polite. Fergus is only interested in the scars, and Alise is used to shirtless warriors. Sarah has learned to turn a blind eye, just as no one stares at her breasts when she feeds the babies.’_

Soft snort, _’You forgot that the girls admire ‘earrings’ they would one day like to have of their own.’_

 _’Eh, that is supposed to make me growl? They can pierce whatever they choose. Now, whether I will **allow** anyone to get near enough to admire them? A completely different matter,’_ rolling and shifting about. _’Quick, their game of choosing who to pounce upon is done, feign sleep!’_

Ferox only had time to do so before small willowy forms scampered then flew jumping onto the bed, squiggling and wiggling over the covers. In unison the girls shook and jostled them in their attempts to ‘waken’ them. Zevran was even _snoring_ and only ‘awakening’ when small hands began tickling at the sides of his neck crying out his name. 

Ferox received only slightly less indignities as Eleanor had stretched out half over him, her sharp little chin propped up on his breastbone and kept patting his cheeks or tugging at them. “Wake up Uncle Fooox...it’s Saturnalia! Pressseeeennts! Wake up Uncle Fooooox, pllleeeaase?”

One eye opened then closed. Rumbly, “Zevran, did you leave the window open? Are there a pair of little chickadees in here singing?” Both eyes opened and quickly closed again. The ‘song’ continued, and Ferox looked at her again, covered his mouth in a yawn. “It’s my birthday you say? But my birthday is near Summer’s Day. I thought today was Zev’s birthday, in fact, I’m certain of it because I heard it from a very reliable source.” _’I know, you’re going to kill me for this,’_ teasingly, _’but I’m afraid my assassin, that you’ll have to wait a few more years.’_

_’Then who am I to deny you such a simple last request, hmn?’_

Elissa sat bolt upright, “Papa’s birthday?! Papa’s have birthdays?!” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth looking at Zev with big eyes who only grunted and pinched a cheek.

Eleanor made an admirable little growly noise and wriggled against his side, patting his stomach. “You said in the books, in the books it’s today, it’s Saturnalia!”

“I did say so, and I remember the Mothers saying that breakfast would be first. So, hop downstairs and find your seats at the table. Look for your names on the presents that mark your place. Remember, you are Len and you are Thia,” wearing his best, ‘I’m pretending to be serious face’. “Oh wait, I’m confused,” Rubbing sleep out of his eyes to indignant looks. Sighs, “You’re right....you are Uncle Fergus and you are Horse.”

Elissa was hopping in place on her bottom, “Noooo Uncle Fox, don’t be silly! Papa-Zev, tell him he’s wrong!”

The Antivan squinted, “Hmm, yes, yes, I can see he is. You know, he is not much of a morning person, yes? I am so sorry Alise, so sorry Moira, we could not tell. It is just that these eyes are so old and so tired, forgive us my dears.”

Unable to restrain himself, Ferox chuckled. “If you can locate your name at the table, I will try to remember.” Holding out his hands to shake with each girl. “ _Atisha_ , peace?”

Elissa dove over Zevran’s supine form to squish him with a hug, “Okay Uncle Fox. I forgive you.”

Meanwhile Eleanor had found a way to squirm down between he and Zev, clearly still very excited about Saturnalia, but with a hint of childlike concern, “You’re both still tired? It’s okay, I can wait, I’ll stay right here, I’ll be quiet, I promise, okay?”

Zevran rolled over to pat her on the bottom, “Go on, _chica_ , we will be down in a moment. Your Uncle Fox was just teasing, yes? Here now, give me a kiss.”

Eleanor rolled around to smooch his cheek then gave one to Ferox, who kissed her cheek back before she scrambled from the bed. “Happy Saturnalia!”

In the large dining room, the long tables were decorated, a goose feather tree the centerpiece of each table and labeled presents at each seat. Late last night, the last of them were set at their places with oranges, apples, other fruits and nuts, cookies and treats. The starched snowflakes hung from the wooden beams, the scent of greenery adorned with ornaments filled the room. Everything they had worked so dutifully on was beautiful.

With a hand on Zevran’s shoulder, somehow Ferox again survived the corridors without flinching or laying a hand to the ever present sword on his belt. Just like the night before, the transformed room looked nothing like it had that terrible night. The girls were bouncing at their places, dying to peek at the presents, ‘ooo’ing’ and ‘ahh’ing’ at everything they had watched bits and pieces of being made or baked, or had even helped decorate themselves. Unlike last night, and something that helped transform the room even more than just the decorations, was the number of people in it...and who was there. Most importantly, the constant thrum inside his mind of Zevran touching him firmly, lovingly, constantly without even the slightest letup, kept him grounded, kept him in the here and now. 

They were both greeted and hugged, arms clasped or shoulders clapped, greetings given, the girls had told everyone it was Zevran’s birthday and he received many birthday wishes as well as they made their way to their places

 _’You owe me, you handsome devilish bastard,’_ was sent when Fergus kept pestering Zevran about which birthday it was and just how many happy years he had spent on the Maker’s land.

Ferox laughed and raised his coffee in salute. _’You’ll be lucky if you get out of here without making a speech. But which birthday would it be, if it were? A nice well-rounded 30?’_ knowing full well that it was not true.

 _’Faugh. Oldest person in this room and I get no respect,’_ even as he smiled at Alise who was fluttering, trying to make sure he got the ‘best’ slice of the fresh baked breakfast cake. “Oh, no, that is not necessary, my dear.”

Reaching for another slice of toasted vaisiu pyragas, the cinnamon sweet fruit bread, Ferox realized that again, he was happy. These moments would come and he would remember somewhere in the middle that this was what it felt like. “I see that you are wearing your new boots for your birthday,” and shared with Zevran the contentment that he had just discovered again.

“I believe I will only wear the others when I am not likely to expose them to weather,” he mumbled around a tucked mouthful of bread.

Len and Thia joined them, as the breakfast dishes were cleared, done with their own breakfasts, happy and full and slightly dopey with puffed out tummies. The babies were passed from adult to adult while the girls had finally been given free rein to do their worst and open their presents. Each started from the smallest present and worked their ways up. All of Zevran’s were small packages, but each held boxes of a size to fit in the center of Ferox’s palm. Little earrings, blue stones, tiny hinges on the delicate fishhooks to secure them. Eleanor’s eyes were lighter than Elissa’s, so she got polished topaz of pure cerulean blue, but was unable to wear them - no holes. The same was true for Elissa, but her earrings were a different shape than the perfect teardrops that Eleanor held up to her lobes, being rounded triangles. 

“Auck, no holes you say? Aieesh, I did not notice,” the Antivan said grabbing each child’s chin and plunking kisses on the tips of noses. “I will have to fix that! Hmn, later, before bed, yes? When Ferox is reading his stories to you.”

Gems put away securely, they opened the next box, ribbons of varying sizes and colours, some stitched with little patterns, one or two with charms - _those_ got woven into dark locks immediately, forgetting all about other presents for the moment. On Ferox’s knee, Len was carefully balanced while Elissa opened a present for him, displaying a rattler of smoothly polished wood, as Eleanor opened one in front of Thia, showing off a rattler for her too.

Then the girls went on to more of their presents, squealing and playing with the horses, halla, _aravel’en_ , mabari miniatures, but when Eleanor got to the duck on a stick with flappy feet, she raced over to Ferox squarely planting little girl kisses on his cheeks, chin and forehead. It was the constant laughter, a cacophony of a different sort, ringing joy as the girls raced around proudly showing off their booty, from the soft mittens and toys, to the ribbons in their hair, and when they each unfolded long knit caps with ears, bunny ears for Elissa, big fox ones for Eleanor that the jumping up and down got to be enough that Moira told them to settle a little bit. 

Ferox remembered these joys, of a little boy brandishing a toy sword, dragging a stuffed mabari behind him, saw its echoes there. But it wasn’t painful, only bittersweet. All the gifts, from the small ones to the Crow guards of neat packages of coffee beans, sugar, and a few quinces and oranges, to the big cloaks, new daggers, skeins of blended silk, ribbons abounding, a shawl for Alise with gold thread to catch in the light, the string of freshwater pearls at Moira’s throat, sapphire double-drops glittering at Moira’s ears, the strangely shaped blown glass vial of perfume that Ferox had picked out for her dabbed lightly... Bars of something called ‘turrone’ that was thick and sweet gifted by Zevran to one and all...

It was a rosy and gold haze in the air. 

_This is family,_ watching Len and Thia on thick blankets on the floor, kicking and waving stubby limbs at the mobiles that were above them. 

A last present was slipped into his hand, Zevran leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder, “For you, _querido_.”

Frowning at it momentarily - Ferox had thought the fine leather sheath and hunting knife were Zevran’s presents to him - he opened it. Inside were five short stemmed, lightly curved barbells made of gold with polished spheres at the ends. Recognizing what they must be, he felt a flush spreading over his face, not entirely born of the thick egg, cream and liqueur based drink that had been making the rounds. 

Eleanor from her perch nearby, “Uncle Fox, why are you all red?”

Beside him, the fingers that dug into his shoulder playfully, Zevran’s voice rolled out, “He is just surprised, _mija_ do not worry.”

Clearing his throat carefully, “Thank you, Zevran. But you will have to show me where to put these as I haven’t anywhere to put them. So, um, how _do_ you put them in? No - wait, don’t answer that, or I’ll back out.”

“On _you, corizon_? No, they are to go on _me_ ,” laughter in his ear, burning with hot sun and liquor. “What sort of gift would they be if they were to be used on me, rather than yourself?”

 _’I would say this is cruel...but...I can’t.’_

_’Oh? And why would you say it is cruel, **mi amora**?’_ the words caressing his mind intimately, showing and touching with that heat that drove Ferox to distraction. _’It is too bad that my others necessitate only one, very limited, position as it robs me of seeing your pleasure filled face unless we are feeling particularly flexible.’_

Swallowing, Ferox watched the question flickering in the eyes of a small one who was considering which question to ask, as if a limited number would be answered or if she could answer some on her own. Taking deep breath, _’You are right, not cruel...wicked. Very wicked.’_ “Open yours.”

 _’Ah, one for each decade beyond childhood, yes? Time to be ‘rid’ of prying little eyes there.’_ He pointed down at the box. “Certainly, but you must put those earrings away, _querido_ , they are not easy to find.” 

That appeared to satisfy the curious blue eyes and the little body went to go play with Horse who was prancing with his new collar and kaddis, a large horse bone in his jaws. The mabari saw Eleanor, dropped his bone and got down into a squat, letting her scoot and clamber over him, before trotting around with her on his back. He would go up to others, woof, and the little girl would giggle and say she was going to be just like ‘Uncle Fox’ and know lots of things when she grew up.

Fighting the inability to move, Ferox closed the box, shaking his head, he had momentarily forgotten Zevran’s ability to surprise him. It should be ‘normal’, but it was as if his orbit around his sun was being bumped or adjusted. _I’m your moon, you’re my sun. Now the challenge is to keep you warm and me unfrozen._ Two presents from Ferox were at his elf’s place, the others would wait until they returned home. 

The great hooded cloak had been edged in the fur of one of the snow lions that lived on the edges of the Uncharted Territories, the outside lined with seal fur, with the innards being made from the wool of Highever’s sheep. The interior was a dusty and striped beige and green, while the spots and markings of the seal’s fur would do the same thing: provide camouflage no matter the setting. Zevran was currently bundled up in it, making a tent for Elissa and Eleanor to dart through to play games of hide-and-go-seek as he kept count for them.

 _’Tonight you will show me where you would like those new baubles, yes? Until they are healed though we will have to be more ginger on my end of things for a brief period,’_ which Ferox didn’t mind much, not with the way Zevran’s fingers were dancing over his mind, stroking spots to entice.

He probably would have agreed to just about anything Zevran said at that moment, even something as outlandish as ‘the sun rises in the west’. _’As you wish.’_ Remembering, _’Check the hidden pockets.’_ And Ferox watched the many eyes on his handsome assassin, knowing that none of them mattered, not a one. Those amber eyes were only looking at him and two silly girls and the sleepy little boy who had just been placed back in Ferox’s arms.

Zevran grabbed one end of the cloak, lifting it as the other ran smoothly over the cloak, searching. Brows bounced high on the forehead beneath the cat eared cap he wore. Pulling out first one pair from a pocket then the second from the other, the smile that exploded inside the amulet nearly knocked the breath out of Ferox’s lungs. 

_’I wish every bit of you to be warm.’_ Amused. _’I like your new ears. What’s that around your throat? A scarf?’_

Displaying odd fingerless mittens that could be pulled down over his fingers as he picked up the ends of the scarf thing, Zevran tugged, “It is attached to the hat, see?” He wound and unwound it in a very odd fashion. “Quite similar actually to what the horseclans use. But...theirs do not have ears.” 

_’Your Crows are admiring you. Despite the fine figure you cut, I am going to take this boy up for a nap._

_’Eh, they can admire, but only you get to touch,’_ a little purr in his mental ear. “Oh, big days for such old men, it is time for a nap.”

A chorus of ‘no’s’ and protests over not having wheedled his age from them, until Armand, that was the Crow’s name, the same one that appeared to shadow Zevran the most, stepped up holding his arms open. The display of ‘ _dos besos_ ’ and a back slapping hug, as well as the thanks given first to Zevran then a deep bow directed at Ferox, was a study in warm cordiality that didn’t play as false as some Ferox had ever seen.

Armand raised up his hands, “ _El Jeffe,_ for your fiftieth, you should be treated to song and dance, and all things proper of someone of such vaunted skills and age. Instead you go to your bed, if that is your wish, then so be it! We will be singing and dancing until you drag your old bones down to rejoin us, won’t we brothers?” 

Huge roars and slapped thighs, what were likely ribald jokes in Antivan were traded, mugs of coffee hoisted to Zevran and Ferox. 

“Ah, well, I am old enough apparently that I must have a nap just like His Little Highness,” a dismissive flick of fingers. “But your information is off at least.” His lover plucked Len from Ferox’s arms kissing the chubby cheeks, “But, rest is what I require until I feel fit enough to play in such young men’s games. _Hasta le juego, amigos._ ” [See you later, friends.]

 _’Young men’s games?’_ Gathering Zevran’s gifts as well as his own and the few that were brought down for Len - there were more back at the cottage. Len didn’t notice anything missing and the girls could have the fun of ‘helping’ him open them later tonight. After a quick word to Fergus, Ferox followed Zevran back to the cottage, glad as the cloak swirled covering their boy, so that both bodies were wrapped warmly. 

_’Oh, well, there will definitely be some feats of skills, things that had best be only done by professionals, other such things,’_ the door opened and was quickly shut, funny blue brown eyes blinking open in the familiar surroundings and peeping out at Ferox from a fold in the cloak. “Music, singing, dancing, likely some rousing rounds with stomping and dancing on tables, acrobatics from the Crows...you know, the usual games that happen on Saturnalia. Or when sufficient alcohol is imbibed. Hmmn...I wonder if Tyronne will do fire breathing or dancing? Or both. That would have been slightly intriguing. However, those are all things I have done many times, and only hold some interest for me.”

Setting down Len’s loot on the table, Ferox wondered, “Fire breathing and dancing?” 

Images sent his way showed from Zevran’s perspective, fire on ropes and chains swinging and twirling in a flurry of shapes, heat exploding in a spray from his mouth, sending out a gout of flame as though his elven lover had suddenly become a dragon. The lick of flames grazing his-theirs tattooed skin, creating a dizzying dance, then the bunching, shifting and propulsion of lean limbs and muscle flowing into the air, landing in swoops and dives. Sand kicked up or sticking to patches of skin that had been smeared in the paste from some plant that kept the flesh cool as he-they moved to the beating of drums and the droning of voices. It was pure vitality in that moment.

“Just common street art on any corner of Antiva City,” the fire was stirred to life one handed, Len on his hip, head bobbing from one parent to the other as the face scrunched up with a mellow yawn.

 _Common?_ That is a circus. Shaking his head, trying to focus as the vision was clear and sharp, the heat and stone, scent and sound all there. Ways he had never considered moving his own body, let alone experiencing it through another...a rough edge of thought, something he should remember here...but the only thing that occurred to him was that perhaps they were more alike than Ferox thought - the duplicate and Zevran. Although these ‘surprises’ weren’t unpleasant, they did cause Ferox to reassess his assassin. 

Raising an eyebrow, “Why would you perform in the streets?”

“Information, money, some bodyguard work was like that, some festival strongarm things as well,” Zevran began to twist side to side, rocking Len, rubbing the soft fur over the little face as it drowsily blinked with a smile. “Tchk, Armand had to have asked all of the others to pick a figure so close to my age, sneaky bastard.”

“Zevran, finish lighting these coals or take the boy to bed; the sooner we are done, the sooner we can have that nap ourselves.” _Are you impatient? or just tired? Both. Shut up._

The assassin arched a brow, bringing Len over for a kiss on his round head. Sounds of Zevran crooning a soft song in Antivan and the crib rocking came from the other room as Ferox quickly got the fire going and well banked. As soon as he was finished, he scaled the short ladder with a few hot bricks in a bucket in one hand. Not that he would let his assassin be cold long, he wished to minimize the chilliness how he could. Eventually Zevran came up, the handsome cloak still hanging from his shoulders giving him an even more fine figure than usual. _Fine figure? Shut up Ferox. Very impatient. Very tired too. Be quiet!_

“Ah, our boy is asleep,” deep satisfaction seeped from Zevran to Ferox. As he began to undress, “ _Amora,_ I have a question, ah...an offer.”

“An offer?” Ferox’s tone became almost formal.

Zevran cleared his throat, “Ah, yes. After Taliesin, I attempted to give you an earring. You refused it as payment. I still have it and I would...like to offer it now as a...token of more than affection.”

He did refuse back then; didn’t even consider it at the time, as payment was unnecessary. What Ferox had needed was who had offered it, his skills, strong and quick. To do something so large for the assassin, when he would have done, and did do, similar deeds for any of them...payment for such a thing was...insulting. The others were grateful, and thankfully that was the end of it, Zevran was the only one to offer an exchange. The whole conversation was frustrating and the snap of cold lasted many days.

Carefully, cautiously,“I would like to accept, but I would know the terms and conditions.”

“I would not put any such constraints upon you, _amora_ ,” the earnestness, the relief that Ferox would even consider it, echoed back at him. “When you refused I had... I had offered it as payment, because I wished to give something, show something of the proof of... Of what I was afraid at the time to acknowledge myself. When you refused, I was beside myself with...pure agitation. Anger even. At you, or myself, I could not say.” 

“Truthfully, at the time, it’s unlikely that I would have accepted regardless of how it was phrased. My mind was elsewhere, more on death and the avoidance of such, rather than on living. But it was the word ‘payment’ that made me angry. It was something that perhaps on the surface wasn’t understandable, because everything we did in those times was for some sort of exchange.” He shuddered at the list, “An anvil for a crown, a wolf for a keeper, and a mage for another. But an exchange between those who, although at the time I could not recognize were friends - companions was the closest to that word I could reach - ‘payment’ was an insult, a slap to the face.”

Down to tunic and trews, one leg hanging off the side of the bed, the other folded up on it, “And because payments were so common, I believed that that was a reason that you could accept.”

“Payments from others, yes. But between those at that campfire, everything was a gift. Leliana sang, not to just practice her art, but to raise spirits, even you did this with your jokes and stories that I did not hear. Wynne made the rounds to check that everyone was well, nothing had gone unnoticed...yes, she was, is, preachy. However, sometimes that was a gift, especially when directed at Oghren or Alistair.” Ferox slipped a warm hand under the back of Zevran’s tunic, seeking a bit of actual contact to reassure both of them.

“Hmmn. Well it was poorly executed no matter which way one looks at it, both of us confused with our own conflicts and the pressing matters that were at hand,” even though Zevran moved so he could grab a long, thin box, the movement pressed more of his back into Ferox’s hand. “At the time, I thought we would have no chance of survival, and looking back, I know I was desperately seeking something, anything at all, to give that might have let you _know_ you were not alone.”

Although it was not out loud, a sharp, bitter laugh broadcasted clearly enough, “That would have truly been a gift. Was a gift...one that took many years to accept, but I need not tell you how long that took.”

“Yes, well, what can be done other than go forward?” the box was opened, thin leather envelopes in it and several flat jars. “It is done, we both had our foolishness, necessary as they were at those times. But I put no constraints on you, _querido_ , there is nothing you need do. You do not even have to wear it if you accept the earring. Your judgement and choice are your own.”

“Yet, I would hear your thoughts and desires on the matter. What do you wish?”

“Ferox, truthfully, all I want is for you to have the single possession I have had and kept near and dear to me for nearly the entirety of my life,” the assassin shook his head once, while a hand went to his belt and produced a hoop that had been made of braided and shaped gold, a single exceedingly dark gem on it, that when twisted, the dim light caused it to flash, a star blooming over the surface and lighting the stone up with shades of warm brown to an amber close to the same shade as Zevran’s eyes.

“I am yours, Zevran. Do what you will, as I am pleased to accept.”

Ferox watched the wooden flat jars, barely half the length of a thumb, be slid open from an odd peg hinge, “An ear? No one other than you and I would know what it is, to them it is just an odd bit of jewelry you picked up during the winter.” The assassin rubbed the earring on the hard waxy substance in the jar then opened the second jar with a flick of his pinky to scoop up a small dab on forefinger and thumb. “Lay back, _querido._ This is an old art that I have known a long time.”

Doing as he was bid, he waited as Zevran rubbed one of his lobes firmly, making it warm, the sharp scent of something very spicy but not hot, the smell identified through the link, _marigold, neem, comfrey, arnica, yarrow, clove_. The earring was set down on the first opened jar freeing the assassin’s hand to reach for one of the little envelopes, and selected a needle. It was then dipped in the first jar then the second, twisted in it for a moment. 

“Close your eyes, _mi hermoso corizon,_ and breathe in and out, jaw relaxed as you can make it,” a hypnotic quality of serenity had entered his lover’s voice and Ferox could sense that his breathing was copied by his lover. 

All was quiet but for the sound of breath, then a pressure, something burned in his earlobe before it became cold. Then a spreading tingle of warmth radiated out. He held still concentrating on his heartbeat. A soft scraping in his earlobe didn’t hurt, but felt very odd. Ferox’s ear throbbed faintly but it was smoothed away by a hand running over his temple.

“As much as I enjoy your hair down, you should leave it back for the first several days,” whispered into the ear that had received its adornment. 

Murmuring, “Is that all?”

“A little salve to clean it and help prevent swelling, twice a day for a week, such a piercing is fast to heal with elfroot,” breath puffed over his lids before lips touched each. 

_Surprising how a question could be answered. Verbally by the information needed and touch for what was felt._ Blinking and caught in the sun, any real thought was faded, blinded, leaving behind only the obvious, “The bricks are warm.” 

“So they are,” fingers moved over his jaw. “Did you wish to show me where your Saturnalia presents shall be placed?”

“I am hardly an expert,” a bit of humour in Ferox’s tone. “I would listen to your suggestions and guidance in the matter, your experience in such things being invaluable.”

A playful click of teeth near his lip before it was kissed before spouting off a rapid list, “Clustered, spread out, halfway down, base or closer to the tip.”

Eyes opened, and amulet did as well, checking for humour, but Ferox found none. _Very well_ Testing his footing for a trap. “And I suppose that there are advantages and disadvantages to each placement.” 

Information bombarded him, the anatomy of stimulation laid out like a map, one that the Chantry no doubt would disapprove of, an eye widening science, links of nerves and pathways glittering and glowing to their culminating designs. A pattern was chosen somehow, Ferox wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, or what input that Zevran gained that gave his preference. The next thing the assassin was rocking back on the bed, repeating a similar series of motions as to when he put the earring in Ferox’s lobe, but it was quite different to see someone doing that to themself. There was a vast difference between a man’s cock and someone’s earlobe after all. But if the elf felt any discomfort it was not noticeable, then again it took a large amount of torture or heavy damage for Zevran to actually make any sort of reaction to pain. However the assassin’s member was hard by the time he finished, though the small wounds wept a few drops of blood that was cleaned away quickly.

“Ah - now that was bracing, I have never pierced myself in such a place,” a quick shake of his whole body like Horse after playing in water. 

Ferox watched the sure brown hands, _Sometimes I still wonder if this is the Fade, wondered that we never left...this is one of those times._ It was surreal, not having even considered when he mentally laid out the day that this would be the direction it would have taken. Zevran’s rapid shuddering shake brought Ferox back to focus. _Wait, never having pierced...no, I don’t want to think about it. Maker, I really don’t._

The tools of whatever ‘art’ involved shoving needles into flesh for the sake of beauty or whatever, were closed up after being cleaned and then set aside. “Two weeks for these to heal enough to make any demonstrations. But what is two weeks, yes? Particularly when there are other things that can still be done.” Lambent eyes swung towards him, then Zevran’s head tilted to one side, “ _Querido_ \- are you unwell?”

Softly, “No, not unwell. Overwhelmed and disconnected, would be more accurate, tired as well. This day is not as I had thought it would be. That said, I am sorry to pull you away from the other activities, but the fire breathing would be...” searches for a word that could possibly describe the upwelling of panic. Knowing that words are unnecessary given what the link provides, Ferox gives up, “unwelcome in that place.”

A hand slid over his cheek, cradling Ferox’s face, “Do not be foolish, _amora_. I would rather be here, or in a snowstorm, than in some place where you were not.”

“It would be something to see elsewhere.” Brown eyes glance to the cloak, “I dare say that you would be warm and dry even in a snowstorm, appearing impervious to cold, a striking vanquisher of winter,” sharing the stunning picture that Zevran had made that morning cloaked and playing with the girls.

“You are a most odd man, Ferox. I think I will keep you for another thousand years,” Zevran rolled his eyes at him before leaning in to touch lips to various parts of Ferox’s face. “Come, let us rest if that is your desire.”

“Only a thousand?” his own eyes crinkling.

A flash of something in the amulet and over his face, too fast to fully grasp before a smile was in place and the warm body gluing itself to him was too distracting for him to take the time to identify that small thing. “Well I did not wish to come off as greedy or needy.”

Tugging the heap of cotton, wool, and down blankets over them, Ferox made himself comfortable, the warm body in his arms. Knowing that he had similar thoughts, coveting and desiring the attention of his sun, “I would not, do not, mind that. It is pleasing to think that one such as yourself would want one such as I.”

Ferox settled in with Zevran tangled up with him. No words, just the open link between them, a thread of self pulled gently through the eye of the needle to Zevran’s mind. The sensation of being fully enveloped in a cocoon that was not stifling, only embracing, was one particular only to Zevran. Anyone else who tried to hold him like that, tangled with such limited mobility, would get a length of steel in their gut. But his assassin only imparted an odd well being, even as Ferox’s ear hummed with a bit of discomfort from a very light touch of a finger running over the length of the shell.

Ferox marveled at Zevran’s control of the link, at this gentle touch. His own abilities to manipulate the amulet were refined during their stay in Kirkwall, improving the ability to send images, conversation, touch and reassurance, memories, and most importantly, he was now able to send at the same time he was doing something else. _However, this is like magic,_ Ferox examined the creation of this thought, the image, and the sensations around him including the ‘confinement’. _I wish I knew how you did this._ Even the little healer was amazed when she saw what Zevran could do. One didn’t need an amulet to see that she looked at the duplicate with new eyes, as if reassessing that one herself. 

Giving back his slight irritation at the almost ticklish touch, Ferox indicated that firmer contact on his ear would not be unwelcome. In response his assassin arched up enough to kiss near the hot feeling area twice. Because of the stinging light wound he realized his ear was more sensitive, and when Zevran nipped the uppermost tip of it, Ferox growled as he felt the elf’s lips curve into a smile. 

XXX

Snow was still heavy on the ground, but the storms were over and it was time to move towards Amaranthine. Len had grown longer and taller, and the first time he rambled out a ‘Dada’ when Ferox was washing his son’s little shock of dark hair, Ferox had almost fallen over. That oddly blissful creature was something he had made, and the way he would drag his plump little bottom after him as he pulled himself along with strong arms, was a magical thing. His eyes still hadn’t particularly settled on brown or blue, still a creamy mix of both, always with the tip of a red nose and cheeks, ready to laugh or giggle. Of course when he began to teethe, bad nights were had by all in the cottage. 

The worst ones wound up with Zevran using Ferox as a backrest, slumping into him with Len on his bare chest, a hand with an amulet pressed to the small of a back or round belly. They had found that unless Ferox was within a few yards of Zevran, that the assassin was unable to ‘reach’ for the other amulet as he apparently had to appropriate Ferox’s range. But those nights were the ones where Zevran and Ferox wound up linked to Len in full, soothing him, and in the Antivan’s case, taking the discomfort from the sore and burning, itching gums.

Throughout the time there, Ferox found himself needing something in particular, but he was unsure of how to go about it. The ache that was a heavy weight on his chest, not born of Len who was making faces and tugging at a morning-whiskered chin, but one that was older. He needed to be rid of it, come to find some form of setting it aside, even if only a little bit. 

Ferox had wanted to go when no one was around, which unfortunately meant nighttime. The first time he tried, he had gotten up ‘for air’. Wending his way through the castle, he stopped at the corridors which had been full of fire, smoke, bodies, and faint screams, Ferox was unable to traverse them, unable make himself go any closer. Returning a bit chilled, toes pressed to a warm brick, he was comforted when Zevran draped over and around him. He hadn’t fooled his lover apparently, nor had he really expected to. Ferox’s amulet under a hand that had pressed to his chest, it dug into the muscle lightly of palm and pectoral, comfort flowing through the direct touch on his skin rather than through his mind. Closing his eyes again, the heavy scent of burning timbers floating away from him, sleep came easily.

Another night he woke and could not even make himself climb out of bed. Mentally he walked to the same spot, tried to go further, to push through the curtain of smoke hanging there. Ferox even tried to enter the castle from outside using the front gate to enter from another direction, not that that had been possible that night given the fallen, flaming debris. He could see the gate that was held, knew from the sounds that Howe’s soldiers were around him. A bare leg tossed over him, drawing him away from the sounds and pressures of unseen men, and pulled him back down to sleep.

Frustrated at the frozen inability to move forward, perhaps daylight would be the answer. Closer this time, but he was stopped at the door to the central chamber. Ferox could not open the door and ended up in Fergus’ study to unexpectedly discuss plans for the Alienages, the only thing he that came to mind when asked what he wanted. 

When the usual winter storms were finished and the cold settled in to freeze everything, they readied to leave. Some things were left behind, a few bags of ‘precious’ coffee, a goodly portion of the preserved fruits, but Alise would hear nothing of sending them on their way without some of it put into boxes to protect the jars. Twists of dense bread almost the length of Ferox’s thigh and nearly the same width had been wrapped in waxed paper to help it keep. Jerky, toasted oats rolled in dried fruit, nuts, seeds and honey were dumped into pouches. A good sized portion of coal was packed as well, to help when suitable wood could not be found, or to help start a fire and keep it going long enough for damp or frozen wood to remain lit and to keep the boxes for the women and children warm. Some of the captured Orlesian horses were left at Highever, the others hooked into the traces for hauling the sleighs. 

Minus the one that Ferox had taken to riding of course. 

None of the Antivans complained at the cold - not even Zevran, magnificent in his furs - they were armed with flasks secreted away about their persons. All were armed to the teeth, with no bows in sight, as the strings would only weaken in the cold. To spare confusion in any possible fight, each guard and Crow had yellow armbands about their left biceps, over clothes and armour, emblazoned with a mabari paw. 

Everything, the women, Len, and the girls loaded into sleighs and wrapped warmly, hot coal boxes at their feet. Ferox surveyed the company before turning back to Highever, task still undone. Brusquely, entertaining no discussion, _’Get them started down the road. I’ll catch up.’_

Dismounting and tossing the reins to Fergus so he had something to do and would not follow him, Ferox re-entered the front gate and pressed a hand to the outside of the door that led to the main chamber of the castle. Rory had been on the other side and again Ferox could not be there. He had been unable to drag Rory away from his duty and had been confined by his own. The arguments had been there as well as the urge to persuade, but it was all left unsaid. No touch, only a word of hope to find safety, and they were parted forever.

So many things that he had wanted to say over the years, to do, to know. Some had been angry, others confused, still others were weak and moaning from the pain. But even when they had been possible, Ferox had never said them, felt them and knew them, but couldn’t commit them to breath. But staring at the door finally, it all boiled down to two things that had to be said. 

Pressing his palm to the door, ignoring those moving around the courtyard, his voice was barely above a whisper, finally saying what should have been said long ago, and what needed to be said now as well, “I loved you. Goodbye Rory.”

Pulling lined gloves back on, Ferox exited the courtyard without a backwards glance, and taking the reins from a rather surprised Fergus, clapped him on the shoulder before remounting. Zevran’s amulet had hardly moved and Ferox met his gaze easily before they started down the road. The assassin had known that he was not one to leave something undone, that despite the number of attempts and failures, Ferox would somehow do what was required, finish what was needed - _It would be done_. He felt the link open gently in invitation, but no motion was made other than the ‘open door’ policy the assassin kept to for Ferox. 

The lack of pushing, the steady presence, simply accepting of Ferox and whatever weaknesses he had, helped. Even when he hadn’t realized it, it had helped. Reaching up, Ferox tugged at his earlobe once, the body warmed gold nearly thrummed as though there was a bit of lyrium in it rather than just gold and a smooth gem. He didn’t smile, but some of the ache had loosened, relaxed the tight bands of ice that had held him prisoner all those years.


	17. Break in the Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Busy day! Did a quick scan through, probably still missed something, apologies in advance on my part! And holy crapdoodles, 175 hits in a week. Fuckin' A Awesome. Thank you, kind soul(s) who left us guest kudos, we appreciate it.

Fighting in snow was not Ferox’s idea of fun. He had done it before, would likely do it again, but it wasn’t all that enjoyable. _This_ time his mount responded, even though he still hung on to the saddlehorn as he ducked or lashed out. 

“Hah! A poor day for you!” crowed as Zevran wheeled his horse, ramming his opponent with an equine rump to send the soldier who had long since been unhorsed, flying.

The girls were huddled down in one of the sleighs, Moira and Sarah both brandishing whatever they could grab as they stood protectively in the sleigh’s confines. Ferox could hear the children crying, one of the worst sounds he had ever heard, but he had to block it out so he could parry and thrust. The palace guards were not accustomed to fighting on horseback and so had slid off their mounts, taking up protective roles around the sleigh, while Ferox and the Crows did the bulk of the fighting. _Note to self - get all the guards who patrol to learn how to fight on horseback._

Especially since it was viciously effective. 

The survivors were dragged through the snow, far enough away for Zevran to employ his tactics. Ferox cast a single worried glance back towards the sleighs and guards, hoping that the women and children didn’t see or hear what his assassin was about to do. Zevran reached into an inner pouch, instead of pulling out the fine sliver of a blade used last time, it was one of the copies of the Joining amulet in his hand.

 _’ **Querido** , I am about to experiment, stay close if you please, and you might need to brace yourself,’_ it was hard and terse. 

Ferox didn’t answer, but the link was as open as he could make it as he followed. A helmet was pried off of the first survivor, the one who looked worse off, the one who wouldn’t survive without magic that they had none of, and even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have wasted any on him. They advanced on the supine form, even as the soldier tried to scoot away, only to be pounced on, straddled by the Antivan, hands slamming down on the winter-bearded cheeks. There was a momentary buck before Ferox felt Zevran reaching, grabbing, yanking, and tearing at the mind held between his dark brown hands. No sound was able to escape the prisoner, flashes from hours ago, days ago, weeks, then months, locking onto necessary information. 

_I don’t know if the little healer would approve...then again -_ the sight of the massive axe coming towards her swung through his thoughts _Perhaps she would not mind, as she is not what she seems either._

His Crow rose from the soldier who was locked in foam-mouthed seizures and moved on to the next. As the anger that Ferox felt emanating and outwardly repressed, eased its hold on the Antivan, the soldiers left in his wake remained more and more whole. It was obvious this was another ‘clean up crew’, how long they had been in place seemed more important this time than who sent them. Yes, knowing who had sent them was vital information that would allow Ferox and Zevran to plan for future attacks, or to see who could be bought off, or ordered killed, but in winter, the real information needed was _how many more to deal with_. 

Starving hunger was a yawning pit in Ferox’s belly - or was it Zevran’s? - as though suddenly his associate had gained a Warden’s appetite, increasing Ferox’s own. “Neat trick.”

“Not much different from helping Len, yes?” a hot snap of fatigue was reined in. “We should not split our forces, but killing them seems a waste.”

 _Very different in its employ._ “Avernus.”

“We had intended on seeing him anyway,” detachment settled over his Crow as he looked down on the two worse off of the soldiers. With a lazy appearing stomp a breast bone was shattered, like he was simply crushing a bug beneath a heel. “It would be best to have the children settled in and safe at the Vigil, no?” The next one was still human enough to know what was coming and whimpered as Zevran paced over, but that was ignored, not even a flicker of recognizing it was a sound that had been made came from the assassin. “However, splitting our forces is no option. Our route is littered with scum.”

 _’Altogether or not at all. Splitting is not an option this trip. Never was.’_ Ferox confirmed as if instructions had been received, waiting for Zevran to return to himself. Truly separating the group had not even been considered. Travel by ship was impossible in the current season and they were unwilling to go ahead and wait for Len and the girls to arrive in the spring. _Perhaps this was not such a good idea. ‘You should avail yourself of the snow before we return.’_

The look rolled his way was flat before that was blinked away, the duplicate in his lover’s eyes fading quickly to be replaced once more by the familiar. “Yes. You should as well, _querido._ ”

Nodding. _No hot baths until the Peak. It will be much looked forward to._ Checking each other, the snow left behind, that had been used to clean and scrub skin and armour, was red and pink, as were their fingers and cheeks. 

XXX

The women and the girls were rearranged in the sleighs so they would not look behind them to see the prisoners herded along with ropes about their necks and waists, hands bound behind them. It took days to get up to the Peak, days that there was a constant risk that the Orlesians might do something stupid and desperate. However the threat of Zevran going into their minds once more was enough to keep them quiet and cowed. 

“Warden, hadn’t been expectin’ you back so soon,” Levi and a few of the Dryden folk, all armed, had come out. “You look to have seen another spot of trouble. Let’s get you all inside.”

 _’I trust that you have had a word with Moira.’_ Not a question. _Avernus, the aged poisonous viper that still has his uses...I regret this still._ Ferox sighed, not remembering the last time he had done it. 

Moira handed Len to Ferox for a moment so she could hug Zevran who had been particularly odd since the attack. Recognizing it as a rage of a sort, Ferox had let him be, but the girls hadn’t understood and were confused as to why the man they thought of as their father had been unable to read them bedtime stories. Ferox had taken that over for the last few nights while Zevran paced the perimeter, double, triple and quadruple checking everything. Outwardly he was calm and measured, and every time Zevran realized that he had been spilling the negative through their shared bond, it was yanked back like a small angry dog hoisted back on a short choking leash.

 _’If he makes one wrong move towards the children at all, I will destroy him,’_ the thought was a bare whisper in their link, muffled almost as though his mind were becoming cloaked in stealth.

Ferox thought of the Orlesians. _’He didn’t do that.’_ Another sigh escaped him. _’Come, let’s be rid of them while the girls are distracted with dinner and other playmates.’_

Zevran swept a bow, gesturing broadly for Ferox to lead, along with his ‘Saturnalia presents’. Avernus was waiting, oddly with a pot on the fire with merrily boiling water. The gifts were ushered in and promptly put in the holding cells and cages before they could get uppity. 

“Well this is most unexpected,” Avernus scanned the fresh influx. “I hadn’t thought to see you until at least spring. What can I do for you Warden?”

“I have a new recipe for the Joining that may interest you, in addition to some notes that are particularly intriguing. Perhaps they’ll even further your own efforts.” Having made copies he handed them to the mage, keeping the originals for his own use. “You have slightly less than two years until I see the author again, should you wish to exchange thoughts. However, I believe that will be our last exchange.” _I know, I had not, and will not, tell you of the Taint being pushed back by her. No doubt you can, or could, taste it on your own...must do something similar to yourself to have managed to survive since Mad Arland’s rule._

The mage took the sheaf of papers looking over them for several minutes, “This is all very...interesting. But how was this research conducted?”

“With a little help from a friend,” Ferox said evenly. _He_ could feel Zevran, knew he was in the room, but it was only because of the whispering touch, as though a single fingertip were almost touching skin. “The notes explain much, quite captivating really, and yet, so very basic. Someone should have thought of it a long time ago. Why didn’t they, exactly? Mothers are nothing new, people of all types get drug into the Deep Roads into underground caverns - that couldn’t be anything new - yet it was never discussed, never made available. It makes me wonder why this is.” _Because you and the rest of the Warden hierarchy are always hiding something. Never telling the whole story, saving whatever is helpful for yourselves. Even something so very basic as survival at the Joining or communication through a bit of blood._ “Any ideas?”

“Communication between here and the Anderfels and the First Warden was rare in my day,” Avernus set the notes down carefully. “They’re the ones who hold the most knowledge. Me? I’m just a free agent in their eyes if they had ever known about me. Young Warden, I am one man, one very _old_ man, who, up until a few years ago, remained locked here, because of the Veil. How would I have gathered that information without anyone to use, and hands and feet, ears and eyes? Who, but you, and the Drydens, come? I have to work with very limited resources, Warden.”

 _No. I’ve provided for your research, generously from the Wardens’ coffers since the Vigil was established, even when it had little. However, I do wonder if you took to snacking on pigeon before we found you, old man? A bit of owl...there are certainly no mice._ The bit about what exactly was up here to eat always did bother him, hundreds of years and no apparent food source other than the sky. 

Ferox conceded that Avernus had a point in years previous to their cleaning the tower. “Granted. But I have another question then, what did you do to Zevran’s amulet?”

Now blatant confusion was on the malificar’s face, “There was a problem? What type, where is he, has it damaged him?”

“It nearly killed him,” crossing his arms Ferox stared hard at the old Warden.

Surprise made Avernus put a steadying hand on his table. “How? It was an exact duplicate to your own.”

Zevran struck, an arm crossing from waist to throat, clamping warningly on the mage’s neck. “Mn, you might be lying.” 

Avernus’ pasty paper skin flushed, “I’ve lost just about as much patience for your antics -”

“Oh do be quiet,” the original duplicate was in Zevran’s palm, Ferox knew it, but whether Avernus noticed or not, Ferox wasn’t sure, as the Antivan pressed a hand to the dry looking bald cranium. “I will find out for myself, yes?”

“You can’t -” then he froze, stiffening, faded, rheumy eyes widening.

Ferox felt Zevran blocking out the worst of the mental duel as layers were peeled away, the assassin delicately doing his work. Eventually the elf stepped away, maintaining a steadying hold on the mage. “It is as our friend said, the old man knew nothing of the potential threat the amulet may have held. Some suspicions that it would not suit me entirely, yes, but nothing more than that.”

Avernus was clearly shaken, shuddering in the chair Zevran had guided him to, “What _are_ you?”

“What I am? I am what I am, choose any label you desire,” Zevran hitched a hip on the table’s edge, still holding one of Avernus’ hands.

“Thoughts of Mothers and their offspring?” 

‘Blood sings to blood,’ she had said, when pointing out that the type of darkspawn was important to who would be drinking. The observations were simple, ogres for kossith, shrieks for elven, hurlocks for human, genlock for dwarves. Mix half of appropriate type with any emissary, preferably one of their type, for a mage’s Joining. 

“You have to understand I nearly never encountered any of the Blighted creatures beyond when I gained the blood for my own Joining,” he obviously had to summon up the energy to meet the change in thought patterns.

 _And yet, **blood mage** , you know more than anyone we have access to._ “I’m waiting for your thoughts. You’ve observed Joinings, you must have wondered. Examined the bodies after they fell.”

“All of Thedas has been exposed to the Blight at one time or another, most people have a blood relative somewhere in their line that linked them to a Mother,” Avernus straightened slowly. “If that was true, nearly no elves would survive the Joining. How often are shrieks found? Genlocks, hurlocks, by the dozens, hundreds. But elves survive almost proportional to humans in the Joining, who don’t have the same rates as dwarves. That is why I never thought it had any merit, at first I had, when I was young, much younger, so, so much younger...”

“When you had hair of course,” sardonic, mocking lightly. “You still had those thoughts though, yes?”

Avernus glared at Zevran, more accusing than malice driven, “You elves skew the results, all of the samples I had taken, all the things I had seen.”

A queer note in his lover’s voice, “Elves are not always elves.”

Ferox looked sharply at the assassin, just as Avernus voiced the question on his mind. “Of course they are, pointy ears, resistance to poisons, excellent night vision.”

“Elves are _not_ always elves, there is no such thing any longer as a pure-blooded elf, my friend,” it came out sharp and hard. “No, it is not commonly observed, but take a ‘human’ child from a _shemlen_ and elven union and breed it to another elf, you get an elf half the time, yes? _Shemlen_ will fuck anything that moves, particularly pretty things, and yet there are still ‘elves’, yes? But we are not true _elvhen_ any longer with your insignificant lifespans, raw boned blunt features, weak senses clouding and mixing with our own. But we still adapt unlike _you_. We cannot be bred out. A human blood link to a Mother would provide some similar chance of success as a human with a blood link to a Mother. Hurlock would have a chance of granting survival.”

“And the rare shriek would almost entirely ensure survival.” Much thought was put into the instructions given. _A point to the little healer and to Zevran for understanding why._ “Avernus? Anything else we’re missing out on?”

“A Mother’s blood,” the blood mage straightened completely. “All Mothers killed should have their blood harvested. Or even if a Warden nearing their Calling were to go in and drain some, if they were not too far along... That might assure survival of all those who had no weaknesses in blood or body. Or I believe it would.”

 _Five Mothers killed beneath the Vigil and now he tells me...I wish we knew. Wish he knew and had said._ “Mothers are well defended, but as they are the sources of darkspawn they are the ultimate goals, other than the Archdemons themselves.”

Zevran grunted, “I see one problem. A small one, but an important one. If we kill all the Mothers we find, we will limit the amount of darkspawn potential Wardens might match. For every Mother we kill, we reduce the survival rates. It is a...damned if you do, damned if you do not scenario.”

Ferox mused aloud, “And who is to say that after the last two dragons are slain that the stories weren’t true and there were actually eight or nine instead of just seven?”

“And the Creators, they were locked away, just as the Old Gods were,” Zevran added, a chilling thought. “We may never be truly free of Blights.”

Avernus yanked his hand away from Zevran’s, “ _No_! There _must_ be an end to them! Everything I have done is to put an end to it! Every deal struck with demons, every minute locked in this tower!”

Having observed yet another widening picture of the world at large, Ferox was frustrated, “Why should there be an end? There’s no end to man, to the Tevinters who supposedly brought this down on us? Perhaps seven fit better into the iambic pentameter poetry of the time instead of nine, or sixteen or some eternal number. Perhaps the Tevinter mages, in order to cheat death, take over other bodies so more dragons become ‘contaminated.” _Morrigan’s thoughts on Flemeth, for example. If she could do it, why not them?_ “Or what if this is just the same one, each time, because its soul keeps being reborn?” _Okay dummy, that did hurt your brain. And, assuming that Morrigan was correct, that ritual would distract that particular soul for a while, right?_

He thought Avernus might cry he looked so crushed, “Then there is no hope of it ending, is there? None. The work will never stop. There will never be any rest.”

_Tower right here, Warden. You were just hiding in it._

“Locusts come, strike fields, devouring all in sight, leaving nothing but carcasses and scarred land,” Zevran’s words were implacable. “Farmers learn how to set aside stores, how to fight them in swaths, it makes a dent. But they do come again, and again, they leave. With better tools and methods, less and less damage can be done, or at least be prepared for, yes? These Archdemons, that is what the Blights they bring, are. Thedas needs _tools_ to deal with them. And the First Warden is not sharing, hmn? You are a mind that has tackled these things, you can at least lay proper foundations, no?” As Ferox watched, Zevran gathered up a palm sized bowl and pulled out a knife, “Your results were skewed due to elves, the duplicate amulet was not suited to me, and there are other ideas, other tools to be gained, but you need materials for research.” One of the smaller veins on the back of his hand was sliced, rivulets of red running down into the bowl. “I am an elf, as elven as any other. You have not had any elven subjects or access to any. Perhaps this will help, yes? Give you a better series of data.”

 _The other Avernus must have had access to both the healer and her assassin._ It had not occurred to him how this information had been discovered. _How does this change Avernus and his duplicate’s work? Is this how the other research came about?_

“You...have a point.” Avernus reverently picked up the bowl as it filled to the brim. “Let me heal that wound, boy. No use wasting a resource unnecessarily.” The mage touched a finger to the cut, banishing it in a red glow. “You will be wanting to stay for a few days, the weather tends to be unpredictable, and my weather magic isn’t what it could have been if I had gone other routes. I can’t promise clear roads down the mountain passes.”

“And you want time to examine that,” Zevran gestured at the bowl. 

Slight smile twisting the wrinkled lips, “That too. I’ll have questions I need to ask you, ask you both, observations, histories. I won’t know the extent until I’ve at least made some preliminary studies on this.”

A few minutes later they were crossing over the stone buttress bridge to the main building. “Was that Bad Guard turned Good Guard with his buddy the lyrium crazed Templar, or was I just dreaming it?”

“You make a very handsome wild card, _querido_ ,” the assassin slid an arm around his waist. “My specialties run towards interrogation. Together we make a very good team, yes? A ridiculously handsome team. Also, after what I saw in his mind, I felt a touch bad for attacking him so.”

“She did say that the amulet was not for you. I doubt she would have let you leave with it if there was something that would harm you or anyone else for that matter.” Lightly, “Probably because your duplicate would be upset by having frequent visitors.”

Jogging down the steps towards the kitchen area, “Some people just need to be worked on, they do not like it, but eventually they forget their protests after a time. One only need keep tapping away. That one is a very lonely man. Which is hard to deal with when one’s core culture is nearly hive minded.”

Knowing a reflective example when he hears one, Ferox changed the subject, “Next order of business, is to turn an aging blacksmith into a diplomat.” Grimacing, “I should leave Mikheal Starfang while we’re here. I swear it’s the most fun he allows himself to have in any given year.” 

“Oh, once he is with the dwarves he will have a great deal of fun,” the hand that grabbed Ferox’s behind gave a quick squeeze sending laughter to him before going to charm his way around the women in hopes of finding large quantities of stew and such.

Ferox followed, thinking ‘aloud’, _’After using the amulet heavily, you are hungrier.’_

 _’Famished enough to eat the Chantry boy’s cooking, or nearly,’_ agreement whirling past a cooking Moira as he stuck a finger into one of the bubbling kettles, narrowly ducking a swat at his shoulder. “Feeeeed me, Moira, we are just growing boys and need our food.”

Moira giggled at him, then at Ferox, waving a wooden spoon at them both, “Growing my tush! An old man is supposed to eat nothing but mash, and you, Ser Warden, are a terrible influence.” Even as she ‘scolded’ them, she dished up large bowls of stew and placed one of the breads that had come from Highever atop the two bowls. Its smell was toasty and fresh, as it was apparent that the small bounty was being shared with the Drydens. “Well, if you’re both so hungry, let’s just get you both out from under foot.”

With a growling stomach, louder than most of his rumbles, Ferox thanked her most kindly for taking pity upon them and found a spot at the long table. _’Well, if it makes any sense, I am too, more than usual.’_ From the corner of his eye as he ate his own meal at a record pace, Zevran was shovelling chunks of potatoes and other tubers and bits of lichen and meat at a rather alarming rate. _’Did you even taste any of that Zevran?’_

 _’Mph, no,’_ grunting as he mopped up the last of the gravy with a chunk of the bread. 

The bread was consumed at a less frenetic pace, chewed thoroughly before being swallowed, but Ferox could sense a shakiness. Laying a hand on his thigh, _‘Zevran?’_

 _’Food was scarce in the training barracks at times,’_ was the only response, the quick flicker of small limbs shivering with hunger in memory. _’Often enough to make us able to deal with it and to get their point across, yes? The Guild was **the** source of food, warmth, anything that was ours came from the Guild. Food is something easy for children to understand, hmn?’_

Turning, straddling the bench, Ferox faced him, understanding dawning, “That’s what the gardens are for, the ones that you both want in Denerim.” 

“To make a Crow, to raise us up on murder, it takes work,” his voice soft. “Some children are made into these tools that we are, so that others do not have to go through wars, so that others do not have to do without. It is like you Wardens in some ways, _querido_... A necessary evil, though I am loathe to say that.”

“A very similar thing, I can see this.” Grabbing both bowls, Ferox got up to wheedle more stew as his stomach made another convincing argument. ‘Chased’ out of the kitchen area, he set seconds down in front of Zevran before joining him again. “Times have changed, at least enough to taste it. Doesn’t mean relaxing your vigilance. After all, other than an interesting forge, we have nowhere else to be at the moment.”

A quirk of lips, “Yes. _Siempre preparese,_ \- always ready. As for things to do, I am sure that winter maneuver training would benefit all. Also a discussion with Levi, see if anyone might wish to take the cup as it were. But any who might be willing should be properly informed, yes?”

“Secrets there are wrong, at least the ones involving ‘this can kill you’. They should have -” thinking of his own Joining, Ferox shrugged letting it go, “We should have been told.”

“In a Warden stronghold, held by an old Warden family, the secrets found here can be kept, or at least not divulged to those who _need_ not know,” Zevran was on the fence obviously. “Those who volunteer to take the cup, those who are conscripted, they should know. Outsiders...on a need to know basis. But not these widespread ones. I should like to have a...conversation...with the First Warden, not that it is possible. It is likely that he has _much_ that would be benefit the Order as a whole.” A thoughtful expression as he ate much slower, the nervous fear that there would not be more food should he want it waning, “If we ever do see Antiva together, a visit to the Warden Commander would be a wise idea. She is a Crow, or at least the one currently is.”

“Think we can manage that in the next two years? Although there’s Len...ahh well, perhaps a new prank can be found to pry him from her unobservant grasp.”

“Terrible toddler-hood,” a simple answer. “Or simply wait until she is in the first, very uncomfortable stages of pregnancy. We would stay gone for oh...three...four...five months. Return the last month or so of the due date. Remember how little she wished for us to be underfoot.”

Snorting at him, “She wished for you to be _quite_ under her feet, or at them at least.”

A gesture as though to discard that fact, “Her feet truly were frightfully swollen. I kept reminding her to rotate and roll them, but it was advice ignored.”

“It was easier to call you back upstairs than do it herself. Besides, she decided that you are better than me in that regard. My one remaining feeling was hurt.” Sticking out his lip, Ferox broke the crust into his soup. “Hrm, we can’t forget to take lichen samples from the cave to see if they’ll survive Amaranthine. Although, these don’t taste bad, I thought Dagna’s had better flavour.”

“I am sure she would not mind giving us samples,” the elf shifted to wind a leg through Ferox’s amicably while somehow managing to make the odd position he contorted into look comfortable. 

Ferox’s hand rested on Zevran’s thigh and squeezed a little. _’Moira said there was plenty more.’_

 _’I am fine,’_ said as he stroked Ferox’s knuckles, rubbing the spaces between them briefly. _’Thank you, **amora**. For everything, yes?’_

_’For everything, yes.’_

XXX

Since they were going to be here for several days, Ferox brought his swords and daggers to the Weaponsmith. _’You realize that we’ll have to ride to Orzammar to do this in the future? If he accepts, that is.’_ Hefting several offered as replacements during the time the repairs would take. Finally choosing a sword for his side and two daggers.

“You say that as though that is a bad thing,” his assassin flipped a dagger in the air catching it by the flat of its blade. “There is a case to be made for travelling Ferelden frequently, making tours of the Bannorn and arls’ demesne so that you can see with your own eyes how things progress. Not only that, but it also can drum up more support for the Crown. Making the Prince Consort available in person regularly for non-Landsmeet interviews would only reflect well upon yourself and the monarchy. A way to put finger to the pulse of the nation, to also know your enemies and rivals more intimately.”

“Have I told you how much I like how you think?”

A wink and flash of teeth, “I believe you told me that this morning, rather loudly if I recall.”

Snorts, “And here I thought you were just cold again.”

A forlorn expression was assumed as he huddled into his great cloak, tugging out the tawny gold and dappled grey of his cat eared cap and pulling it low on his head as he took on a face that the girls had quickly learned from him, “Oh, Ferelden is so freezing, not fit for a delicate cactus as myself, I shall have to avail myself of the hot springs in the faint hope of warmth...”

“I have heard that the waters can be quite pleasant and are quite popular with hothouse flowers,” Ferox was beginning to chuckle.

“Oh, quite, quite,” the arm that slid into his cloak and around his waist proprietorially. “But only when there is someone there to tend them, otherwise they wilt.”

“Unfortunately my skills lay in more practical plants, I am not very familiar with the more exotic species.” Ferox picked up a bit of a rural drawl, “But we might’a hav’a master gard’ner here at th’Peak. I could axe ‘round fer ya.” 

“Faugh, you are horrid, the only gardener I need is you,” rolled gold eyes as hot breath steamed in the cold air. 

“Well, as I tryin’ ta explain, I’m more uv a farmer really, ser...” brown eyes laughed back.

Zevran shook his head mournfully before leaning into him, “Deplorable. You do not sound like a turnip farmer at all.” 

“Thank ye kindly ser, I ackually grow rocks. I’m a’hopin’ ta move inta turnips in a yar er two.”

“Oh? And what kind of rocks do you grow?” a brow rose sharply.

“A little ah’ this, an’ ah little uv that.”

“Well I do like certain type of rocks,” tapping a finger on his chin once before snapping his fingers as though an idea had suddenly struck. “You should show me your fine _rock_ collection, I like them particularly hard, soft ones interest me not much at all.” 

“Well ya see, ser, I’m beginin’ ta think that the fertilizer’s all’rong. An’ then when the cow up’an r-u-n-n-o-f-t with tha missus...well, now tha soil’s just too poor.”

“Well I might know of something that might work better,” as the Antivan began guide-shove-pushing gently towards one of the springs entrances. “No ‘missus’ necessary, in fact they are considered very unnecessary, yes?”

“Well, ser, tha’d be good ‘cause she did take tha cow,” tugging his forelock, Ferox purposely sidestepped Zevran, and moved away from the door.

A feline growl heralded impact, the lean body bearing him into a fortuitous pile of snow, a mock ‘glower’ that broke into a grin quickly as his lover leaned in, “My very tall, Ferelden rock farmer, should be showing me these rocks he was going on about, else I might think he was telling nothing but tall tales to taunt the foreigner.” 

Grateful that he had grabbed his cloak and gloves on the way out the door, Ferox didn’t haul himself up or do anything to dislodge Zevran from his perch, “Ya havn’t herd of stone soup then, ser? Quite tasty. Sum only nine days ol’ on tha fire. I put plenty’ta salt in’it.” 

“Well I only like certain kinds of salty foods, my noble farmer,” nose nearly to his, the crinkles at the corners of eyes deepening, and the puffing fog falling against Ferox’s face as Zevran’s breath froze mid air to sink gently.

“Noble, ser? Well now, my da, he done see the Bann once, but he twern’t no noble ether, he were the town fool, that he were.”

 _’You are most vexatious, **querido** , get thee to the hotsprings else we find out just how difficult it is to unfreeze two people glued together by ice,’_ vaulting free of Ferox and dusting his hands off.

Laughing, “That I should like to see, but not necessarily be a participant in. But I hear that hot water can help even in that situation.” Sitting up, Ferox hissed and squirmed as a bit of snow slid down the back of his collar, “Oh yes, _very_ refreshing that,” and got back to his feet. 

Zevran grabbed his hand yanking him towards the hot springs, _’Come, come, if you please, hmn? Your lover is impatient for you.’_

_’And here I thought you said that the heat makes you all wilty?’_

There was a veritable spring to Zevran’s step as they gained the hot springs, _‘Only if left untended, **amante**.’_

 _’But you have said that the imaginary cacti are prickly and that some should be left alone. Being such a poor farmer, I would hate to become confused between the types or,’_ a bit of a growl, _’rile one up.’_

“Oh, that was bad, truly,” the look he was shot was incredulous. “I can only respond with something worse, and you know it. Alright, warning you now - you asked for it. You are very good at riling one up as it is already there,” the statement was accompanied by a finger pointing down at his crotch a few times. “You only have to look to see it.”

Laughter Ferox could no more restrain than the desire to tease, shook him. “I am certain the snowdrift would be happy to assist in lowering the temperature.” A rivulet of melted snow, from said drift, ran down his spine, making him shudder theatrically.

The Crow’s clothes flew as they were shed then with a grumble hung up on the pegs for that use, but he could see that his Antivan was growling, fit to start pacing like a cornered snow lion. Deep tawny skin whirled in black was revealed in the shed light of lichen and a few lanterns with various coloured glowing crystals as the last of the many layers Zevran was wearing were set aside finally. It always was a bit of a marvel how fast his elf could disrobe.

Methodically and with great care, with no thought to hurrying or rushing, in fact just the opposite, fairly certain he could make his two, three layers last well beyond...well Zevran was wearing a great many layers, Ferox had lost track. In spite of the fact that barely before his boot was off, his lover was already nude of course, but that wasn’t a thought Ferox would show any evidence of noticing. Noting a buckle that needed replacing when they reached Amaranthine, Ferox took his time, wondering just how much longer it would take for Zevran to take matters into his own hands. Folding a shirt, rolling his socks so they did not become separated, giving nearly his entire attention to the task he was engaged in. The rest of him watched his assassin.

He knew he was in trouble when he felt Zevran’s mental fingers begin plucking at him as staccato rolling growls began coming as the Antivan circled impatiently. And then there was the weight of hungry gold suns on him, peeling away layers that Ferox had yet to remove, the story of the dancing girl’s skirts came to mind briefly as a woolen sock was tugged free. Then sensation slid through mental defenses long since lowered, a memory and current reality mixing as the feeling of a tongue moving over him intimately came, then it was gone, leaving Ferox flushed not entirely because of the humid heat of the springs. 

“Something on your mind?” Ferox was distracted, but unfortunately not for the reason of his missing sock...oh, in his hand, _that_ was only a side-effect of the ‘attention’ he had received.

Another growl, this time closer and another press of mind to his, telegraphing exactly how badly his assassin wanted to be in his arms. Then another scintillating sensation, ticklish, intense, enough to nearly push a groan from Ferox’s throat as he realized it was what his mouth felt like on Zevran’s ear, the single word purred, “Plenty.”

Blinking, focusing his vision, Ferox inadvertently removed the last two tunics at the same time, instead of one at a time as he had planned. Ah well there is still leathers and leggings. “You know, perhaps if you talk about it, you’ll be able to get it off your mind. I’d hate for you to be, oh I don’t know, all caught up and be unable to concentrate.” _Like what you’re doing to me._

A low chuckle, fully predatory, “Oh, I can concentrate just fine, _amante_. The question is, can _you_?” 

Ferox was about to reply when he had to stop and lean a hand against the cavern’s wall. It was as though hands and mouths were all over him all at once doing despicably wonderful things, leaving him breathless as real, solid hands came around to remove to the leathers. Gasping, “I think I’m holding up rather well.” _All things considered._

“Oh? Truly, you are a marvel,” leathers falling away piece by piece. Teeth dug in, tugging at one of the muscles of his back, _‘You truly are beautiful, **amante**.’_ Pushing his leggings down the rest of the way before a wet drag of tongue slid down his spine, _’Stealing my breath, tchk, so evil. So cruel to tease me so.’_ All Ferox could do was flex his fingers against the wall, the mental caressing not stopping or slowing as he was treated to the real life sensation of a tongue swirling and licking. _’It is only fair I attempt to do the same, yes? Very reasonable.’_

“How was I,” sharp inhale as a particularly sensitive spot was found, “- to know that you have a -” _is this my native language?_ Of course he couldn’t think the word ‘tongue’ because the only one that existed for him was rather busy at the moment, “- penchant for rural peasant farmers?”

Sucking in another sharp breath as another growl came from somewhere in the vicinity of ‘do not stop, _ever_ ’ sent vibrations skittering as fingers dug into Ferox’s hips, _‘What I have a penchant for, is a man I want, being filled with laughter and good humour. What I have a penchant for,’_ another particularly deep swirl, _’is you playful, **mi bonito amante**.’_

 _ **Maker**. ‘Is that all?’_ Not as calmly as Ferox would have liked to have asked if there was anything more he should remember for next time, but it would have to do, given the circumstances. At least he thought he hadn’t gnashed his teeth...he hoped. Cruelty of cruelties Zevran stopped and was gone so fast that it was only the splash of water that gave Ferox a direction as he sought to catch his breath. 

Picking up scattered articles, Ferox was not quite able to give up on instructions drilled into his head specifically, take care of your arms and armor first. Although he did not drag his feet or prolong the task, he could not walk away and immediately plunge into the hot pool either. This routine and knowing innately where everything was saved his life one dark night and he didn’t care to have to search to find anything, if he needed it that badly again. Everything located, hung, reassembled, or folded, he was able to let it go with a clear conscience and turned to what was actually on his mind.

With an eye on Zevran playing and splashing, some sort of beaver or otter, or perhaps a seal rolling in water, Ferox waded to his favourite spot with the perfect temperature between the spring and the icy cold stream trickling in from outside then shifted closer to the bubbling heat, the stream would freeze up if the weather turned much colder. When his own personal routines or customs were disturbed, Ferox looked for the reasons why. 

And thoughts of frozen streams and cold weather, led to other questions. “How many days here to Amaranthine, if the weather and roads hold? Your horses throw me off.”

“As long as on foot in the summer,” a guess thrown out, before the assassin lunged up in the water then flipped back down. Emerging in front of Ferox, Zevran ran hands over his shoulders, mapping several scars, “I do not wish to think of the delays we will no doubt encounter. Not right now, hmn?”

With a soft sound acknowledging that the elf was right, Ferox drew him closer, as Zevran had requested and pictured earlier. Arms around the warm, limber body, “I would like to be certain of something. You have fondness for me when I’m laughing? You do know how rare that is?”

“Why do you think I work so hard at it?” confusion was staring up at him, as though the elf had never entertained the thought that Ferox hadn’t noticed. “I have more than a simple ‘fondness’ for you in most any state, _querido_. Aiesh, more flowery words - you asked for them, remember this,” said with a playful poke to his shoulder. Ferox nodded solemnly, giving him a squeeze. “Freedom, you free of anything, even for a moment. Worries, anger, pain, duty, obligation... Just free, just Ferox, yes? Sometimes, sometimes it is as though you are still in that box, unwilling to open your eyes and see that the lid is open, hmn? You understand?” Ferox’s dark hair was picked out of its braid by nimble fingers, Zevran’s gaze focused and unfocused at the same time, “You have been free to step outside of it, to open your eyes, yet sometimes, sometimes it as though I can see you in that box, unsure if you truly are free, too afraid to believe that there might be some chance that you are alive, and I can think of nothing but that I must make sure that there is no latch or dirt piled atop it, must make sure that you have a way out. That it is safe to come out, to look around, to be whatever you feel like being. Whenever you forget, whenever the ice does more than melt, this, these things... They make me hunger to touch you, to reassure you, that yes, you truly are out of that place. Does this make sense to you, _amora_?”

This wasn’t the answer he was expecting and not the flowery words he thought would be said. Ferox thought he was going to receive a correction to the word ‘fondness,’ which he chose purposely for that very reason. He had wanted to hear that voice put into words those emotions and sentiments Ferox was still trying to think, putting voice to what were unformed, vague, shapeless things... Well he wasn’t that far yet.

Hearing what he did however, something which he never tried to think of, or picture, or talk about, something that existed in nightmares, Ferox didn’t let go, didn’t shrug off the touch.

For a moment, however, he had to shutter his eyes, uncertain what he was reining in or holding back. Ferox felt disjointed, as if the room he had just entered, everything was on the ceiling upside down. Only, he was the sole one on the ceiling, disorientated, while everyone, everything else, was where they should be. _Surprised? Caught in another trap, are you? Little difficult to squirm out of that, one I see. Saw right through you, did he?_ The message was clear enough, ‘open your eyes because that sun is right there’ - yet here Ferox was, holding onto that light, and his eyes were closed again. 

Hands pushed into the roots of his freed hair, a face pressed against his - cheek to cheek, canted forehead to forehead. _’I would do anything to free you, yes? But these things take time, I cannot push you too hard, though I do at times, hmn? I am sorry, **querido** , my experience in these matters is not particularly vast. I am the killer, not the healer.’_

Leaning into the warmth, Ferox nodded slightly, not certain which one, or all of them, he was agreeing to, or if he were just acknowledging the words. Gruffly, “I’m sorry too. Believing is very difficult, able only to be done moment to moment...The times you seem to enjoy most, are when I am not thinking, not frozen...stuck.”

“I may understand, but sometimes it is difficult,” self-deprecating laughter. “But I enjoy _all_ times. I am not choosy when it comes to you.”

Eyes opening, still caught in the brilliance, “I don’t envy you the storm cloud that you allow to trail in your wake, but I am grateful that you keep me about.”

Zevran’s arms wound around his chest, the two amulets pressed to each other as their torsos did the same. Something beyond desire and beyond need flowed, the easiest ways of demonstrating that thing was desire, constant, eternal. But it barely touched the surface of it.

 _It is a gift. It cannot be earned or purchased._ A flicker of thought went to the bit of jewelry in his ear, _No payment. Just accept and try to be worthy of it._ Inadequate, but between that, and what little he had to give back, it was all Ferox had. If he had been able to understand what Zevran was showing him, Ferox might have understood that it was the greatest gift, which he could only, in his present state, be aware of vaguely.

XXX

Avernus was pacing with a surprising amount of energy when Ferox and Zevran went to see him.

Before Zevran could even set down the large tray of food and tea he had thoughtfully brought up, as though it were some peace offering saying that he wouldn’t be ‘accosting’ the old mage, Avernus was gesticulating and talking quickly. “ _You_ , you would not survive the Joining. Not without a Mother, not without an elven one. Maybe not even then! I need other samples, yours is too...it’s too much. There’s not enough, there’s... I can’t even _begin_ to understand the data. I need several other elven blood samples.”

Racking his mind, Ferox didn’t recall any elves being at the Peak, not even a Warden. “There are several elven families at the Vigil, I’m certain Anders can gather and preserve some samples and send them back with Levi come spring. Might be the easiest.”

Avernus was hopping so much he danced in place with some strange mix of excitement and irritation. “I’ll need new beakers, his, you - _you_ ,” the Warden turned on Zevran jabbing a finger at him. “You broke all the beakers! Half of my equipment has been ruined! Things that have lasted centuries - gone! Poof! Broken! I only used a fraction, a mere fifth of what I would deem a safe amount from a human, and lo’ and behold! Broken! Shattered!”

“Avernus? What are you ranting about?” Ferox raised an eyebrow.

Warily Zevran set the tray down, _’Does he mean his mind? That certainly seems more broken than usual...’_

“This!” a hand was waved at one of the desks, then as though realizing neither of them saw more than the usual pile of glass and gewgaws. “A moment, here, I will show you.” Several beakers were brought forward and two boxes. Into the first beaker a goodly portion of what Ferox could only assume was human blood was dumped. Then into the second beaker a much, much smaller amount. The third, only the tiniest of flakes were put in. “Now - watch,” the first beaker was picked up, power of some sort flowing from the Warden into it. 

Inside the glass, the blood splashed and wobbled, suddenly it returned to regular liquid. “This is human blood. This is just the preparation spell, the one that allows me to work with it, to test its properties and compare it to other samples I have.” The flask was set down, the second picked up. “Now for the assassin’s.” 

The same thing was repeated, a brief bit of magical force touched to it. Then it was set in its holding tray. In moments it went from the same behaviour as the human blood...but then the vial’s contents _congealed_ climbing and attacking the glass as though it were alive. Suddenly it began to shake violently, like some evil substance trying to break free of a prison. 

For a moment Ferox held his breath as it finally settled down...

Then the flask exploded, contained only by a field of magic the mage quickly surrounded the beaker with.

“Maker, what the hell was that?” Zevran asked the question on both their minds, his tone horrified and shocked.

“I don’t _know_!” Avernus nearly howled. With a puff the room was cleaned up of the litter. “Now, I have questions. You both have answers. Firstly, I need to take down histories of both of you, age, weight, physical measurements, parentage, skills. Secondly, have either of you noticed any physical changes of late? Behavioural? Memories not your own? Anything?”

After the first slew of questions were answered, measurements of height and limb length, histories recorded, Ferox finally said the first thing that came to mind about ‘physical changes’.

“Zevran seems to have the appetite of a Warden...eats more than Alistair ever did, that’s new. As for memories, nothing other than my own and what he shares.”

Avernus scribbled in shorthand and odd shapes on book, bent over it, bald head nodding and giant, fleshy old ears wobbling, “Does anything trigger the increased hunger?”

“The worst times are after he’s used the amulets to...rummage in another’s mind. But, that,” a thought occurs, “makes me hungry too...much more than usual, immediately afterwards.”

Zevran passed Avernus then Ferox cups of tea, “Also when I link to him for a long time, I wind up hungrier.”

That was news to Ferox, but Avernus only nodded. “It appears that you are using Warden abilities, different... Or at least using Warden gateways as a focus for your own inherent...differences. The elven Initiates who failed their Joinings...their blood never reacted the same way yours does. I must have information, otherwise all I have are hypotheses. But one wonder I have that might be something easily answered, is what sort of range you have. Make that two wonders - if you can communicate with more than one Warden at once.”

 _’Different place, different mage, same question. Are you going to tell him about the range between three amulets, like with Len?’_

_’I am debating, I am not sure I wish to reveal the fact that I have four amulets,’_ Zevran’s look was significant. “The amulet you gave me is the one I use when I...make my presence known in another’s mind.”

_’Well, he knows you have the one you wear, and the one you held, and of course my own. He doesn’t know of any other than that. Just leave ‘who’ out. I don’t want him to get any ideas regarding a Warden’s child and what that could entail.’_

“Oh such a _nice_ way of putting it,” delivered dryly. 

“You think so? I thought so also,” a quirk of a smile. “To use it, I require Ferox nearby. No more than three to four meters away.”

_’You know, the healer talked to people who weren’t Warden’s too. Was she using a similar method? You heard her when you were without an amulet.’_

_’Yes, but I had to touch her. And for me to reach out to someone, I have to have my amulet to reach for you then an amulet to reach for them while I am touching them.”_

_’Exactly. Didn’t you see her wrists? She wears two and has to touch the ‘victim’ just as you do.’_

He felt Zevran go ‘blank’ like he usually did as he was clearly digging and sorting through his own memories, _’Ah, I had not noticed, no.’_

 _’Since she has that sword and dagger, both with the same scent, I’m guessing she found Duncan’s amulet at Ostagar too, just as we found his blades there.’_ Ferox could not withhold the distaste for the man who bore them from his thoughts.

In the meantime Avernus had made another amulet apparently, “This has the ratios that your current amulet has. It is one of mine. Each day when you rise, I wish you to attempt to contact me. You do not have to wear it unless you choose to.”

“Better have breakfast ready before you do.” It would either be the fastest meal inhaled, or Zevran would have to be drug unconscious down to the kitchen. Ferox wasn’t certain if the images were funny or not. However a bad thought occurred to him. What if the elf forgot to remove Ferox’s amulet and blasted a loud call to Avernus - _he - Ferox_ might be deaf and dealing with another massive headache... That thought wasn’t so funny. Wondered if Zevran would have the control to be able to separate the communications. “Zevran...would you mind testing that one right now? And can you keep me out of the link without removing my amulet?”

Zevran hitched a hip on the nearest work table, eyes closed, and everything went still. 

“Enough young man! Not so loud!” Avernus clapped hands over his ears as though that would block the sound.

The assassin swayed, a hand reaching out for Ferox, who stepped in, “Did you feel it, _querido_?”

“No and I appreciate it,” _’greatly.’_ Through the link, Ferox wrapped an arm around Zevran’s waist with a squeeze. “I recommend taking something for that headache, Avernus, it’s a bitch.” He narrowly avoided laughing at the mage.

XXX

Eleanor had come up, a mittened hand finding its way into his, hanging on as they walked through the Peak’s marshalling yard, “Unka Fox, who’s dat sad man who walks ‘round sometimes...?”

Not knowing of whom she spoke, Ferox asked, “Sad man?”

“All alone...no hair and no hat. It’s too cold. Someone should give him a hat,” her free hand gestured, patting atop her fox eared knit cap.

Worried, Ferox admonished her, “The old mage? You are not to go up there; the tower’s off limits.”

“No no - he walks out - oh there he is!” Eleanor pointed excitedly, hopping beside him, jerking his arm with the motion, “I think I have an extra scarf!” She ran off, relinquishing his hand fast as that, while she rummaged on her person tugging at various scarves and layers.

 _Maker, that’s Justice._ “Eleanor, come back!”

“Just gonna give -” she called and paused staring up at the Spirit possessed corpse and Ferox feared the worst reaction was to come, “ - what happened? You have owwies.” Holding up a purple scarf, “It’s cold. You shouldn’t walk around without something on your head, you’ll get sick. That’s why you’ve got booboos all over your face, Ser.”

Christoff’s corpse was looking a little ragged, but not as bad as he would have if in the more varied and damp climate of Amaranthine. “No thank you, child. Commander. What is this child doing out?”

“Eleanor, this is Justice, he’s...a Warden. A different kind of Warden.” Trying to snag her hand, “Now, come along, you are late for your lunch.”

A stubborn cast came over her features, as she jumped up and down trying to loop the scarf over Justice’s shoulders, head and neck, even though she wasn’t anywhere near of a height to be successful. “He’s cold, you’re cold Justice, you need a scarf to help keep you from having booboos!”

“Justice, this is Eleanor and she would like for you to have her scarf.” The girl had no idea, thankfully, that the man before her was a walking corpse and couldn’t feel cold. _On second thought, it’s probably a good thing she doesn’t understand that. Zevran would have my hide. Or Moira. Probably both. Definitely both._ “So, why don’t you be polite-,” _just this once_ , “and accept it?”

“Hmph. I thank you, child,” as he held out a hand to take it, but the little girl yanked on the appendage in an attempt to get him to come down lower.

“Here, let me,” she bossed and wrapped it around Justice’s neck. “There, all better, Ser Justice.” Walking off with Eleanor, “He’s very sad, he probably just needs a bath. He’s kind of smelly, Uncle Fox. Baths always make Zev happy when he’s sad.”

 _Will not laugh. Do not laugh. Do not think thought of hot springs and happy Zevrans either._ The laugh broke out anyway as he picked Eleanor up to make up for the fact that now her neck would be cold. _Bad vocal cords._

XXX

Ferox helped Moira into the sleigh and as she brushed past him, without thought he murmured, “Mmm, I like that scent. What is it?”

“It’s what you gave me for Saturnalia,” she smiled, clearly pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

“It suits you perfectly,” not noticing the satisfied rumble that had crept into his voice. 

The gloved hand he had been holding to help her into the sleigh gave his a squeeze, “Thank you.”

Feeling Zevran behind him with Len, he turned to look at the scrunched up face peeking out of and being tickled by the furs. Leaning over, Ferox gave Len a Chasind nose to nose ‘kiss.’ “You better like cold like your Father, young man.” 

“Dada! Bahbahbahbahbahdada,” happy squealing mostly nonsense, except the random ‘dada’ thrown in there as mittened and socked hands reached out to grasp at Ferox’s face. Rubbing their noses together once more, Ferox caught the scent on the baby’s head as well, probably from being tucked under Moira’s chin, before moving out of the way. “Papapapabapbbrrbt.”

“You know, I think the linking with our little man has helped him with words,” Zevran mused pressing the tip of his nose to a fat cheek then passing Len to Moira.

_’Well, he talks as much or more than his father, so I’d have to agree.’_

“Ha-ha,” complete deadpan. “The girls talk to him plenty as well. So do you, as does Moira.” _’Even Sarah, which is surprising. Here I had thought she was about as disconnected as the Harpy,’_ Zevran passed the hot coal box after checking it, then went to the other side of the sleigh to make sure everyone was tucked in properly, just as Ferox was doing.

 _’Sarah is here, every day,’_ Ferox avoided the rest of the obvious statement, that _she_ was not, and had no desire to be there either. 

Elissa was leaning in to Sarah who was adjusting the girl’s little cap, “Now see here, lil’miss, you’ll get your hair all mussed and catch cold.”

“Thank you Miss Sarah,” Elissa gave the woman a brisk hug. 

Eleanor was already asleep under Moira’s arm, with Len cuddled in between them. 

Mounting their horses, Ferox made a rather disgusted sound and muttered,“We are very stupid men and do not see what is right in front of us.” To the inquiry written on Zevran’s face, “Yes, you and I. The way to sway Sarah was, is, obvious. Her family should have been included in this family.”

Zevran smacked his forehead, “Auck. _Meldicion_ , you are right... We will need to get one of the other rooms opened up as well. For filial privacy, yes? It is just an empty guest room at this time if I remember correctly...”

“I sometimes think that the family wing was built with the idea of twelve children...at least we are finding new uses for them. As soon as we get back,” _But I don’t want to go back. Ever._ “We will need to rectify that oversight...and I don’t mean with a dozen children.”

The Antivan waved a hand, “My information was that it was just the good woman, her aged mother, and the newborn. Well, not so new now, yes? They lived near the Pearl.”

“We are truly stupid men,” shaking his head.

“We are men, it is to be expected,” said with a shrug and a shake of head. “But it is a massive oversight on our part.”

XXX

Cold. There was simply no other word. Even their curtained bed at the Peak was warmer, wishing that the pipes with hot water had been installed to that floor as it had in the rest of the Keep. This night put that _slight chill_ to shame. “Zevran. I have a bad feeling about the horses. It’s too cold for them to go through this for long.”

“We could go back to the Peak,” Zevran muttered a bare topped Len inside the elf’s clothes, the little capped head peaking out time to time from the shirt collar to keep him warm against the Antivan’s skin. “That is the only thing I can think of, _querido_. As is, they are looped together for warmth at the moment, and the women and children have a tent wrapped over the largest sleigh... The men are also doubled up more than usual, and not a one of them cares, yes?”

“It will be warmer as we reach the coast, but would be good to keep an eye out for a farm or barn or some kind of shelter...you know, that might not be a bad idea. Space them out at reasonable day’s ride along the Highway. Especially if we implement the message service or make any more trips like this. Inns would be better, but hrm...” Ferox’s mind was warming up even as his teeth chattered. “Crown builds the barn or inn...”

“Locals stock them,” Zevran tucked his chin to kiss the little bear-eared cap that popped out to look at him. “Some would be inns, yes. But some would have to be similar to a huntsmans’ refuge. Areas where there are less people, yes? Big enough for two horses and four men in a single room. Wood for a winter, things like this. Locations only known to messengers and the military and the local lord, mn?”

“Some of those enclosed dwarven stoves would be warmer, were warmer than hearths.” 

Zevran leaned forward enough to kiss him briefly, “Do not forget the stove you saw in Kirkwall, yes? That is an Antivan design. One could cross the two, the Antivan cooktop and oven, with the round pot bellied dwarven one, with a barrel chimney to draw out the smoke, hmn? Cooking _and_ warmth.”

“For the refuges and small houses, that would be perfect. I’d tell you to write it on your list, but I think the ink froze. Wish we had thought of this a year or two ago.”

His lover grunted a little, “Inns would also bring in revenue for the kingdom.”

“And employ those who are not fit for the fields. Little farming towns will spring up around them.” At a sharp draft, Ferox shuddered, “Maker! Zevran, where is your large bottomed woman? Weren’t you supposed to pack one this trip?”

“Moira is no doubt with Sarah keeping the girls warm with Horse sprawled over their feet,” the Antivan grumbled. “Tomorrow night, I say we suck it up, and simply pile in with them all, we are family, we can be friendly.”

Snorting, “It’s nice when you forget that I’m the grumpy one.”

“Yes, well, I am worried,” burrowing closer to protect Len. “If his royal sweetness had not been so fussy about these two new teeth, he would be safe amongst the gaggle of women instead of pinned between two cold and worried old fish-husbands.” 

“Gaggle of warm bottoms. Although I wouldn’t have said that Moira’s was large...Sarah, well, that’s a handful.” Ferox muttered and reached outside of their nest to tug Zevran’s cloak back over them.

“Possibly, but Moira smells far nicer. Which, by the way, you are a despicably evil man, hmn? She walks by and mph,” a lip curled as he took a brief inhale. “Evil.” 

“She smells very nice. I rather like it. Thanked me quite nicely too when I noticed.”

“As do I, fresh carnations and sweet peppercorn with a bit of cactus blossom and cardamom,” the list of contents rattled off. “Evil, that was definitely an Antivan perfume oil you selected. It is good you like it, as we will have to keep her in it. Or maybe not, so I do not go mad with it.”

Asking a question he probably didn’t want the answer to, “Well, I suppose you two haven’t had much time alone recently. When do you think you’ll remedy that?”

Zevran blinked several times, “ _Querido,_ are you very sure you wish to follow this line of inquiries?”

 _No._ But he was an adult and Moira made Zevran happy. He just had to hang onto the memory of what his lover had shown him. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“The first night back from Orzammar, and not since. We do not...it is not a thing between she and I that requires frequent coupling, it is friendship and care, and truthfully, it is also to demonstrate parental behaviours,” it was delivered rather clinically, but Ferox must have made an odd sound because Zevran elaborated. “Maker, no, we do not do anything in front of the children beyond kiss or hold hands. But, Ferox, my beloved _shemlen_ , what Moira and I share is pleasant, not meant to replace what means the most to me, yes? You do not...mph...you are not deficient in any way, but I must admit that I am rather fond of breasts time to time.” A hand came up, the mitten pulled off by teeth so that it could rest and curl around Ferox’s cheek, “It would be no hardship for she and I to cease, I would merely have to explain. Neither of us wish for you to be uncomfortable or unhappy or feel threatened.”

 _I wish Anora was ‘pleasant’_ Shaking his head slightly, so Zevran could feel, “No, I am none of those things and she does make you happy.”

“You know, she is the one who kept me hoping you would come around,” a brown thumb ran over his lips. “She was the one who said that I should not give up, that I should not give up or let myself fall to despair, believing that the most that would come of you and I, was being able to share the parenting of Len. When I would think I could not last a moment longer, she was the one who would dry my tears and tell me not to be a ‘goofy silly man’ who risked turning bitter.”

“Nice to know that raiding the kitchen had such excellent results. I am glad Zevran. Truly. Do not cease on my account.”

A growl which garnered a little mini-rumble from Len who was sleepily trying to mimic his parents, “I do not want you to be uncomfortable and I fear you might be, hmn? You would not say, you bear your disquiets on your own, yes? This is the man you are, a man I would trade for no other, but I am no mind reader.” 

The last statement made Ferox laugh, “Oh? Really? Not even with that neat little party trick?”

Mild chagrin, “Faugh, that is not what I meant. I...you must tell me things, _queirdo._ If something agitates you, tell me. If you would prefer things one way or another, then yes, tell me these things too. We are in this together, until death bears us apart, and past.”

“Often you know before I do, but I will try. Do not worry on the other yet. The healer said she has found more time; that the process of readying for this little man has helped with that. Pushed it off as it were,” it hurt to see the flickering and repressed sorrow in the gold eyes as he tried to comfort him.

Zevran’s fingertips, calloused and worn smooth, stroked over Ferox’s features slowly, gently, as though trying to memorize them. “She told me, I am grateful for each second to each year, every breath longer is a priceless gift.”

XXX

He was certain that the daylight brought no warmth, with the air that had rushed from the south up through the Bannorn. Smart people, warm people, were inside, not traveling. Ferox’s teeth seemed to be in a permanent chatter and he had to be careful not to bite his tongue when speaking. Although bricks and pans of coals were in the sleighs, heated stones were distributed to tuck into mittens that morning as well. 

_’A barn, Zevran. My paltry kingdom for a barn. Even if we stop early, I care not. And if you do not want my kingdom, I have a bottle of whiskey to share amongst those who search.’_

A quick sip from a flask, then Zevran whistled sharply, “ _Amigos_ , if we find good shelter and have only travelled half the day, we still stop. Tonight we will not freeze our _cajones_ off if it can be helped. Preferably some place large enough for our faithful mounts too, eh? A bottle of Ferox’s finest shared out, to those who find. So look sharp!”

_’Unfortunately, this cold air hitting the sea, or the ocean, may make for another snowstorm. As Father would say, I cannot taste a change in the weather yet. But I think everyone, especially the small, need to be warm soon...and the livestock worry me.’_

_’The Vigil is two days from here, if the weather holds and we make good time. We need to cover as much ground as possible, yes?’_ Zevran scanned the surroundings.

_’The cold snaps often last for long weeks at a time, so we should be fine. But it is always a thought in the back of the head, being outside in one...well. Warmth today though, frostbite is a bad thing and the children are most at risk. Besides that, I think a pair of them really need to run free, even if it is just a barn.’_

_’Yes, Elissa and Eleanor may generally be well behaved, but I think they are feeling the stress,’_ a faintly worried glance was tossed towards the sleigh. _’And I worry for Len, those beautiful toes and fingers should not turn colours.’_

 _’White and frozen frightens me more.’_ Nodding only. “Just keep your hood on too. And your cat ears.” _Even I am finished with the cold this trip. Although I could use a snow bank with a feisty elf on my chest and a hot springs a few steps away._ And because the thought warmed him, he shared it with Zevran. 

A purr coupled with a mental lick and rub of hardness rubbed to his inner thigh, _’Careful **amante** , else I may think you desire me.’_

_’You mean there’s a doubt?’_

_’Tchk, well I do not wish to sound boastful,’_ laughter shone from what little of the Antivan’s face was exposed after he wrapped the long ends of his cap around his face.

 _’What if I have a fondness for when you sing your own praises...sound your own horn?’_ Snickering.

A thoughtful pause, _’You know, I am able to do that.’_

Scoffing, _’I find that unlikely -’_ and he was cut off by a memory of impossible angles.

 _’A man gets lonely some nights and his hands are boring,’_ was the explanation.

Ferox was warm now and laughing. _’Your hands are anything but boring.’_ “Well, hopefully our rock farmer Earl lives around here and has an empty barn or he up and r-u-n-n-o-f-t with the swine or a chicken or two and left his farmhouse for some frozen travelers and was into large woodpiles of dry wood under cover.”

 _’At this rate we will have to find somewhere slightly private at least long enough for me to have my way with you,’_ teasing warmly. “Auck, rock farmers.”

“I thought you like Earl, I found him quite polite.” 

“Yes, but he never did show me his rock collection,” muffled and bemoaned through the silken wool that matched and blended Zevran perfectly with his horse and surroundings. “Or give me any of that rock soup he had mentioned.”

“Well, he was so broken up over the cow. He probably just forgot...or you weren’t forceful enough. Everyone can have a bad day, I’ve heard that it can happen to anyone, my dear assassin. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Laughter building again.

 _’I intend to get a good mouthful of that ‘soup’ I was told so much about,’_ sent his way along with the thick taste of ejaculate, the pleasure of working a moan from a lover, tangled hands in hair... _’There is nothing for it, **amora** , you must give me a good taste of this Ferelden specialty.’_

A humming at the flavour and Ferox knew what he wanted. _’Oh, no. Don’t tell me Earl turned you down? That is sad...’_ shaking his head in sympathy.

 _’The wily bastard pulled out discussions that precluded such delightful specialties,’_ grumbled at him.

A snorted chuckle, _’I can see where a bit of comfort might help you get over such a loss...Probably told you he was only helping that sheep over the fence, and you believed him. What a two timer...on the plus side though, I heard he left Ethel the sheep behind.’_

 _’ **Querido** , have you an idea how difficult it is to ride with a throbbing erection, hmn? And us with no fortuitous bushes to go scamper behind. So cruel, you drive me mad,’_ tut-tutting playfully.

 _’Don’t pick on me just because Earl r-u-n-n-o-f-t with the pig or the chickens.’_ Shaking with laughter, Ferox could not complete the thought. Wiping his eyes, _’However, I do hear that the Warden Commander has some very nice quarters up the road, perhaps he’ll pay restitution for the misdeeds of his not so loyal subject.’_

A little growl, _’He had best do so, a Crow is only so patient for so long.’_

_’I was led to believe, by a very reliable source, that they are a very patient lot.’_

_’Only up to a point,’_ his elf’s horse sidling a little closer. _’But truly, it is these faces you make, mental ones or otherwise, please, you have some idea, foolish man, of I desire you.’_

_’And I thought all of this started because you doubted my desire, my foolish elf. It is the sole reason I torment you so.’_

Lots of grumbling and shifting significantly in his saddle as they rode side by side. _’I do not doubt your desire of me, how could I when you shine with your feelings every time you think of me, **querido**? So much so that all I can do is sit there sometimes, hmn?’_

Lightly, “It is amazing how much snow will reflect the sun. Ice crystals sparkling like a box of fine cut jewels. Every tree on the hillsides highlighted as if they were the only important one.” Describing the stark yet extravagant scene in front of them. “Without the sun there is no reflection of light and the beauty of the snow is lost in the night. A full moon can suffice for a time, but eventually if fades and leaves behind a trap for the unwary, the unprepared. Snow will melt, but the sun, it is a more permanent fixture. I would rely more on that.”

“Yes, yes, that is all well and good, but in the Drylands, Weyrs, and mountains, the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ steer not by landmarks on ground, but by those in the sky. The permanent sparkle of constellations, certainly not by the single orb that is the sun,” said testily. _’ **Querido** , you must stop this. You do not need to justify every small thing you do, every time you have a flash of silliness or happiness need not be countered with such seriousness. Let it be. Let yourself be. Yes, these are things I love about you, but you do not have to constantly do this to yourself. Just take a moment to be happy and appreciate the world around you and that you are appreciated without needing to earn, or work, or gloom to purchase these things. Ah-ah! I can feel you starting to sink, cease. Else I will haul you from that large Orlesian ox and tumble you in the snow with no care for frostbite on certain delicate anatomy or audiences!’_

Ferox took a frozen breath and held it for a moment, “First I ride a plow horse and now an ox.” _’Poor Ethel will be next. And her so sad because Earl threw her over for the pig...err chickens.’_

A flask was pulled from Ferox’s belt as Zevran coaxed his horse close enough to do so and shoved his little scarf-mask aside long enough to take a good draw off of it and pressed it to Ferox’s hand. “An ox is better than a plow horse. At least an ox is strong. A plow horse is just a distempered dumb creature. Oxen are merely dumb and big. Though...” trailing off thoughtfully. “Ignacio did say that when he and Cesar were boys before being sold to the Guild, that their fishing family had an ox for a pet. Was smart enough to get himself out of his pen. And to help work himself into the traces for hauling the ropes of the ferry. So, I suppose an Orlesian ox is smart enough to get out of the pen likely. Or at least out of the way of others.”

“Just like dogs.” Over his shoulder before the ‘woof’ could be voiced, “Dogs, not mabari.” Returning to a more conversational tone, “Them too, they’ll do anything for a treat, including work.”

A clucked tongue, “I prefer the small hunting cats. Viciously intelligent little creatures, small, light, unnoticeable until bearing down and breaking a gazelle's spine. Mmm...lovely things.” An offended woof, “You, my fine stout and strong friend are neither small nor light. What you are is strong, keenly intelligent and quite handsome.”

Ferox rolled his eyes. “That sounded just like Leliana.”

“Ohhhh if only the brick house of a bottom were to be had!” crying out mournfully as he swayed in the saddle a hand to his chest.

Several hours later as the sun was behind them in the west, the flock was gathering on the road ahead, “Think they found anything?” _Please let them have found something._

“Well, there are two of them, and there is smoke not too far off,” Zevran jerked his chin towards a bit of thin smoke, perhaps as close as five furlongs, or as far as eight. “Nor are they riding towards us at a breakneck speed, and -” a pause, the scarf was pulled down as the nose tipped to take in the air, nostrils flaring, mouth slightly ajar as though tasting it also. “And I scent no blood.”

 _My nose is too cold to smell anything._ Ferox, ducked his cheeks back in the heavy cloak around his shoulders and wrapped about him. “Good. I swear any more Orlesians ‘dropping by’, ‘gifts’ of horses or no, and I may be driven to push that _décadents tas de merde dans la mer_.” [decadent pile of shit into the sea]

“Well, Antiva is decadent, but we have drainage, so while there is garbage on some streets, very little of it is piles of shit,” laughing as he pulled the scarf back into place. 

“I’ve never been and therefore couldn’t possibly comment.”

“And I have never been to Orlais, nor do I wish to go, no matter how well I speak the language, _oui_?” 

Crinkles as Ferox smiled under the cloak, “ _Oui, mon ami_. I, unfortunately, have been. Thankfully, I was young and nothing stuck other than our tutor for the language was _une jolie fille_.” [a pretty girl]

“Pretty girls are easier to find than handsome men, except of course these two fine gentlemen up ahead,” said before he hailed them. “What news? Who owes whom a bottle of whiskey?”

“ _El jeffe_ will be pleased that the _niños_ will not be so exposed tonight,” one of the flock had his horse pace forward a few steps. Ferox thought it was probably Alois, with the hot coffee coloured eyes being a fairly common colour amongst the flock, but it was the way the softly spoken tenor carried that seemed to indicate - at least to Ferox - which one it was. “An abandoned homestead, most of the building is rotted, but the barn is in decent condition.”

“I have heard no better words today.” Ferox mentally marked the location for the thin line of future shelters. “Let’s get the women and children inside, and I will locate the teryn’s generous parting gift.”

Ferox wasn’t overly surprised when he got carted off for a few minutes. Everyone else was busy setting up the indoor camp, tents rigged in some areas, otherwise, stretched out to provide a bit of cocoon against drafts. His cloak was pushed aside enough so that Zevran could get close, his face burying itself in the crook of Ferox’s neck, making soft little growls with the occasional nip. Yes, Zevran was _certainly_ in a mood, as he only got like that when he was feeling possessive.

Not that Ferox had a single complaint about it. 

_”Please, **querido** ,”_ whispered pleading in his ears within and without as a hand wiggled past the barriers of clothing since armour had been discarded. ”I need you, _amante_ ,” hoarsely muttered against his cheek. 

Rumbled amusement, “I would be happy to please.” 

Ducking into the warmth of the majestic furs, Ferox unlaced and slid the elf’s trews partially down. He intended to return an oft repeated touch, a tongue swirled round tip before taking in the deliciously warm length. His arms wrapped around the tense buttocks and hands rested at the small of the elf’s back, as Ferox lavished attention on the ornamentation. Tongue wound up and around the spheres and spacers, catching the ring at the tip, before lips took him in and slid down the pulsing heat.

Half-groan, half-whimper fingers pushed into his hair, tangling and not doing anything other than massaging his skull, as he felt Zevran shiver. Words of praise began falling from lips as Ferox teased for only a short time, wanting to hear his lover break down and apart under his attentions. One of those rapid-fire flashes of thought-sensation was shared, _’Want-need-want-pleasure-wet-tight-hot-you-slick- please-love-desire-smell-touch-taste-sound-want-want-want-want-want.’_ Groaning around him, Ferox wondered briefly if his lover was going to pull him along to shared bliss, but instead the elf squirmed down and pressed away his furs spreading haphazardly on the ground as the Antivan tugged Ferox beside him.

It didn’t take long, but by then Zevran was already moving to lick the inside of his mouth while long fingers reclaimed the need and ache. Beneath and inside clothes hands ranged and roamed, while Zevran was a blazing heat in Ferox’s hand and wrapped around his own length. Cloak unfastened so that he could lap away their mixed releases, Zevran groaned happily as Ferox found himself impossibly shuddering again. Even though the air was cold because they were far from the fire, tucked away at the end of one old box stall, Ferox was tempted to just roll the two of them up in their cloaks and not come out until the Maker ordered them to. And even then he would likely protest. 

Generally, Ferox wouldn’t classify Zevran as ‘clingy’, but sometimes that was what it was like. As in the current moment where Zevran had his face firmly pressed into Ferox’s hard line of muscle that ran from hip to stomach. And there was a faint shakiness, barely there, almost as though he were cold. _Or like the night I thought I had dreamt,_ as he felt the tight and very fine vibration in the back of his lover’s neck.

 _’Tell me.’_ The face pressed harder and rubbed in, reminding him a bit of Ser-Pounce when he would come by to insist - _More like demand_ \- a petting. 

_’Tell you what, **querido**?’_ confusion even as it almost appeared that the Antivan was trying to crawl into his skin, a fold of cloak following.

 _’Whatever you like. Perhaps what I can do for you.’_ Drawing Zevran closer, if that was even possible, arms around him keeping the warmth they had found.

Zevran just clutched him tighter, a thread of desperation and terror quickly yanked back before it got far, smoothed away behind a sensory flood, and Ferox wondered who the elf was trying to comfort - himself, or Ferox.

Calm, thoroughly melted, _’Zevran, we are here together and I am not letting go. Tell me what is bothering you.’_

 _’Nothing is bothering me that I am aware of, other than the fact that we are not skin to skin,’_ burrowing closer.

Ferox sighed. It was going to be a while before that would happen given the weather and their current situation. Not that any season was good for that, except for a week or two in the summer. Taking the hand clutching to the neck of his tunic, Ferox moved it and shifting slightly to lift the bottom most hem of the three he was wearing so that Zevran could slide his hand under, to have some of that contact he desired. _’I’d tuck you in like Len, but I would require somewhat looser shirts.’_

Muffled laughter, _’Much looser.’_ Zevran remained like that, pressing what skin that was exposed to each other, close and tight, _’Love-thanks-gratefulness.’_

_Ah my love, it it I who thanks you. ___


	18. Faithful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death (not a kid and not Zev or Ferox.)
> 
> We're human, both of us make (plenty) of mistakes. Hopefully you still enjoy the story and can forgive us!

Amaranthine, Vigil’s Keep, heat, bath, mattress - all the most beautiful words that kept them in the saddle, kept them moving forward. Well, that and the cold required movement to keep everyone unfrozen. As they drew closer to the coast, the temperature did ease from bitter and biting to just plain cold. It was said that the Chasinds supposedly had hundreds of words for snow, during this trip the company was starting to come up with many for cold.

There was no more beautiful sight when the familiar shapes came into view. 

Last night, however, Zevran and Ferox spent in the sleigh with the women, draping their tent over the top of the already covered vehicle, keeping in additional heat even as their breath and bodies provided more warmth. Ferox listened to the soft sounds of sleep around him, and unable to fall asleep, plans clicked in his mind. Finally able to drift off with the scent of spice and pepper warmth in his nose, he set aside the press and heap of bodies that used his as a heat source and a pillow.

Darkness was a weight threatening to crush the crate, it creaked around him. Knees pressed into his chest unable to stretch out, couldn’t feel his feet, the blood was cut off. A crick in his neck, a twist in his spine. There was no air here. There would have been air on the pile of branches and sticks that Fergus had gathered...shouldn’t have picked burial over cremation. How long had it been? It must be time for dinner, the growling of his stomach said so. Wasn’t the final speech made? Wasn’t the victor done with his gloating over the ‘mass grave’ of the lone corpse?

A small hand, illusion, surely, rubbed his chest, something soft, “Hush Edric, it’s alright, quiet now, you’ll wake the girls.”

Grit in his mouth as dirt shifted a scrabbling above his head. What now? Was it the worms? Because surely if the victor was done giving the victory celebration, surely he would have pulled Ferox out by now. Unless he forgot. Silence and the rain of pebbles and debris ceased. Why did he have to play the Orlesian commander? Because it was Fergus’ game and he picked first. Wish he had his tunic, but because Loghain took the commander’s armor, his brother took his. Shivering with cold - _Don’t leave me here! I can’t move with these bandages tied around me._ A board began to crack with the weight of the earth heaped into the hole.

“Edric - Ferox...?” feminine voice, whispering.

Struggling to get his arms out of the bindings to support the breaking wood. Trapped. It was all a trap. _OUT! AIR!_

“Hmmn? Eh? Ferox - Moira, do not, just let me handle it,” quick urgent murmurs, familiar from a dream of sunlight. _’Love-safety-protection’_ Wordless but that was just another illusion, another dream. _’Ferox, **querido** , we are in a sleigh, the girls are curled up with you,’_ words along with more of those feelings, but was he hearing them with his mind or his ears? Probably just his mind, so they weren’t real.

An irritated grumble, a sleepy fussy sound, then, _’Papi?-Papi!-Awake-Happy-Talk-Warmth-Good Smell-Dadda?Where-Like-Fuzzy-Love-Love.’_

Around the blast of sensation in his head, “Get the girls off of him a little, yes? He will sit up, likely bolt, do not move.”

A familiar whine, above his head as the dirt shifted again, again the scrabbling. It had been revenge, they both knew it. The pup had snuggled up to Fergus, used him to get to Highever, used him to find Ferox. Father said that Horsie was very smart. When they tumbled out of the Castle that day, tossed outside by Nan to ‘get the ya-ya’s out,’ Fergus called them into another game, another one that Ferox and Horsie would lose. He was the commander so he had to take the punishment. More dirt and scrabbling, coughing in the grit, Ferox kept his eyes closed still trying to shift his arms which had fallen asleep, wrapped so tightly by the ‘burial cloths.’ _Need air!_

Odd shifting noises in the blackness, dream-voices, then hands warm and calloused hands touched his face, “Someone lift the tent a bit, give him a burst of cold, yes?” _’I am here, **querido** , you are safe. Horsie is here on another seat.’_

No. Zevran wasn’t here. He didn’t know him then. They would have won the battle, if he had played with them. Disorientating double vision of a sort...He was still trapped but was somewhere else, caught. _’I can’t get out. You aren’t here.’_

 _’Yes, you can, everyone is squished to the side, I have you, Moira has opened a bit of the tent, can you not feel the air? Open your beautiful eyes, **querido**. You are safe,’_ crooning and somehow his head was lifted up, raised onto a lap.

Coughing the dirt from his lungs woke Ferox enough to find the weight had been lifted and that he was not bound and folded tightly. Flinging a hand blindly, he hit the seat and found the hound’s muzzle. Words sobbed and gasped and coughed out, “You didn’t leave me. Zevran, Horsie didn’t leave me.”

“Of course not, _mi corizon_. I could no more leave my heart than he could leave you,” fingers mapped Ferox’s face gently in soothing, familiar patterns.

“And later when everything was on fire, he was there too.” Eyelashes no longer coated in dirt, he blinked open his eyes. “I thought I lost him at Ostagar, but he found me.”

“Shh, come tell me, but let us get closer to the bench with Horsie, hmn?” 

Nodding, the buzzing irritation of the blood returning to his limbs was almost painful. Ferox thought he had been completely alone, but it wasn’t true. 

“Is Uncle Fox gonna be awright...?” sleep confused little voice.

“He’s going to be fine, baby,” Sarah soothed the girls. “Zevran and Horsie got him.”

Tugged in the crowded space, Ferox wasn’t certain of how everyone was moving or how they settled back down again in different places. He must be on the ceiling all turned around, but Zevran was good on ceilings and held on tight. Didn’t think Horse could climb very well though...must be on a ledge.

He shared in the link when a black nose poked down between the slats and whined at him bringing air and light. Hadn’t remembered that until now and still didn’t remember how he got out of the box, only that he had been trapped and then wasn’t. The next thing he knew though, days later he was kicking and somehow knocking Fergus down and began to hit him like some feral creature. Even Horse got in a bite or two. Father had hauled him and the hound off both by the scruff of their necks with lectures for them both, ‘We do not hit our brother, we do not bite our brother, we do not kick and hurt our brother. You know better. Shame on you. Shame on Horse.’

 _’No shame, **amora** , no shame,’_ Ferox found himself drawn up enough so that it was Zevran’s turn to act as a backrest and Horse’s big head came down to pop over their shoulders.

Fingers reached back to smooth the wiry whiskers and the lip above the sharp teeth. Whispering, “You could have said that you were there, reminded me.” Numbering them, _’The crate, the storm, the fire, although I don’t know why he went with Duncan, ‘cause he could have been there for Ishal, everything afterwards. But Horse didn’t come to the prison, did he?’_

 _’No, he would have been too noticeable, **querido** ,’_ a sharp chin rested atop his head after rubbing his face into the knit cap. _’He was probably trying to protect things, knowing you would take care of yourself, yes? But he was always there, **corizon**. He was in here,’_ a hand rubbed over Ferox’s chest.

Sighing contentedly, in the link he was still counting and sharing the times Horse was there. Then, noting that Zevran was there every time too, after they picked him up along the road, Ferox began counting those. It was like counting sheep...Ethels. As he sighed again beginning to doze, fingers still smoothed the muzzle’s fine hairs, a lock of Zevran’s hair was somewhere there too. _’I love you, you know.’ ___

__The arms tightened around him gently, just letting Ferox know he was there. _’Purity-love-need-safety-want to be with you-always-security,’_ since his assassin had no words, a flow opened instead. _’ **Amo, mi hermoso corizon.** ’_ _ _

__As the Vigil came into view, Ferox felt a whoop of joy wanting to break free. It didn’t of course, but the girls squealed, waking up Len who squeaked in protest a moment before laughing. Impatience was what they were all feeling and even the horses sensed that some place warm was up ahead. And when they finally attained it everyone was so relieved that they were probably all weak-kneed. Zevran’s first stop was to see the women and girls settled and to give Len a good cuddle as Ferox saw to some of the technicalities of their party returning to the Keep._ _

__XXX_ _

__When Ferox entered the nursery, Len was plunked on the carpet near one of the hot pots loaded with coals and pierced to vent the heat in a circle of warmth, rocking back and forth, babbling and clapping his hands at Horse. The mabari was nodding, or sneezing, woofing, or laying his head on his paws as he watched Ferox’s son. Zevran was helping Eleanor get into bed, rubbing some sort of salve on her chest as Moira bustled about while Sarah kept an eye on Elissa and Len._ _

__Moira noticed him and came over with a hot mug of cider, pressing it into his chilled hands as she got up on tiptoes to peck his cheek, “Best warm up.”_ _

__“Thank you.” Unable to stop himself from leaning slightly to inhale the pleasant scent, he was able to do it without being extremely obvious however. “It will take many mugs and a hot soak to remove the chill.”_ _

__“Well, Zev’s just getting Eleanor settled, she had a bit of a cough and he got worried, that man is the worst when it comes to clucking and henning around,” laughing with a bit of colour in her cheeks. “As soon as he’s done with that, I’m sure it’ll be your turn.”_ _

__“Given our last few days, I would feel better if Warden Anders came up to look at her, I think Zevran would as well. After being so cold for so long, we wouldn’t want anything to come of it.”_ _

__She nodded quickly, “You’re right, but I’m so used to dealing with when they get under the weather on my own... Sometimes I forget.”_ _

__“Any other day, I would have no second thought myself of having a cough, but we haven’t had those recently. I know right where he is...however, I should warn you, he is a bit of a flirt...man, woman, or dog.” Aside to the ears that perked up, “Yes, I said Dog.”_ _

__Covering her mouth, “That’s terrible. But I’m sure I can deal with him. A flirt can be a touch annoying, it’s the more forceful sorts that are an issue.”_ _

__“Anders is not pushy, just silver-tongued and sure of himself. Horse and he are old friends and I don’t worry that he will be...inappropriate, unless encouraged.” Calling Anders through the amulet, he advised of the situation and fingers wrapped around the heat of the mug, found an out of the way place to wait, watching Len laugh at the hound. Until he warmed up himself, until his teeth stopped chattering, he was not going to share this icy chill with his son._ _

__A minute or three later, probably having climbed two steps at a time, Anders knocked at the door before entering and called out cheerfully. “Healer makin’ a housecall,” closing the door tightly, he kept the hard earned warmth inside._ _

__Zevran, who was on the floor with Elissa flopped on him, reading, “Ah, good. Eleanor is in bed, I gave her a bit of tea with a touch of poppy and elfroot.”_ _

__Eyes having already swept the room, of course lingering where they should not, but not long enough to make his Commander growl, strolled over to take a look at the sleepy patient._ _

__Len began to rock and scootch forward to Ferox, grinning, showing off his two little bottom teeth that caused him to drool more and the other little crooked white protuberances. Horse followed along, crawling on the floor in increments as though herding and giving moral support for the baby’s explorations. Moira passed Len by, briefly kneeling to whisper encouragement and got a baby kiss for her trouble, then went to join Anders._ _

__Mug drained, Ferox continued to hold the fading warmth watching his son’s coordination coming together._ _

__“Dadadadada,” crowing as he got closer, Len’s wide eyes were triumphant as he got his little body nearly to Ferox’s boots before rolling over and flopping, crawl-dragging himself the rest of the way to do a tiny pushup, raising himself enough to look brightly up at Ferox._ _

__“I see you little man. I’d keep an eye on your hound however, he’s known for washing faces.” Finally setting the fire baked clay mug aside and leaning down to pick up the cheerful boy, “If your mother knew we were this close, she would order you home.” _So she could continue to ignore you._ A possession, as Zevran had predicted._ _

__Stubby hands patted his cheeks, pinching a little in exploration, before his bobbling head rocked forward to plant against Ferox’s face, huffing laughter and butt wiggling as he babbled._ _

__“Funny baby.” Not having slept well, his eyes burned. Lack of sleep and the brightness of the sun on the snow was the only reason. Chasind wore some kind of eye covering made of cloth and smoothly polished bone with a slit cut in them. He always seemed to remember this after he had been out in the snow when the bright light bounced into his eyes no matter where he looked. One of those funny looking things would be nice. Probably would have prevented his headache._ _

__Len responded by opening up his mouth and gumming at Ferox’s chin, grunting and growling happily. “Mph,da-da-da-da-da-yurmph-bah-bahbah...eeeee.”_ _

__“Well, hey now, who is this handsome little man?” Anders came up then gasped in mock surprise. “Why it’s His Highness, my you’ve gotten so big! And you’re clearly taking after your father.”_ _

__Len wiggled, head rolling against Ferox’s face to send a smile the mage’s way._ _

__Gruffly, “I don’t see how, Len’s far too happy and very chatty...but that does rule out...never mind. He’s like his grandmother.”_ _

__“I dunno, Commander, that fat little growl was all you,” the Warden cracked his knuckles. “The little bit back there had a touch of lung inflammation, so that’s all knocked out now. The older girl was just showing a bit of fatigue herself. Both just need some rest and hot fluids. Now, let’s take a look at this fine young fellow.”_ _

__Disengaging fingers, mouth, and fingers again, Ferox passed Len over to the mage. Ferox’s gaze flicked to Horse, it was as if Anders was holding a treat for the great mabari. Sitting and waiting, politely, certainly, but ears up, eyes alert, just waiting for the ball or snack to drop, or in this case, Len._ _

__Len stared with his typical curiosity then a grin broke out and a hand shot towards Anders’ earring. “Ha!”_ _

__“Oh, strong grip there, hey now, I just have to take a little looksee at you,” Anders made a ‘fllppt’ noise at him. Len only giggled harder around his other fist in his mouth. “Gack!”_ _

___Do not laugh._ Ferox had taken to turning his ear away when he picked up Len, tucking the head against the other side of his chest, and keeping a hand on the grabbing fingers. Watching Zevran juggle and avoid the ‘manhandling’ could still put him in a fit of laughter combined with sympathetic winces. Especially on the nights when the assassin wound up tucking Len under his tunics to help him keep warm - after all, there were _two_ very vulnerable piercings there. _ _

__The checkup was finished quickly in spite of Len’s fascinated grabs and exploratory gummings. “Well, this is one very healthy young man.” Anders passed Len back to Ferox, leaning in, “And you’ll be happy to know, there’s no sign of Taint either in him.”_ _

___’Must be his godmother’s doing,’ _sent Ferox to Anders and Zevran via the amulet.__ _ _

_____’Hmn, yes, or whatever it is that she did to you precisely,’_ Zevran had Elissa on the floor and was tickling her to many giggles._ _ _ _

____Weary, _’Stick around another two years and you can have a second look-see at me. I know how much that fascinated you last time...however, it’ll be the last time though.’__ _ _ _

____“You know,” Anders cocked his head, “it would be interesting to see the process in person. Maybe I could duplicate it, or come close.”_ _ _ _

____Ferox narrowly avoided flinching. _No, not in Kirkwall. Too many of you are attracted to that place, it is a trap built especially for you. A perfect lure of conflict between mages and Templars._ Instead Ferox shook his head, “She said it couldn’t be done again and even if you wanted to use it for others, she said that it wasn’t ‘Circle or _lin_ magic’.”_ _ _ _

____He felt Zevran attempt a mild reach, _’Not only that, Anders, my friend, you do so much good here. There are people who value you here and would be beside themselves without your presence and advice when you choose to give it.’__ _ _ _

____Anders’ eyes widened in surprise, _’How...?’__ _ _ _

_____’Call it ‘not magic’,’_ Zevran tossed a grin up as Elissa finally squirmed away to go hide behind Sarah who was darning the girl’s stockings. _’It would be easier if I had a copy of your amulet though.’__ _ _ _

_____’Actually, Anders, you could help make it and a few others...since you and lyrium get along so well. We’re also going to need one for Nate...but you may have to come to Denerim for that.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Mmm...sugar kisses and rainbow candies! Gotta love lyrium. Sure thing, Commander.’_ _ _ _ _

_____Oh Maker, I don’t want to know, please don’t let him explain. I am not going to ask either._ “Moira? May I have another mug of that cider, please?”_ _ _ _

____XXX_ _ _ _

____Later, when Ferox was changing and putting everything away, Zevran was already as stark naked as the day he was born. Not even his socks were on. _Only one pair now usually..._ And he was under the covers, yanking them up to under his armpits. _Someone’s impatient._ The customary ‘I need you’ wasn’t voiced, so Ferox took his time, even as golden orbs tracked his movement. In fact his assassin was completely ‘quiet’. _ _ _ _

____Sliding under the covers, _’Is there something wrong?’__ _ _ _

____Zevran rolled quickly into him, hands and arms sliding under Ferox’s tunic, _’Clothing... Off, I want all the barriers out of the way, **amora**. Please.’__ _ _ _

_____’As you wish,’_ acquiescing quickly. All he wanted was right there and all the sun ever had to do was ask - how could Ferox ever deny such a request? _ _ _ _

____As soon as his clothes were off Ferox had arms full of Zevran, pressing close and tight._ _ _ _

____“What else can I do for you?”_ _ _ _

____Lips moved at the hollow of his throat, “I need you, _amora_.”_ _ _ _

_____But you have me,_ Ferox didn’t say that, just squeezed the warm man in his arms. “How? Sometimes when you say need, you mean this,” squeezing him again, “other times it is more”. _ _ _ _

____“Need is need,” Zevran shuddered once. “It is a thing, yes? It is need. I need you.”_ _ _ _

____Holding back a sigh, “Need is two things, an action and an object. It is a requirement indicating that something must be done or that an action must be taken, or, in the alternative it is essential and represents a physical object...something that can be touched or felt...food is a need.” This didn’t help his headache._ _ _ _

____“Then you are all those things, yes?”_ _ _ _

____Ferox pushed lightly at their link, at the studied ‘blandness’ that he encountered. “Show me.”_ _ _ _

____Zevran sighed, “I do not know how to show you what you are looking for, _mi corizon._ ”_ _ _ _

____“I would like to know why three times, that I can remember, that you shake as if you are about to shatter into pieces. When I ask why this is so, or ask what is wrong, you say that you do not know what I am talking about. Last time I asked, there was fear and something else before it was covered and muffled. You are doing this again and I am worried. When that happens I begin to second guess myself, to find where I have gone wrong.”_ _ _ _

____“Aiesh, _no_. It is,” a huff. “It is foolish. I am foolish. Logic is supposed to be a skill I wield well, but I have none to use against this. There is no reason to feel as I do. It...sometimes...” the sense that the word ‘sometimes’ replaced a different word entirely, “I starve for you, as though I will disappear into nothing without the press of you near and touching. Yes, you see - I am foolish.”_ _ _ _

____“Perhaps, but then I am as well. You constantly touch or make your presence known by way of the amulet, warming me, showing me that I am not alone. This is no different. Your presence keeps me from leaping. If this does that for you, then it isn’t foolish, it is a need. I was questioning how you would like me to meet that need.”_ _ _ _

____A shiver, “I do not know, I only know that I need you, _querido_. My skin crawls with it.”_ _ _ _

____Ferox considered this. “When I say that my skin crawls, it’s a spider on the back of my neck, fear or dread making the hair stand up, the need to scratch the skin off...you know this is not a good thing, right? No loss in translation?”_ _ _ _

____Zevran rolled away, and Ferox followed as his lover took his hand and ran it over his chest. “That is how it is, yes. This touch? It is not enough. But what touch is? So, my skin, it itches and crawls, seeking, for no reason I can understand. It is as though my flesh wishes to rip free of me so that it can wrap around you, seeking an impossible amount of contact.” His voice cracked, “There is only the need that cannot be satisfied in full. It is the terror that there will be no more, that it will be gone in an instant, yes? Illogical. Nothing dampens it, not even I, who so often know which way to go, I am helpless.”_ _ _ _

____“Ahh. You think there is a hole in your bucket...like water, it drains away faster than it is given? Because of that it is difficult to save up? Or there is no bucket at all and you can only carry what is in your hands?”_ _ _ _

____Nimble hands tremulous as they reached out for him. “There is no bucket, yes. There is no safe place to store it, as I can only hold so much, there is -” Ferox watched Zevran arch to scratch his back against the sheets, “-there is only need. It is not as though I never had touches, I had plenty as a boy, yes? Safety and relative security. Always soft skin, safe skin to be pressed against. Why I have this fear, this...this...”_ _ _ _

____“Like how you are with food sometimes,” Ferox said._ _ _ _

____The Antivan paused, the hands running over Ferox’s chest flexing as he thought a moment then nodded, “Yes. Like with food. Even if I am full, sometimes...sometimes I will still eat what is before me, else someone else will eat it. Best to gorge while it is available.”_ _ _ _

____“And that hunger is now worse because of the link. What about the need for touch? Has that need also strengthened?”_ _ _ _

____“No,” skin was grasped as Ferox was pulled down over Zevran who wrapped all his limbs around him. “I have always sought to cleave to you. Needed it for a very long time, yes. If it were possible, I would touch you in little ways all day. I would never stop. The link is enough to keep me from screaming with it and clawing at the walls, hmn?”_ _ _ _

____“I’m no expert, but even sea sponges dry out, and when they do, it takes much more water than one thinks to make them pliable again.” Settling himself, Ferox’s cheek rested above the elf’s heart. “If you have been without attention and touch, perhaps only what is needed is more. A potted plant that is not watered for a time, its dirt won’t absorb water and it will just run off. The dirt must be soaked so that it can...almost remember how to absorb it in again, if this isn’t done then the plant will die as it cannot grab the water quickly...of course I can’t speak for desert plants or your imaginary cactus. But your roots are no longer in a desert, they are in cold fertile soil.”_ _ _ _

____Zevran grunted, face pressed into his neck and shoulder. “Most wise.”_ _ _ _

____“I am yours as you are mine. I can only promise to be here as long as I can, as long as she will give me, as long as you will keep me.”_ _ _ _

____A growl, “I will keep you forever, Taint be damned.”_ _ _ _

____“Even without it, we cannot go on forever, sixty to sixty-five years old is still manageable and is nearly as much as most men in my family see.” A chuckle, “If they would stop doing such foolish things such as shooting off fireworks from precarious perches or deep sea diving during the winter storms. Very few have actually died in their bed.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, now that I know how you wish to go, I will have to ensure that it happens,” lips sought out his._ _ _ _

_____Just make sure that the fireworks are lit before you push me off._ Rumbled happiness suffused him. Reaching with both actuality and the link, he stretched himself over Zevran. Hands tangling in the fine skeins, Ferox opened his mind, welcoming the one connected to him. Although he didn’t know quite how either the healer or Zevran did this thing of drawing him in, having been on the receiving end, he was aware of the opening steps. _’Come my fair-haired one, use this link to roll yourself in my skin and let me envelop you in this strange place that is my mind.’_ _ _ _ _

____It was tentative at first, like a single, shy toe being dipped into water. Then there was more, but still slow, still a little nervous, and Ferox kept himself open until there was no true discernible difference between them. It was like having a thousand just-right toasty bricks under cold feet, or finding a perfect warm spot to lounge in by the bank of some stream while fishing. The reality of bodies was pale in comparison and he held Zevran tighter, seeking to impart some of what was so frequently given to him._ _ _ _

____Ferox’s mind, on the surface was a deceptively simple place. It appeared to be a hunting lodge with views of the countryside visible out the paned windows with scenes of lush farmland, large herds of sheep, or even a dark forest, depending which one was looked out of. The inside space contained framed maps on the walls, a large desk which contained the plans he was working on or ones that were being implemented. Above the back half of the room was a sleeping loft left open for efficient use of heat. A fire crackled on the hearth the scent of pitch and pine in the air. It was what he had fashioned for himself, or maybe it was just some bit of his inherent nature that dictated the idea of what his mind would be like as a ‘physical’ representation._ _ _ _

____Mind and self around his lover, Ferox rumbled, face pressed into Zevran’s hair, breathing in the more detailed scent, concentrating on the familiar sandalwood, _’I like this. I don’t know how it’s done, since I wasn’t shown how to do it.’_ Leftover empty spaces were filled, darkness was temporarily chased out of corners, and secret spaces of doubt and fear were emptied and filled with light for the time being._ _ _ _

____Inside him it, was as though a feline was rubbing around and against him, _’If you think it, it can be, yes? Mind over matter - it is...an old saying, hmn? I was never shown beyond what you showed me, it only takes...looking? No...conceiving of something, then attempting it. If something can be dreamed up, or thought of, then it can be done eventually.’__ _ _ _

____Warmth and laughter rolled through Ferox, and he shared it with Zevran. _’And watching you, this seems second nature! Perhaps you need little training or it might have had the effect causing you to believe that there aren’t limitations.’_ Considering the ability to think of something and making it possible, it was difficult to wrap his mind around, yet Zevran seemed to take it in stride. _ _ _ _

____Mental hands tugged at Ferox’s, pulling them to stroke his ‘sides’ while a memory flash played out._ _ _ _

_____...Crystalline rubies not much larger than hummingbirds floated in the air, making shapes, flowing into fantastical birds, dragons and beautiful flowers, dancing in the air above a small blond boy who kept jumping to reach up and grab them, narrowly missing the spectacles each time. A woman with tremendously long red hair and a loose shirt in a faded brick red of some sort that was slitted to show bare thighs, tattooed skin revealed as she looked to be at some task of weaving. From time to time she would glance up from the hanging loom, bite her thumb, dark blood welling up, then she would blow upon the blackish vermilion, sending the droplets flying and coalescing around the boy - **Dear Maker, that’s Zevran? He’s so beautiful** \- who quickly turned his little bouncing and jumping into a dance, one that Ferox recognized from his Antivan’s fighting style, following the shapes that flowed around him. Huge gold eyes shone, as sometimes one of the little forms would land - on the tip of a nose, causing eyes to cross while laughing, on an outstretched finger, or even atop his head. All the while there was a gentle chanting and the clack of the portable loom, the scent of cactus blossom, horse sweat, sweet pepper, moondrops and honey blossoms crafting a potent sense of safety in the small room._ _ _ _ _

_____’You see? Anything is possible, you only have to think of it and apply it, **querido**.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Just when I think I know something, you become something different. Not so much that that you become someone else, just that there’s more, deeper, more colourful, or brighter. I don’t know how you can hold all of it...and I wonder how this almost unchanging man holds any interest for you.’_ Amusement, _’Not that I’m complaining, mind you, or questioning your usually good sense.’__ _ _ _

____By way of explanation another series of images came._ _ _ _

_____...Sitting astride a horse, looking over the rolling green of the Weyrs. Deceptively simple, unchanging, tall grass waving in a long expanse of apparent nothingness. Then came knowledge. In that grass there was a flock of grouse, mice, at least several small hunting cats strong enough to take down a man or an antelope. Snakes and poisonous frogs, along with small flowers that, when dried, ground then smoked, brought dream visions. But it looked the same, an unending, limitless landscape. Unchanging. Then it cycled through seasons, a blink brought spring rains, falling in torrents, the land exploding in a tumult of colour. Sounds of mating calls and the taste of muggy sweet air. The end of spring came in another blink, herds of horses and goats and sheep, gazelle and antelopes, travelling, even the stalks of the grass bending and bowing as the cats sometimes broke their cover jumping up at birds and butterflies alike. Another, and summer was upon the ‘unchanging’ vista, green grass began to turn slowly. Animals and birds and plants shed their springtime garments, girding themselves for the drought of summer. Odd fruits sprang up, oats of a peculiar type burst from the heads of some grasses that would have a nutty taste when made into flour or coarse meal for fire-baking. Autumn and winter came and the temperatures plummeted, varying vastly between night and day, fires spread over the grass, slashing and burning to ready for spring’s rebirth. Rabbits and other animals fled the wall of flames that leapt and danced at the winds’ cruel behest. Clans made fire-lines and pits to protect their horses and yurts._ _ _ _ _

____It was a cycle as old as time, changing, yet constant. Stability of a sort. Stark and captivatingly beautiful, that a lifetime and more could only impart some of those details, each time it was seen, more nuance was added to the picture in endless layers._ _ _ _

_____’Like you, **amora** ,’_ whispered and caressing his mind._ _ _ _

____A tremor of Ferox’s own shook the little cabin. It was as if he were on a precipice or a tower again and that some action should be taken to prevent the fall. There was nothing to do, other than to continue to hold onto the brilliant sun - he was in no danger of falling, or losing anything, and there was no need to scramble or flail for purchase. _Why did I think that this was a trap? ‘How is your skin?’__ _ _ _

____The riot of tingling sent his way required rubbing, which Ferox did without thought, chasing after the creepy crawly sensation and pushing it away. As he did so, relief welled from Zevran with a whimper and arch, both within and without. Realizing that part of _why_ Zevran always stroked him was because it was a reflexive way of trying to make sure that Ferox wasn’t suffering from the scratching and scrabbling himself. _ _ _ _

____Laughter as he continued to smooth away the strange discomfort, “You are a cat with fleas, Zevran.”_ _ _ _

____“No, then I would want scratching, not stroking,” a grumbling groan that ended on a low purr as the elf rolled around under him, which was suddenly paired with another memory. A brief one of being woken up by Zamitie with long strokes from head to toe and a tickled foot or ear, or soothed to sleep while being pressed warm and close to colourful skin that peeked from the loose robe as a hand went from crown to linen covered rump over and over. Ferox had seen Zevran do that very thing with Len, particularly when the boy was being fussy. “Mmmore.”_ _ _ _

____Happy to oblige, Ferox continued to be amused at the elf’s reaction. Shifting to the mattress, the double vision wreaking havoc on his headache, he concentrated on focusing on the physical rather than the mental to bring it into sharper focus. Although the mental touch continued, he chuckled as Zevan rolled to present a side or back or stomach to be stroked and caressed, mentally and physically. “Cat...or,” a snicker, “a mabari.”_ _ _ _

____“I am not the one who possesses a cap with little mabari ears, _querido_ ,” more purring and arching even as the elf’s hands reached and gave the same treatment, time to time pausing long enough to rub his face against some spot or other as his vocal cords vibrated. _ _ _ _

____“Yours has cat ears and a tail, as I am well aware. No one has a mabari hat.”_ _ _ _

____Laughter, “Oh yes, yes yours does, _amante_ , you just have not realized they can pop out. Truly, did you think that anyone received mittens and hats that did not come with their attendant animal?” Ferox got rolled onto his back, Zevran straddling him playfully. “Up near the crown, there are little folds, yes? You can push them out and they make little mabari ears. Ingenious, no?”_ _ _ _

____“No.” In one almost growling word, Ferox denied both that the possibility of ears were true or clever. “And even if it were true, I doubt Horse would enjoy being my ‘attendant animal.’ If he dislikes the use of the word dog, I can imagine his reaction to that phrase.” Snorting, “My clever assassin should be quick with his climbing skills.”_ _ _ _

____A snort followed by a kiss. “Who do you think said you had to have a mabari hat? It was not I, I assure you, but your most faithful companion. Well, other most faithful companion.”_ _ _ _

____“If that had happened, then I would believe the girls had put the idea into his head and we know where their best ideas come from, ‘Zev’.”_ _ _ _

____More laughter as his lover kissed at his shoulders and chest. _’And who decided to make me cat ears...? Hmn?’__ _ _ _

____“I was traveling, how should I know?” Recognizing from the sudden snap in his voice that he was sinking, that he was about to turn cold and shut out the sun, Ferox concentrated on the warmth closer softening his tone, “Who?”_ _ _ _

____“I do not know,” mumbled into his stomach as the extremely, bouncy suddenly, elf squirmed down him. “As I was travelling myself, if you will recall.”_ _ _ _

____“I do remember it.” A phantom of the worry and the relief within a short time of arriving at Kirkwall flickered for a moment. “Very well.”_ _ _ _

____A burst of sunlight flashed up him with a look, “ _Suyo, todo suyo_.”_ _ _ _

____“Hrm?” Ferox focused on the amber eyes. “What does that mean?”_ _ _ _

_____’I am yours,’_ the tongue busy with only that much warning. _ _ _ _

____A sharp inhale as another memory replaced Kirkwall, one of being in a small space with a growling, nipping, territorial Zevran. One word rang in Ferox’s head, ‘Mine.’ _’As I am yours.’_ Keeping what touches he could through the link, still feeling the arching, creature around him purring, the sensory input was causing the odd double vision of here and there and now and then. _’Zevran?’_ the question he couldn’t form the words to was much too complicated and Ferox didn’t get very far. How did he get there again without knowing what the path was that brought him there?_ _ _ _

____Sneaky slick fingers, swirling tongue and lips everywhere, hot breath and possessive rumbles, and all Ferox could do was hang on. In the minds’ eye, Zevran pulled Ferox into his body, but in the reality it was Ferox who was invaded, a cycle of pushing and pulling that had them both growling, grasping at hips or hair, mouths reaching for anything to claim. And when he crested it didn’t stop, a strong hand robbing, or granting - Ferox couldn’t really decide which - relief and release. Like a satiated feline, Zevran stretched out beside him afterwards, while Ferox was still a little dazed. He never could follow a line of logic from how they were earlier to what just passed. It was a mystery, and one he wished to solve, but there was also a sweaty elf beside him rolling around under the sheets for several minutes before once more plastering the dark brown and tattooed body to Ferox’s tan one._ _ _ _

____“Much better, yes,” legs and arms tangling themselves up with Ferox._ _ _ _

____The ever present sigh, at least it was contented these days, was heard. Ferox mumbled, “I think...” Trying to order his thoughts, “You like being here. At the Vigil.”_ _ _ _

____A chuckle, “Hmn, disregarding the fact that it sounds like a bit of lip-service, I prefer to be where you are. However, I also prefer being in a place where you are more prone to contentment.”_ _ _ _

_____I don’t want to go back. I don’t remember where I put the mask._ “So you like watching me work?” _I need a blizzard so I have time to tear apart my desk...or perhaps just a couple of Wardens.__ _ _ _

____“Of course,” said with a shrug some limb wriggling into a different position. It was an odd sort of binding, but Ferox was still undecided if it was comfortable or not, but had resigned himself to it at some point. “You have always been a wonder to behold, that is how you are, _querido_ , I ceased questioning it years ago.”_ _ _ _

_____I remember wanting to go on this trip to get away. Was it too long? Maker..._ “If it makes you happy.” _It is still a trap, I was wrong. If Eamon went to Orlais as soon as we get back maybe that would make it more bearable, because that’s the first person getting thrown out of my office._ “Perhaps another sparring game is in order? Since you like to watch, however perhaps you should play instead?” a wicked laugh._ _ _ _

____“Hmmm that is an excellent idea, but that would require me having someone to spar against who would not be...distracted. Or perhaps I could simply show you some of the street performing things we used to do, it is very good for limbering the body.”_ _ _ _

____“I was thinking of any Warden. Some have gotten too used to sensing intention. Although I may have indicated that sparring with amulets should not be done every time, I have a distinct impression that has been forgotten. As for the other, I should like to see that very much.”_ _ _ _

____Zevran yawned as he readjusted the blankets more to his liking. “Then let us remind them of why they should not rely upon tools that can be taken away, yes?” Fingers went to their typical spot on Ferox’s skull, _’It has been some time since I last fire-danced, but let us see what this body remembers, hmn?’__ _ _ _

____Leaning into the talented digits that drew his attention, an appreciative rumbling hum was drawn from him. “They won’t be able to taste you and you likely will, or see through me. They’ve forgotten that not everything is a darkspawn or a Warden.”_ _ _ _

____“Ah yes, but it is best if _I_ do not rely upon it too often, _amora_ ,” hummed at him._ _ _ _

____“It is as you say,” settling in. Catching something Zevran said earlier, “I am not distracted when I spar with you.” _Speaking of liking to watch someone work.__ _ _ _

____His lover snorted, “Of course you are. You are too busy sparring to pay any attention.”_ _ _ _

____A low chuckle rumbled, “You are too quick on your feet.”_ _ _ _

____“Faugh, better than being too quick upon my back,” Zevran nipped him once._ _ _ _

____“I pay plenty of attention. You are graceful and swift and almost make me reconsider the heavier armours...until something large comes along that likes to stomp its big feet or bite or throw things around.”_ _ _ _

____“Mn, training armour usually weighs double the armour one wears out and about,” this was accompanied by a sleepy yawn. “It is how a proper rogue gets so fast.”_ _ _ _

____XXX_ _ _ _

____Horse came to his office as Ferox was looking over some of the endless paperwork and lists of running any arling. Normally his mabari was most insistent on watching the nursery, playing with the girls and Len, but first and foremost, an ever watchful protector, defending what was most precious. As the faithful hound paced over to place his huge head in Ferox’s lap, he couldn’t help but smile faintly - Horse wouldn’t tell anyone after all - as there was still a blue ribbon on his collar._ _ _ _

____“What is it?” Ferox asked, stroking the strong brow and rubbing the spot between snout and eyes._ _ _ _

____Short brows wriggled expressively, the dark mottled brown fur speckled with more grey than there had been in years past. Horse flopped on his haunches, the wrinkly dulap pulling back into a canine smile as Ferox found all the favourite spots. It had seemed like forever since he had just taken a moment to dote on the mabari, the one person, because really the people of Thedas should be humans, elves, dwarves, kossith _and_ mabari, who had never abandoned him for any reason, nearly his entire life. _ _ _ _

____“Did you need something, old friend?” asking once more._ _ _ _

____This time Horse stood, shoving his snout at Ferox’s knee, waggling his runty little tail on his big rump._ _ _ _

____Chuckling, “Alright, you have something to show me. Got it. Lead on.”_ _ _ _

____He wasn’t particularly surprised when Horse herded him down to the kennels as Horse was always getting a good bitch with pups. _Well, not always. Just three litters. Prolific, old son._ But when Ferox was pushed towards the areas with the mabari who had never been Imprinted, or who had lost their bonded, he did pause. With an impatient woof, Horse shoulder-bumped Ferox’s hip, demanding he come along._ _ _ _

____“What are you up to, hound?” curiously._ _ _ _

____Several sharp barks from Horse were echoed, four mabari rising up from their curled up mass to stand smartly and at attention in a straight line._ _ _ _

____“Found some new friends I see,” Ferox patted Horse on the head, looking over the other mabari._ _ _ _

____Horse nudged at his hand, pushing it to be held out and first one mabari came forward, sniffing, then giving his palm a lick, before walking around him a few times. Uncertain what the hounds were about, Ferox remained still and watchful, _Very curious._ It was almost an adult mabari recreation of puppies selecting someone to Imprint on. Then the second repeated the same thing the first had, then the third, then the fourth. Horse then went over to each, doing normal canine things, sniffing behinds and mooshing noses together. Finally a very deep chested, black and silver mottled bitch snapped at the other hounds except for Horse and came to sit on Ferox’s foot._ _ _ _

____Sudden recognition, “You were Adria’s, weren’t you?”_ _ _ _

____The bitch looked up at him, pressing a jowl to his thigh._ _ _ _

____“Well now, you look very fine indeed, but what is all this?” asking both her, and the other mabari._ _ _ _

____The three mabari that had been ‘chased off’ by Adria’s orphaned bitch walked away, not answering. With that, Horse turned around leading the way and the mabari on his foot got up, giving him a gentle push. She looked much healthier than the last time he had seen her, then he had been uncertain she would survive her ordeal and losing her companion. But she had been young and strong enough that with tender care and attention it seemed she had thrived. A few scars scattered along her coat, the hair growing in the silver that he had noted, almost like little lightning bolts._ _ _ _

____Back up to the main body of the Keep, Ferox was urged to the nursery._ _ _ _

____“Horsie!” Elissa darted in quickly as soon as they entered, veritably tackling his mabari. “I was worried, you left, and then I couldn’t find you, and Mama wouldn’t let me out to look for you. Oh, you still have a bow!”_ _ _ _

____Horse wagged his rump, tucking his head over her shoulder, gape mouthed grinning. Then he pulled away, giving a significant look to Adria’s mabari who came forward. She sat on her haunches to wait patiently to be inspected, and presented as gentle and welcome an appearance as she could._ _ _ _

____“It seems we have a new friend,” Ferox said. To the new mabari, “I’m sorry, girl, I don’t recall your name.”_ _ _ _

____“Lightning bolts!” Eleanor came up quickly to scratch at the bitch’s white markings._ _ _ _

____To that she woofed, then licked the inquisitive little girl._ _ _ _

____“I guess she has a new name then, Lightning,” Ferox found himself watching as the new addition went to investigate under Horse’s watchful eye. Squatting down to Horse’s level and draping an arm around his shoulders, “What’s this about, hound?”_ _ _ _

____Horse only rested his head on Ferox’s shoulder in a canine hug._ _ _ _

____XXX_ _ _ _

____A week later there was an insistent scratching at Ferox’s door._ _ _ _

____Zevran rolled over yawning sleepily while a hand rubbed Len’s stomach, “Hmmn...there is a hound outside.”_ _ _ _

____With a groan Ferox woke up, “I’ll get it.” Outside Horse was waiting patiently and immediately slid into the room and hopped up on the bed. Laughing at him, “What is this? You haven’t gotten in the bed in ages.”_ _ _ _

____A doggy smile was the silent answer as Ferox slid into the bed while Horse, Zevran and Len - with Ferox’s help of course - figured out how to position themselves. Horse wound up with his head atop Ferox’s stomach, the same position they had slept in since Ferox was a boy, but not shared in years it seemed like. A hand on the hound’s shoulders, Ferox dozed off, his closest family all piled into one bed...and felt peace._ _ _ _

____Ferox dreamt. A young pup, a year old and ready for Imprinting tricked his dam and his sire, and tricked Fergus into bringing him back to Highever, it took him a day or two to learn how to unlatch the doors, but once he did, the hound was at Ferox’s side day and night. Ferox rode on Horse’s sturdy back around the Castle laughing. Black nose searched for him between the slats of the crate, damp and sneezing dirt on him. A strong body pulled a travois helping him haul a moose out of the woods. The silent partner on a kitchen raid to feed a growling belly late at night. Prancing and dancing around a horse as Ferox learned to ride a plow horse. Grubby, digging in the cold soil planting or harvesting potatoes; romping and playing on the edge of the waves at the beach chasing sticks, digging for clams, dragging driftwood for a bonfire. Warm breath checking the blow to his skull alongside the darkened road. Comically begging treats from Morrigan even, signalling that the Witch was ‘acceptable’ by depositing a hare in her bag. Sneaking in his tent in the mountains to keep him warm. Every fight, every battle the hound was there._ _ _ _

____Finally, with dragging steps boarding a ship to Kirkwall that came back bouncing and wiggling as if he were a different hound, resulting in a liaison with a devoted bitch shortly thereafter and produced the third litter, just as Len was contained in his mother’s womb after that trip. Giving Len a slurpy bath to squealing giggles and looking up at Ferox with approval in those devoted brown eyes. Covered in bows by Elissa, a typical occurrence and darting off through the halls barking and howling so that others would take note of how pretty he was. Eleanor perched atop strong shoulders, clinging to the heavy collar. Len gumming on a pointy ear as the magnificent beast shook his nub tail. The hopping, barking, dancing joy around Zevran after Saturnalia, half-bowling the Antivan over with big swipes of tongue, sharing in the joy._ _ _ _

____When had the grey crept through his coat so heavily? Even when his steps dragged, Horse was there. Twenty-five years was an impressive number, even for a mabari of such fine breeding as most made it to twenty barring accidents or disease. Really, Horse had had some stiffness even back at Ostagar, and Ferox had long since taken to rubbing liniment into the joints on the worst of the cold, wet days. He should make sure to enjoy the time he still had with his old friend, maybe the little healer girl would give him another of those magic touches, buy a few more years, because he wasn’t ready to part with Horse._ _ _ _

____“Oh, _querido_ ,” a heartbroken whisper woke him up and a hand entwining tightly with his. _ _ _ _

____A confused whine from Len was followed by Zevran’s utterance, then fussing tears._ _ _ _

____Ferox came fully awake after that, his arm tightening around Horse. “What? What’s wrong?” Attempting to sit up quickly, but Horse wasn’t moving, and his head _was_ heavy. “Horse, move, Horse...?” Reality broke through. “ _Horse_? Horsie? No...” moaning, he shook the mabari’s shoulder wishing it weren’t true._ _ _ _

____But the hound was cold. And Len was crying, sensing the distress while Zevran tried to quietly comfort both Ferox and Len at once. Unashamed, unable to feel anything else, Ferox cried, curling over the big body._ _ _ _

____XXX_ _ _ _

____Later as the flames crackled over Horse’s frame that seemed so much diminished without the force of personality animating it, Zevran remained by his side. Close enough, but not invading the private moment. Lightning was nearby too, watching the unfolding events quietly. The girls, Moira and Sarah had already been past the pyre then left, leaving Ferox his space. Eventually Ferox sat on the cold ground, he wouldn’t leave Horsie’s side until the last of the wood was consumed and turned to ash. It was his task, and his task alone, not meant for anyone else._ _ _ _

_____Each time I go through this, I always say there will not be another...and yet, there’s always another to step in, and another to leave,_ staring at the pyre, truly missing his numbness for the first time since it had left him._ _ _ _

____XXX_ _ _ _

____Another blizzard trapped them just as Ferox had wanted to flee, in an attempt to also leave behind the missing piece. Instead, Lightning tried to fill part of that space without being obvious about it. She took over nursery duty, playing with the girls and watching Len. At the trestle table in the kitchen, where Ferox would find himself for the noonday meal, Lightning placed herself so that the velvet of an ear would be rubbed absently while he ate._ _ _ _

____The one time Zevran tried to broach the subject, Ferox managed to listen to the first half before needing to cut him off to find air. Still the words ran around in circles in his head, about Horse ‘waiting’ and being ‘tired’, about how much the hound had clearly wished to ensure he still had someone to keep watch over what Horse had found most valuable in life. It didn’t matter that the words were true, they still hurt._ _ _ _

____One night when he was unable to sleep and not even Zevran could do anything to keep him abed, Ferox went to walk the halls. Without noticing it, Lightning had crept up and walked beside him. Not on his left side as Horse always had, but on his right. In spite of the freezing cold, he walked outside, and she remained beside him, even as he just stood there shivering, looking out across the battlements._ _ _ _

____A whine brought him back to see her looking up at him with concern._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry girl, you really should go inside, it’s too cold, go on, I’ll be fine,” he said trying to shoo her along._ _ _ _

____The huge mouth opened, clamping gently on his wrist, tugging._ _ _ _

____“No, I...need to think for awhile,” reaching down to rub her ear._ _ _ _

____She released him but then lay on her stomach, partially over one of his feet._ _ _ _

____Shrugging his cloak around him tighter, “It’s hard outliving your Imprinted, isn’t it?”_ _ _ _

____Her head lifted up, cocking and looking at him with the most heartbreaking, mournful expression. She understood exactly what he was going through as she had gone through it as well. That was why she had chosen him and why Horse had picked her as a candidate._ _ _ _

____Squatting down to hug her, to share his cloak, _It is enough.__ _ _ _


	19. The Sparkling Jewel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Wanderingwinter, we now have someone who'll double check on us! 
> 
> We appreciate everyone who's read so far, and hope ya'll enjoy it. There's definitely some weak points in the story, but, this was our first work together, and it's the messy first pancake. Updating edits are just to sort of add a last bit of polish on what exists, and as this is the story that sort of first introduces a lot of the world/concepts that go on in the overall metaverse that weaves little threads here and there together, it's important to post this one first. As it stands, we have forty-seven chapters completed, with the story needing to be wrapped up after that. Tentative projections are about five to ten more chapters after that to absolutely finish _Fiercely Cold_. 
> 
> However, it's pretty much a pick your flavour! All stories can stand alone, as any crossing over is explained when it happens (or has a quick jotted off note if stuff isn't sufficiently clear at the time). That's it, and we hope you have a good time!

Snowed under, Ferox caught up on Warden business, signing, and showing Sigrun some of the arrangements made to support Soldier’s Peak. Specifically their relationship with the Drydens who carried needed items, messages to be sent back and forth, and put more in her hands to think about how to use to its best advantage. Amaranthine and the Vigil were the jewel, but should all go wrong, there was a place that would soon be self sufficient enough to care for them all. Ferox did not know what the emergency would be, it wasn’t anything real he could put his finger on, but he was never sorry when he had a backup plan. Few knew about it and they intended to keep it that way.

Message bags packed for a break in the weather, the dwarva took them down to Varel, while Ferox’s attention was drawn to something unusual. There was an odd scent he was picking up and finally looked over at Zevran who had been contributing to Sigrun’s education. “Whose amulets do you have over there?”

“Hmn? Anders’, Sigrun’s, Alistair’s, and Avernus’,” the elf glanced up once as he lay the amulet’s flat in a small leather folding pouch. 

“You haven’t said whether or not you could hear Avernus in the morning. Do you keep sending even though we aren’t going anywhere?”

“Only when we change locations,” the envelope was folded and tied securely. “And each time I get a new amulet, just to see if it boosts the range at all. Before you ask, the answer is that, yes, it does, but it leaves the others in a poor state...”

Brow beetling with worry and thought, “Wardens or amulets? And by poor state, you mean what exactly?”

Temples were rubbed, “The Wardens wind up with splitting headaches and ravenous hunger. As for myself...the hunger is not anything to get used to, yes?”

Reassuringly, _’There is plenty and hunger only lasts the time it takes to get to the kitchens.’_

The Vigil and Amaranthine were the best places to be hungry, because the harvests were good and the stores were full, even with supporting the Peak. Were there other ways to fuel the link, however? Avernus was no doubt poring much effort into the study of it. Less than two years until he could return to Kirkwall; the time was limited and the further he was in his research the more difficult the questions the old Warden could ask of the little healer. Answers were not something that could be guaranteed, but even if it gave her something to think about and an answer appeared later, it would be worth it. 

Probing, “Are you concentrating again and they are right here? Or is it because of something else?

“Using the ability at all causes me to be hungry unless I am speaking directly to the person _nearby_ whose amulet I possess,” Zevran rose, hitching a hip on his desk. “But to reach for Avernus, I wind up using - _stealing_ as our good Chantry boy says, usually whilst clutching his head - the ranges of the others as I concentrate, yes? We already knew that this had consequences if I were to do that, _querido_.” He added, “I have not been using yours, I had no wish to add to your discomforts, _amora_.”

_Well that certainly explains why everyone is so cranky at breakfast for the first few minutes, and all of Anders’ headache and hangover recipes._ “So not something to be used often for long distances, assuming Avernus can hear you.”

“He does,” another shrug. “But it is still not to be used often, the kitchens are most irritated that everyone seems to have fresh Warden appetites suddenly and I believe there was an incident involving all the apple pies. I assure you I only ate the one.”

“And here I thought it was...” an odd look crossed Ferox’s face as for a moment he had thought it was Horse getting into the pantry once more. “Nevermind, something else.” Waving the distressing thought away. “Speaking of which, I’m hungry...again. What shall we name the meal between dinner and supper...dupper?

“Dinner and supper? Are they not the same thing?” Zevran’s face scrunched quizzically. “Now I know my language skills are not always up to par -” Ferox struggled to not laugh, “- but I am quite sure that ‘dinner’ and ‘supper’ are the same meal, _amora_. I believe you mean ‘lunch and dinner’ or ‘lunch and supper’. I vote for ‘lupper’ as the between meal.”

Shrugs. “Harpy has tea, I’ll use my vote to veto that name.” _She’s also the one using dinner for the noon meal and supper for the evening one. I’m probably just trying to get back into practice to avoid a ‘patient’ correction. Maker, how am I going to do this?_

Getting to his feet, he hugged Zevran, still at a loss for words in regards to the past week. Ferox was hard struck by the death of his oldest friend, knew that he had not been, still was not, good company. And to make matters worse, there were no other stops between the Vigil and Denerim, although he had not voiced this as a concern, it was not a difficult thing to guess. Perceptive amber eyes and the presence that purred and rubbed against his mind, knew. Zevran’s patience, as always, surprised him, melted him; Ferox did not deserve this gift, but gifts could not be earned, which made them all the more precious. Nose pressed to the elf’s neck, he breathed in the comforting scent for a moment before they headed down to the kitchens, a hand on the other’s hip. 

XXX

Archery and magic practice were the times where amulets should be worn, for safety’s sake. But out here, after they had mastered hearing intentions of those who contained the Taint, amulets made sparring boring. Ferox had removed his amulet prior to going out to the covered sparring yard and suffered some disorientation, which he did not expect. The utter silence was also shocking. He missed the comforting sound of Zevran, missed what he now realized was someone at his back, arms wrapped around him, a constant reassurance. It took willpower to give the tiny thing to Varel and walk away. Visually, Ferox checked in with the assassin, reading the hesitation, having felt that lurch of disconnect as well, Zevran checked in, a touch supposedly to be sure of a loose buckle. 

_Maker, I didn’t know how much he gives me._

A few minutes later, Alistair was clearly confused, as he was unable to read Ferox any longer. Even with the Warden’s face hidden behind the steel helmet, Ferox knew it, knew that they hadn’t followed his instructions. Up until Zevran received his amulet, and even sparring with others afterwards, Ferox hadn’t relied on it. Time and time again he tagged the heavily armoured Wardens and out of the corner of his eye noted that Zevran was doing the same with the lighter armoured, quicker ones. Even the Silver Knights would have put them to shame. 

Ferox had also noted that despite instructions that Anders take part, that the mage was merely watching. If the mage was unable to access the Fade due to a Templar, or for some other reason, he needed to be able to defend himself at least until someone reached him. If the little healer could dance with a massive axe and brush it off, so could their own healer. 

Calling the bout with Oghren, Ferox, in his role as the Commander, strolled over to Anders, and in a voice that brooked no argument, “Anders, grab your practice staff and get out on the field, now.”

In a conversational tone with Alistair, one that he intended to be easily overheard, the Commander gave the Warden reminders of how to foil opponents who preferred large, two handed weapons and then in a softer voice gave him instructions to smite Anders should he cast anything other than a heal during his sparring bouts. Eyes large, the former Templar initiate nodded. Peeling off the heavier armours, Ferox picked up a practice staff to play with Anders.

At some point there was a growl and lengthy, staccato cursing in Antivan. Ferox glanced after the rapidly retreating form of his lover, but was not able to disengage from his own match to do anything about it. Nor could he just quit the field - he was the Commander, and he had to lead not just by instruction, but by example. Just as he thought he had a moment to go find out what had happened, Zevran returned.

With all the Crows. 

And all of Geoffry’s unit.

Raising a brow, Ferox waited for Zevran to come over. “Nice friends you brought.”

Zevran’s voice was low, turning him aside from the bulk of the sparring yard, “They are sloppy. They are slow. They are...faugh, _querido_ , they have become _ineffectual_. They need actual challenges, otherwise Anora on one of her moon days could take them all, skewer them, and plant their impaled corpses jutting out from the wall with no more effort than it takes to void one’s bladder when it is full.” The Crow took a deep breath, “There are a few brighter spots, Sigrun has the benefit of having fought for every scrap of food in her life, Oghren fought since the day he could toddle. A few of the new ones, ah, what was his name? Ias? He needs an actual challenge or he will get sloppy. Well, sloppier. But the others are nearly _abysmal_.”

“In not so many words, I agree and have found the same. Games against each other, sensing intention and movement before it occurs will not protect them against anything other than darkspawn...but that is the speech for them,” easily finding the frustration and anger that had been building.

Zevran grunted, “These separate training situations only cause further problems, division in the units. No more, each and every fighter is part of a cohesive whole, not a singlular fighter. Each one is the first line of defense - against darkspawn, invasion, bandits. They are all _lazy_. Worthless. I would not pit a group of fifth year Crows against them and put money on the Wardens here.” To drive the point home, hopping mad, “Fifth year Crows are eleven and twelve, with the occasional thirteen year old, Ferox.”

“I wish I had my amulet, because your fur would be standing on end right now,” near laughter at the image of Zevran with his back arched and tail puffed out, hissing and spitting. As it was, the tips of his ears were vibrating back and forth, barely perceptible, but Ferox had learned to check there since seeing just how much control the elf had over them. “Well, other than letting you loose on them with some pre-teens, what do you propose?”

“What I propose is behind me,” the words growling around the edges. “We sit back and watch, the Infirmary will be full today. And tomorrow. And the day after _that_. Simulate actual battle conditions. Grind the edge back onto them. The _hard_ way, so they do not forget again what they really are.”

“As much as I wish to spare our healer...don’t,” releasing an exasperated sigh. “He’s the worst of the lot...how much spell casting do you want out of him however? Alistair’s got him pegged with a smite if he does anything other than heal.”

The grin that spread over Zevran’s face was nearly malicious, “Let him cast. And let him see what Crows do with casters. Remember, battle conditions.”

“Very well.” With nod Ferox cornered Alistair and rescinded the instructions before tossing Anders his regular staff. _They can work well together when they are not fighting for a kill...or at least they used to._

Zevran pointed at Armand and Geoffry, waving them over, “Battle conditions. Your only friends are the ones you choose as allies. Take them down, but no irreparable damage. Armand, tell your flock to have fun.”

Wardens were briefed on the change of plans as well, the expressions ranged from cocky and sure of themselves to worried. Restraining yet another sigh, Ferox explained, “Darkspawn do not attack you every day, you have forgotten that. Even Oghren -” getting the attention of the dwarf whose attention was wandering, “- who should remember bandits, wolves, kossith, undead... You can’t sense those things, but you should know where each of you are, who needs assistance, who is next to you. Work together.” Growling at Anders who was again assuming that he was not going to ‘play’ and was not listening, “Mage, you need to remember that you are the first one I’d take down, every time, without question. You may get that first spell off, but after that, they’ll take you.”

“Unless they are toying with you,” Zevran mumbled darkly.

With that Geoffry’s team raced in, Oghren leading the Wardens’ charge with a bellow. Zevran, under the guise of watching the ‘teams’, crossed his arms, the hand under one elbow making contact with Ferox’s arm. It was a slight thing, but meaningful.

“Miss you.”

“I must admit it has me out of sorts myself,” said softly. 

“You should also consider a group for you and I...as I’ve tried to tell them, that link makes for much better tactics and communication in the confusion of battle. After they recover from this little debacle,” gesturing at the Wardens, “it would be an education for the Wardens to see something that works.”

Noting that Varel had entered the large building they were using for a winter training yard, Ferox patted Zevran on the back before moving to speak with the Seneschal and retrieve his amulet. Settling it back on his skin, the world righted itself, became brighter, and warmth settled around him like a heavy cloak. Zevran was immediately there filling him up and Ferox knew that tonight would be one of those nights where his lover would require more than simply being held, if the flash of agitation, relief and anxiety were anything to go by.

After a hum of conversation, details regarding delivery of messages, minor business, and discussion of the Dryden’s next visit, Ferox returned and smoothed the fur of the cat twining round his mind. _’The removal of the amulet was based on well reasoned thought.’_

_’Well reasoned does not always equate with comfort,’_ a sigh. _’Even though I agree on it, it is one of those more distressing facts of life, yes?’_

Ferox agreed, _’Disorientating and empty, without you, yes.’_

Zevran ducked into a closet, pulling him along. _'It is one of those things that must be learned to be coped with when necessary, **querido** , I understand this, yes?'_ As soon as Ferox was inside, arms came around him a nose pressing to his throat. _'But sweet to swallow the bitter.'_

_’I just wish you could find larger rooms...’_ wrapping his arms around his assassin.

It was a half-hearted chuckle more than anything. _'Ah but the larger rooms are more frequently entered, yes? Just a moment longer, **querido** and I will release you from this little prison.'_

A memory of impasse, of sitting in his chair in his bedroom in front of the fire, Zevran there, foreheads pressed together, as if they were waiting out the stalemate, the inability to discuss or to show what they had been discussing...arguing about. At the time, it was impossible to see around, and now it wasn’t important, didn’t have any meaning. Ferox supposed it was the vague feeling of being confined that brought that particular memory back...not that he had been confined then, but it had been the subject of the debate. 

_’What would you do differently?’_

_'About what, **amora**?'_ slowly Zevran began to release him. 

_’On this trip, what would you change?’ Yes, it is a useless idle question, but this is also a closet, which I am trying not to think about._

Zevran let go completely then tugged at the door, _'I would have given you mushrooms more than once.'_

Amusement, _’Oh? Why is that, exactly?’_

_'Because you are particularly beautiful and eloquent. Not only that, but you giggled, which was a sound, that if I had not been there and mostly sober at the time, would never believe possible.'_ An image flashed of Ferox laughing, then becoming ‘startled’ by the sound to then fall into a fit of giggles, curling forward to rest his head in Zevran’s abdomen. _'Carefree and beautiful as our son. As well as so cute it was nearly irritating, yes?'_

_’Hrm. I do not recall being cute, but I do remember the most amazing voice with an accent I could have listened to all night.’_

As they walked back down the hall, laughter, real this time, not forced, _'And that you did, **mi hermoso corizon**.'_

XXX

Zevran carefully spooned a bit of warmed, spice graced mash into Len’s mouth. Little lips were pursing on the odd sensation as his head bobbed to the side as though he was saying ‘can you believe what he’s feeding me?’ while Eleanor and Elissa were practicing their letters. The Antivan made little clucking sounds, regaining Len’s attention for another quick spoonful and to wipe away a bit of the slobber and goo that had trickled onto his chin.

“Ah, _mi bebe estas bien, bien,_ very good Len,” crooned only to get the spoon whacked by a grasping hand. “This food thing, it is still very new, is it not, _mijo_?”

In between little bites, “Pahpahpahpieeeee.”

“Yes, ‘papi’. And you are Len,” poking at a messy cheek before wiping it clean once more. “You are Len. And you are a very good boy. Open up, here comes more.”

_’You know he’s going to have a bad nappy again. I elect you to change it,’_ Ferox rolled his eyes at the domestic scene as he checked Elissa’s history essay comprised of three paragraphs. 

_'Faugh, he will not, one of the mares dropped a foal, this is mare’s milk, and proper for growing tummies,'_ giving the bowl a stir before putting more into Len who was eating with relatively good gusto. 

One of Len’s hands wrapped around the handle of the spoon ‘helping’ Zevran put it in his mouth, eyes big and wide and smiling at how well he was ‘helping’.

_’Such eyes he gives you, Zevran,’_ amused as the Antivan leaned in to touch noses with the boy, distracting the child from maintaining a deathgrip on the spoon so more could be gathered up.

_'Ah, yes, considering my preferences for tall, broad shouldered men with thick heads of hair, who would have ever thought the love of my life is short, chubby, and rather bald in comparison?'_ a laughing look thrown his way.

_’Left for a younger man, one who is my spitting image. Woe is me. O’ thou hast slain me. Cruel man of such cruel fates.’_ Stirring, “Do I smell cake or is that cookies?”

Moira and Sarah were doing something with an iron pan near the fireplace, and Moira turned to answer, tucking a stray strand of shiny coal hair aside, “Sweetbread with some of Zevran’s spices. I want to see if Len will take a little once it’s cooled down, a trial in chewing with all those new little teeth.”

“Twice baked bread? Likely, everything goes in the mouth.” Fingers lightly tracing the eyebrow of the quiet hound, softly, “Especially if it is attached to or in the mouth of a certain girl. I’m mostly certain it will be edible and Len would share...trouble is, Light, you might have to taste it with an ear or an eye first.”

Lightning tipped her head into the touch, the brown eyes soft then the black flaring double button of her nose flickered as she sniffed towards Len then the fireplace, then gave her head a shake as though to sneeze. 

“Or a nose...forgot about that. I haven’t told Zevran that Len isn’t Antivan though, because he’s so set on it. ‘Spices make babies happy,’ you know how he is.”

There was a clucking tongue, “Well of course they do, look see, his bowl is almost empty! And he keeps trying to grab the spoon each time to pull it to his mouth.” _'Also, they help with his gums, yes? Make them less irritated, so that the new little bud I saw does not hurt so much, hmn?'_

_’That would be a miracle if it were pain free. There would be a never ending line at the Ashes, if it could be accomplished so easily.’_

Another bit of humming as Len’s face and hands were wiped completely clean, then the bowl and baby were carried over, so the Antivan could set the bowl before the sweet and mild mannered mabari. _'I was speaking with some of my fellow countrymen and something Horatio said about old remedies reminded me of clove and nutmeg, yes? A paste is made and put on a cloth then tucked over the gum and held there until the pain goes. Quite effective.'_

_Nutmeg on custard. And cloves smell good too, oranges, ham. Must be hungry again. ‘Thought that spices were only for cooking.’_

Len was deposited beside Light, who paid him only enough mind to press her nose to his cheek before returning to slurp up the remnants in the bowl. _Mabari are funny, children come near their food and they’re as likely to share as to ignore them. An adult will get a good nip or growl._

Zevran snorted as he folded himself down to peer over the girls’ heads, readjusting Eleanor’s grip on her pen. _'How little you know sometimes. Elfroot is edible and medicinal. Just as many things are. Honey is best to be packed into gaping wounds, as it cleans and heals far better than liquor and pastes. Clove, nutmeg, sweet black pepper, they are analgesics for the mouth. Chili paste, while painful at first, works well in salves for arthritis and joint pain. Those are just a brief list of things. There are as many uses for spices as there is for a floor, limitless, yes? I have several interesting herbals though if you wish to have a look, as is, I have worked with Anders on translating one of them into Ferelden. Hmn, this reminds me, I probably should make several copies of each as they are translated, as Dagna, the Circle, Genitivi and Wilhelm the Younger, would no doubt want copies, and to make copies for their students... Ah, how I miss printing tablets.'_

_‘You could put your scholars on this, or a writing assignment for the local school...not only improve their handwriting, but provide useful knowledge as well.’_

_'Mmmn, you are full of good ideas, **amora** ,'_ fingers curled lightly along the back of Ferox’s neck then slid away.

Rumbling in the link, _’Tease.’_ “Len, now you will need a bath.” Reaching down to take the empty food bowl from his son’s head, knowing that Light would quickly provide a cleanup.

Light set to with gentle long licks, even as Len squirmed and giggled, partially bowled over into Ferox’s thigh who then rocked back into Light with a babble.

_'Ugh, he is perfect, **amora**. I can only see what you must have been like, yes?'_ another of those light fleeting touches. 

_’If he is perfect, and if the visions you show are true, then he takes after his father.’_ Ferox twitched, wanting to grab the flirtatious elf and throw him in a closet...room slightly larger than a closet, or, better yet, just throw him over his shoulder and haul him back to his room. That said, he was unwilling to break up the family gathering.

Zevran reached over to pat and rub Light’s side, receiving a surprised wuffle and wiggle. _'And which visions would those be, **mi hermoso corizon**? Ah, but you see, you were much like this during my night of pranks. That is how I know that Len is just like you. **Perfecto**.'_

Making the last correction to the essay on revolting ‘pheasants’...peasants, without even a chuckle, Ferox slid it back. “It is customary to put your name to your work, Elissa.”

She made a face, “But it’s not pretty. I wouldn’t want anyone to know it was mine until I could do it perfectly.”

Confused, “Your handwriting is very legible.”

“What’s legi-dabble?” Eleanor pipped up.

“Easy to read. Neat. Even when a work is in progress, it should be claimed, so that should correction need to be made, it can be returned to you. This is how we learn from our mistakes.”

“Oh,” Elissa took the paper back and printed her name in the upper left corner.

Zevran sent him approval, _'You are far better with them than you give yourself credit for, **querido** , hmn? Oh, look, Len is going down for a nap...'_ as the little boy wavered then plunked out against Light, an arm flung over one of her legs while one of his own wiggled and scooted up in the air. His assassin reached out to Eleanor, running a hand over her fluffy black hair, “With that, it is time for your nap as well, _mija_. Such a big essay for you both, you did well, Elissa, Eleanor.”

“Elissa doesn’t have to take naps,” Eleanor made as though to pout, a look stopped in its tracks by a blond brow arching. 

“She is not growing at the same rate as you, _chiquita_. Your body needs a bit of time every day to regain strength so you can grow up nice and strong and extra pretty,” he pinched her cheek. “Now go on, _mi gatita._ '

“Elissa, you and I should find your reading for today. A book on birds, I think...one with actual pheasants.”

Light carefully nosed Len onto his back, then curled herself around him protectively, making it very clear that it was naptime for her also.

A few minutes later, in the library next to his office, they searched for a book he remembered with large coloured pictures and detailed information about the different species of birds. “Ah here, I thought he was an Orlesian... I think he was just pretending to be one however and was in actuality one of the traveling Dalish. Changing his name so often and remaking himself, it is hard to know who or what exactly what he was, but he settled on Jean-Jacques for his publishing name.” 

Opening the large book on the floor, some of the pictures flowed from one page to the one next to it, brilliantly coloured on fine paper. Elissa peered over at the book, an excited gleam entering her eyes, apparently the compendium was well received. _Good, it’s been nightmarish trying to find something to interest you._ “This is a rare book, very difficult to find.” _We will not question how it came into Arl Howe’s possession or why the Cousland seal is stamped on the inside cover._ “You must take great care with it and not allow Len to help you turn the pages, yes?”

Nodding solemnly, “I promise Uncle Fox.”

Returning Elissa to the nursery so she could have her reading time while the others napped, Ferox slipped an arm around Zevran’s waist. _’She has shown very little interest in anything, hopefully this will lead to something for her. I care not what field the children decide to take as their own, one or many, only that they are happy, can care for themselves, and have some skill they enjoy. The same goes for Len, if he does not want what we have built, then he should not be made to take it.’_

_'Plan B would likely take it, or Plan C - I cannot imagine that Fergus would balk at switching Thia out for one of yours if the scenario required it,'_ Zevran leaned into him as Moira lay down for a nap herself as Sarah and Light were ‘on duty’.

_’I believe Fergus is of the same mind as you and I. Someone should take the task, but that one should want it, otherwise it is a heavy and unloved burden, one I would not wish on any of them.’_ With a soft chuckle, _’Knowing Fergus, there will be more little backup plans.’_

Zevran tugged at him, “I think you and I could use a ‘nap’ ourselves. This parenting thing, it is very...consuming, yes?”

“As you say.” _Little daily rituals which you will not have a part in after returning to the business of kingdom to descends upon your desk and invades your office._ The updates from Nathaniel indicated that most was well in hand. Her Royal Harpyness seemed to be more herself as well. _Oh, well, we can’t have everything. Nor, as much as I would like, can we stay away from Denerim._ Although traveling as Zevran suggested, would be more to Ferox’s liking, it would mean leaving behind some of these little bits he was becoming attached to. Certainly the girls and everything that went with them were all still traps, but he was becoming used to their bite and did not mind them so much. _I think I will miss this._

XXX

It was apparently Eleanor’s turn to follow him around like a duckling with her toy duck pushed ahead of her, slapping its leather feet rapidly on the flagstones. Walking beside or behind him trying to match his stride - his very adjusted stride - and carrying herself just so, she peered around asking questions whenever possible. Mostly they were still the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, but sometimes she would very clearly want more. Much like when he would read to Len and tell ‘stories’, Eleanor listened with surprising intensity. While he imagined that other girls her age wanted to play with dolls and play ‘house’, Eleanor wanted to play _castle_. 

No one was ‘spared’. If he was busy or had to stop to do something, Eleanor would flag down the nearest adult who didn’t look like _they_ were busy, ask them what they were doing, why, how things were done, who they were, did they like what they were doing, and an endless list of questions. _Definitely takes after her Zev. Next thing you know, she will ask for pen and paper to make  lists._

“Have we met with Seneschal Varel today?” knowing that she was keeping track. His routine rarely varied, a detour here or there, depending on the day.

She had one hand wrapped around two of his fingers as she thought about it. “No, we got to see Al’star. He wanted something ‘bout the why. I mean rye. Rye - right? Diss-tract-tracted us.”

_I have always thought that being distracted was his job, as he is very good at it, except for when he concentrates and that only happens when he has a shield in his hand._ “Yes, he was distracted. He’s very worried, because the large amounts of snow will delay the winter wheat and rye from spouting in the spring. We may have to adjust what is planted after it. However, since it rains a lot here, I believe he is worrying too soon. It is good to prepare for, but not to become distracted over.” 

The little girl mulled that over then nodded, taking on Zevran’s mannerisms for a moment, “It is good to plan, but it is not good to stress, yes? This is grownup ways.”

“Exactly. We cannot change the weather, but we can adjust to it. Having a plan on what will go into the ground next, knowing what has a shorter growing cycle for example and being prepared to plant it if needed.”

“That’s smart!” Eleanor did a little hop-skip-jump, “You make the best plans!”

“Not always, but doing this enough times, correcting mistakes that happened last time, makes for better plans, better guesses in how things will go. I watched my father and grandfather do this and learned from their mistakes too.”

Eleanor waved his arm a little as they walked towards the main hall, “Ohhh.”

“Do you remember what a seneschal’s job is?”

“Um...sched-ul-ling staff - kitchen, guards, cleaning, garden, and making sure it works.” She had to pause, sorting through the gobs of information she was usually bombarded with, what with all her questions. “Hearing people to decide if their problem needs hearing by you. Um...getting things for the castle. ‘The details’!” quoting Zevran. “Making things run good.”

“Exactly, and often much more. He takes care of everything here when we are at the palace in Denerim, when I can’t be here. When Varel talks, his voice is mine and people jump to do what he says. Although he is not a Warden, they listen to him too. He has been here longer than everyone and knows where everything is kept, what is needed to keep the castle in good working order, the names of every guard, soldier, Warden, and everyone who helps keep us fed and the place clean. He is a very important man, one that is trusted not only by me, but by everyone who lives here.” Ferox grinned, “As a test, shall we ask him the name of the new boy who was shoveling snow in the courtyard or if there are oatmeal cookies today?” Eleanor blushed and he had his answer. “Well, cookies it is then.”

She tugged at his hand, hiding her face and giggling behind a hand, “Noo...the boy.”

Pausing as Varel took in a delivery from Amaranthine, they listened to the questions and how the Seneschal made arrangements for the payment of the goods, directed where they would be stored, providing an excellent example of what they had just been discussing. Everything was noted in a journal he kept. “Eleanor, why doesn’t he keep it all in his head? Why is the Seneschal writing those things down?”

Her face scrunched, “So he doesn’t forget...?”

“Yes, or what if he went to Denerim to visit his mother and someone had to take his place for a while? Or when Seneschal Howe came to the palace and Zevran trained him? It would be much easier to read well kept notes than to hear everything that was kept in their head.”

“I want a book too, I want to help too!” she jounced a little.

Patting her braided head, “Somehow I thought you might. Later, we’ll see about that.” Approaching Varel, “Seneschal, Miss Eleanor would like to have a look at your book. We are curious how it is organized and what would be important enough to take note of. I believe she will be taking the accounts for the nursery on our return.”

“Oh, why that would be my pleasure, Commander, Miss Eleanor,” the Seneschal’s expression lightened, the seriousness of work falling away to be replaced with a different sort of gravity. He pulled out his perpetual little side book and opened it as he got down on Eleanor’s level. “Well, let’s see. I like to keep it in sections. See these little ribbons?” the girl nodded, leaning in and peering over Varel’s arm for a better look. “These let me know what the section is for. Blue is for Warden business.”

“Like what?” carefully she pinched one of the pages within the blue marker section to take a peep at it.

“Well who needs new gear, whose turn it is to go on patrol, any observations they made,” the Warden appointed Seneschal didn’t mention darkspawn, for which Ferox was grateful for. Everyone had been careful of the girls and kept some of the more...colourful...stories to themselves. “Green is for the fields and food supplies, what’s stocked in our storehouses, and what traders are bringing in or buying up. Purple is for the arling’s businesses. Like Master Wade’s armoury, or some of the other small workshops that we fund and support, taking in some profit to help run the arling.”

Eleanor nodded, “I like purple. Why can’t the Warden part be purple?”

“Well, it was just easier for me to remember it that way.” Varel pointed to the Warden crest, “You see, it’s blue right? That’s why I made blue for Warden things. Green is for growing, purple is for money - because purple is a royal colour. Or, in this case, a noble colour. Now, red is for all the staffing duties and schedules. I have another book, a smaller one,” with this statement a thin book, half the size of the other was pulled free. “This one is for important meetings and decisions I have made, some information on each matter, why I made the choices I did, and the result of those decisions.”

“When the Seneschal and I meet, these notes not only help to remind him of what happened, but also when writing the official documents, should they be needed, a proclamation to be made or a judgement entered.” Ferox pointed out.

“I need a book so I can help Mama,” utmost seriousness in her heart-shaped face. “And ribbons too. So I can help Uncle Fox and Zev ‘member things.”

_And lessons on how to use them._ “Do you have something similar that would work for the nursery, Varel? Zevran and I are going to Amaranthine later and can pick up ribbons there.”

Varel smiled, “I always have extra for a helping set of hands.” 

“Out of curiosity, what colour is the accounts? Eleanor will need to know to keep track of the pocket money.”

Varel became very grave, “That is purple, Commander. The noble and royal colour.”

“Any other questions, Eleanor?”

“No!” then went pink. “But there’s a new boy. Blond, I think he was doing the snow today. He should have a cookie.”

“Ah, young Adam,” Varel nodded knowingly. “He did a very good job then?”

“I believe so, was even refilling Andraste’s bowl with seed for the birds. He is thoughtful and seems to know everyone who passed by, greeting them by name, a good memory as some were wearing helmets or ones whose faces were obscured by scarves.” _Best to make use of that lad before someone else does._

Varel nearly perked up at that, “Interesting. Perhaps snow shovelling should not be his only duty.”

“Thank you, Varel.” Taking Eleanor’s hand once more, “Now, my girl, I believe your duck and I also deserve an oatmeal cookie. Shall we inspect the kitchen?”

XXX

Ferox did not have any real reason that he could think of to travel to Amaranthine, other than showing the flag and to obtain fresh air. He was loath to admit to anyone that the sole reason they were ‘going to town’ was for Eleanor’s ribbons. Mentally he was justifying this as ‘education,’ and knew that when he found out, Zevran would see right through him. _One big giant trap with a giant arrow that said ‘Ferox, step here.’_ “I haven’t noticed, but is Elissa interested in drawing and colouring? The reason I ask is, I’ve been trying to figure out why she liked the bird book so much.”

“Some, she also sings to Lightning and Len frequently. Bath time usually there are many songs about soap bubbles and splashing or mermaids,” his lover chuckled. “But yes, she draws sometimes. I have some rather interesting inkblots that look nearly like animals from her spilling some ‘accidentally’ and blowing on them.”

“There was one on your last list, I was wondering if you had taken to drawing chickens or was it a partridge?”

Another chuckle, “I believe it was one of those ‘pheasants’ you showed her, _querido_.”

“Longer tail, I should have known, well that and the longer neck.” Quiet for moment before asking, “How did the Wardens do on their bout this week? Other than there were fewer of them in the infirmary, that’s so far the only measuring stick I’ve got for it.”

“To say that they dislike me at this time, is an understatement,” amusement flavoured the words and a deep satisfaction was translated to Ferox. “You know, one of the main privileges you _do_ have as Prince Consort and Hero of Ferelden, is that you are head of the military. _All_ of it. Granted, town and city guards need not be warriors, and they have improved vastly from what they were during the Blight... Perhaps practice in pitched battlefield leadership would be good. War games, yes? Wardens and Silver Knights can teach and by teaching, and thus can learn more. We do this in the Crows you know. Once we reach about fifteen, we start training the younger apprentices in skills that we have difficulty in to make sure we learn properly by giving proper instruction. And the guards could do similar for the town militias.”

“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” Ferox flashed another grin. Those grins were something that was becoming more common by the day. “But, since you are returning to Denerim, let’s put Sig and Alistair on that one, after the groundwork is laid. We should speak with the Guard Captain today.” _’I wanted a tour of his little fort anyway. He’s so protective of it, perhaps there is a reason? Even when the darkspawn were at the gates, he didn’t open the doors to save the townspeople. Feel like taking a scout?’_

Zevran’s eyes narrowed, _'I do not like the sounds of that, not at all, **querido**. That is not the way any city guard is to act. Keep order, protect and serve.'_

_’That’s why I haven’t sent the customary notification ahead. nor displayed any colours.’ There, a reason that’s legitimate and something that’s been a niggling doubt for a while. No locked doors where Zevran is around._ Rather proud of himself for that bit of logic, Ferox shifted happily in his saddle. However, it did bring up worrisome ideas, especially if his Antivan sun was having his bump of trouble agitated so. _‘Smuggling was particularly bad when the Wardens first arrived, and, although the locations discovered then, remain clear, I wouldn’t say that we have them all. That said, guess who is patrolling those sites? If the cavern under the inn reached the sea, who is to say that there isn’t more or, more likely, that that particular one isn’t being used. After all, the inn is next to the fort.’_

Zevran’s expression turned dark, _'Moira’s husband might not have died in the fight to save Amaranthine if there had been a place for the women and children to retreat to as soon as there were signs. Instead, he and the others had to fight street by street, yes? If the issue was just smuggling that had cost no lives needlessly...'_

_’The only other place large enough was, of course, the Chantry. Unfortunately, at that time, I was also dealing with Bann Esmerelle and was unable to obtain her cooperation...and the cooperation of the Captain. So you can see why I’d enjoy a ‘proper’ investigation.’_

_'I see, then yes, yes that is exactly what will be done...'_

Ferox added his bit of irritation with the end result - he had somehow managed to put off replacing the woman for the last five years, but time was running out, _’Eamon will want to replace her shortly, I would rather not...just yet.’_ 'Oh, I have no plans on killing anyone today.'

_’She’s dead...officially missing.’_ Ferox shrugged. _’Until I can present a list to Anora that doesn’t contain Eamon’s favourites, the position remains unfilled.’_

_'Our good Howe’s sister,'_ delivered with a shrug. _'She knows nobility, yes, she is the wife of a ‘lowly’ merchant, but this means her accounts must be run correctly and well, yes? It would be a step towards repairing the Howe name and mending bridges on the whole, no? Delilah and her husband...faugh, what was his name? Alfred, Aldred...Albert? Ah, yes, Albert. Running a bann is not a serious step up, but it is the sort of thing she was trained to do, no?'_

_’She may be in Kirkwall, or at least one of them is. Nathaniels gather there and she goes looking for him or moves there, but I don’t remember which,’_ Ferox made a face at that admission. However, he quite liked the notion of putting Delilah in charge of a bann. She would be suited to it. _’It wasn’t important other than to keep him away from there. If she is here, I do remember where her house was.’ Yet another reason to go tromping about Amaranthine. A ‘valid’ one! Thank you, Maker. ‘Kirkwall is just one big Warden, Circle, and Templar trap as far as I am concerned.’_

Zevran cocked his head, _'And one Crow. This still baffles me.'_

_’Nothing of interest for you apparently. Even he seems unhappy to be there. No other Sten either, although considering the Qunari presence, you would think there would be more. And more interesting, one Riordan... Hers.’_

As they approached the gates, Zevran tapped his saddlehorn in thought, _'That would lean towards her reality being the ‘true’ one. But nothing is ever as it seems. I am more inclined to believe that there is something...odd...about him specifically, hmn? It is too bad that we had not thought to request a blood sample from him for Avernus to compare to mine.'_

_’We’re going back - make a list. Since she asked for advanced warning, it might be wise to ask then. According to the stories the rest of the Riordans fell from the sky that night, slipping from the wing of the Archdemon, just as we ourselves saw. Have you found any duplicate of any other who would have been ‘the Warden’ in another place? A Tabris, or Amell, anyone?’_

He shook his head as the guards waved them through, _'No. Ah. Wait. Possibly, possibly. A Dalish, though to say that I met him would be a bit more than the truth. My mother’s clan had a group of scouts that had brought word on something or other and there was one who seemed...different? Possibly. But the scouts were from the Sabrae clan and one was a fosterling of the Mahariel clan. Something or other to do with family tragedy and parents not liking the match.'_

_’Mahariel is a named used for the Dalish Wardens there in Kirkwall, although the healer did not use it. Could be interesting to meet him. She did claim the Sabrae Clan outside of Kirkwall. Apparently Duncan did visit the them while they were in Ferelden...or so the stories go.’_ Nodding at the guards, “Did I tell you that last time I was through here, my bags were searched?” and he let his amusement bleed through the link.

“Hmn, that sounds fun. Who was the guard with the stones to do something like that? I like him already,” his lover chuckled.

“Should we see him, I’ll introduce you. Struck me that he was just trying to do his job - properly. So, I didn’t protest, didn’t growl either. Frankly, given that smuggling was rampant, it was a start, not a very good one, but more than anything else that was being done at that time.” 

Constable Aiden came up with two guards flanking him as Ferox and Zevran dismounted, “Commander, this is a surprise. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Constable, a moment or two of your time is all I require today. I promised my associate that he could meet the brave man who searched my bags for smuggled goods.”

Aiden shook his head as he tried to recall, then stopped. “Edric, he had served with the militias, going out and fighting darkspawn during the Blight. But...he died during the nasty business several years ago, I’m sorry to say.”

“ _Edric_? Aiesh... _meldicion._ Of all the bad luck,” Zevran crossed his arms, tugging his cloak about him tighter. 

_’Why do I know that name?’_

_'Moira’s husband, **querido** ,'_ sad. “And how did that happen...? Any details?”

The Constable sighed, “He was brave, I’ll give him that. He was also not always all that bright. Or maybe he was just foolish. When I ordered as many of the guard out, he refused to go, raced back in, along with a few others. At the time... Well. Commander, you know how bad it was. No defensible place was open to the noncombatants - Chantry was locked up tight, the Lieutenant had the fort locked up too - so everything was open fighting in the streets and not enough manpower or strength to stem the tide. I do hear his widow and two girls made it out, but that’s the last I know of it.”

“They’re fine,” still puzzling where he would have heard the name. Moira never talked about him and the girls only knew ‘daddy’. “Moira and the girls landed safely in Denerim. She is the head of the nursery at the palace.” Ferox couldn’t recall Zevran calling him by name either. “They must have been in the Chantry that night and until a path was opened...there was no way in or out.” _’There was a break in the fighting, the day before, the fort could have been opened, safely, instead everyone had to pile into the Chantry.’_

“Oh, that’s excellent, I’m glad that at least some of those trapped here were able to get some place where they can be. If I recall correctly, they were a real sweet family, the missus used to come by and drop off scarfs or cookies time to time. They deserve a bit of good,” Aiden appeared to brighten, at least what could be seen of his face through the bundling he was bound up in.

_'That concerns me as well, **querido**.'_ Zevran waved a partially mittened hand. “Yes, she rules it with an iron sweet bread and a smile. Along with Elissa and Eleanor, who are like miniatures of their mother. But you are right, it is good that they were able to obtain some place to call home.”

“Thank you for the information, Constable, sorrowful though it is.” _Didn’t see that coming either - you really should have... Although given how small Amaranthine was, did you really expect not to have met him? Or expect that one met so briefly, regardless of who he was, would be one of the few to survive?_ “I think that we’ll take a bird’s eye view of the docks from the battlements to discuss possible expansion.” 

Aiden bowed quickly, “As you like it, Commander.”

Shaking his head, setting it aside with the rest of that time, Ferox led the way through the warrens in the walls of the city, up to the tower above the docks, a tower which also gave an the best view of the slightly taller fort. _’The Lieutenant’s voice can often be heard from the top of the fort. Other than the soldiers, nearly isolated as he, few go inside. There is a locked door on the other side, but I have suspicions regarding the cavern under the tavern. Something that may be easier to view given the different entrances.’_

The way Zevran was eyeing the stonework made Ferox frown, but he didn’t interfere as his lover pulled off his hand coverings to tap and check the stone. With a grunt, his cap was tugged down, freeing his ears which swiveled as he closed his eyes, listening. Ferox could hear voices faintly, but they were either too far or speaking too softly for even the clear cold day’s air to carry the word to him. 

_'I wish to see this cavern, **querido**. I also must go to our horses and grab some of my utility gear, hmn? But let us first see if our good Howe’s sister remains here first, yes?'_ with a gentle push the assassin removed himself from his close press to the wall.

Taking a different route than they had entered, one that took a passageway over the gate to the far tower on the other side, they exited close to the market district. Wending their way through the stalls, Ferox stopped at one that stocked fabrics, thread and ribbons and chose several different coloured ribbons, ones that were based on Varel and Zevran’s system of colour coding, should serve Eleanor’s needs.

“Eh?” Zevran leaned over. “My hair needs dressing up perhaps, _amora_? Ah but purple it is not my colour. And these are too thin to go into my hair, or upon Light’s collar. Fit for cute little girls though, yes?”

“No, because if they were, you would tell me that they would not wear these colours. But you will see soon enough as your services will be needed.”

An image flashed of Zevran in the most... _peculiar_ garb. Bare arms an even darker bronze than usual, glistened with oil in sunlight, a vest of some sort coming down, but partially open in a deep ‘v’ over his chest, and loose pants. With streamers in his hair. And tied about his wrists. And ankles. It made him look like he was some form of pagan god. “Feast of the Sun, the ah...summer solstice. Good times. But yes, of course, I would be glad to render many services for you.”

_’Teasing and now taunting?’_ barely holding back something between a rumble and a growl. _Feast of the Sun indeed. Feast your eyes **on** the the sun, rather._

His lover watched him pay for his purchases, _'Ah, but what are you going to **do** about it, **mi hermoso corizon**? Hmmmmn?'_

Wishing for the mask lost along the roadside somewhere, overboard perhaps, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” _At least not now._

“Tchk, I will just have to try harder,” giving a dismissive wave.

_Please, no. I don’t know how much of that I can take._ “I believe that Delilah's house was just before the steps,” as if it was the only thing on his mind. The snow was being hauled away, outside the gates to giant heaps, no doubt where children were playing, at least those with no duties today. Knocking on the door, having long forgotten the proposed Cousland-Howe match, Ferox was relieved when she answered, apparently Nathaniel’s appearance in Kirkwall was key to her going there as well. 

“You. Oh. Ah...what can I do for you, Commander?” Delilah was tugging a heavy cloak and shawl around herself.

_'You do have such a way with women,'_ the teasing wafted through the link.

Avoiding a sigh but not the thought of, _Is he saying that I have a way with women that causes them to get dressed?_ Ferox was beginning to wonder if Zevran’s name meant ‘evil’. _’I know where you sleep.’_ Ferox noted a line of worry in the woman’s face, “Delilah, Nathanial is fine and asked that this,” drawing a letter from his cloak, “be delivered to you.” True, it had arrived several days before, but no one had been going to the town before today and it made for a perfect opportunity. “There is another matter I should like to discuss, but unfortunately, the street is...busy today.”

“Oh, of course, of...of course. Come in, I’m sorry, my manners aren’t very good today,” Delilah opened the door and ushered them in. 

As she shed her protective layers, _'She is with child. It is all over her smell and movements. A few months perhaps, four, five.'_ “It is very cosy here, Lady Delilah, your brother speaks of you fondly.”

_’Probably her second. She was pregnant when Nathaniel spoke with her the first time after Joining.’_

_'Then where are the toys?'_ his lover scanned the main room as they left the entryway, hanging up their cloaks. _'And why has Nathaniel never mentioned a niece or nephew?'_

_’If you can’t smell a baby, I don’t think one exists.’_ “Delilah, I am having a bit of difficulty and as you know local mires and swamps that make up the arling, perhaps you can assist me.” Watching the woman bustle about, they accepted the seats she offered around a wooden table in the kitchen area of the front room. When she offered to make tea, they declined, but encouraged her to have some as she picked up a mug she had been apparently sipping from earlier. 

When everyone was settled and small niceties made, Delilah asked what troubles he was having with the locals. “Frankly, lady,” knowing how straightforward she was, much like her brother, “I need some names to put forward as Bann of Amaranthine. Bann Esmerelle has been missing long enough and a replacement must be found. My requirements are few other than that they be intelligent, have a good head for business and can work cooperatively with Bann Eddelbrek and the Vigil to coordinate the use of available labour.”

“I don’t rightly know, Commander. Any suggestion I could put forth is otherwise occupied, or sounds like a grab for power,” a hand fell to her stomach to rub it lightly. “But with Nathanial in Denerim... And anyway, he was your second, running the arling with Varel.”

“Hrm,” Ferox leaned back as if considering something they hadn’t already decided that they wanted, “a _Howe_ would be good in that position however. An opportunity to mend fences, calm those who have been upset by an unfortunate situation, already knowing the lay of the land and the ones that hold it...are there any other advantages or disadvantages I’m not seeing?”

Another slow sip of tea, “Well, Albert and I are decently off at the moment, so we would be able to funnel some funds into any projects or taxes that needed seeing to. Albert has contacts in several of the larger ports, Cumberland, Kirkwall, Ostwick, Hercinea, Bastion, even up to Antiva City. Sometimes he winters over in Bastion, fewer port taxes and less of the...unsavoury sorts. We could use those to help bring more trade and generate a greater export base.”

“You would want more of those things that are already finished, yes? Raw materials and goods only generate so much income as exports,” his lover pointed out. “Weapons are good and always in demand, but due to the climates of those countries your husband trades with, things like fur cloaks would not sell well.”

“The artisans of Ferelden aren’t the same as elsewhere, I’ll give you that, ser. And some of the tastes of other countries might make selling things of Ferelden make more difficult,” she was agreeable, yet confident about that. “But that can be worked on. Albert has been doing this for years, studying how the markets and preferences of the ports he sails to affect his sales.” 

Ferox added thoughtfully, “We are bringing in labourers, why not skilled ones too? Ones who are willing to teach others...much like our rotating apprenticeship programs here.” 

They had already discussed these ideas and were bringing them forward to see if the prospect had considered something like this or had something to add. It was a good interview process as they already knew the topic and only had to listen to the new voice.

“But what would we trade them? Honestly, the only thing Ferelden has _much_ of at the moment is land. Land that isn’t really suited for the weaker cultures of Thedas,” Delilah shook her head once. “We have raw and unprocessed resources, we have very little to draw and maintain the interest of skilled artisans. Maybe ones of a journeyman status in their countries, wanting to make names for themselves, but what of gold? They will want to be somewhere where they can turn a profit, not merely eke by. And I find it unlikely that there’s much that can be done funding-wise, by now I wouldn’t be surprised if most arlings are near penniless if they’re not already in debt.”

“To the south, yes, there are such issues,” Ferox agreed. “The short term concerns are obviously getting the country back on its feet in full. Even a journeyman artisan, or possibly even some older ones who can no longer work, and have sold their businesses, but are willing to _teach_ would give us a pool of knowledge and skill to give to the populace.”

Inside his mind there was a contented purr, _'Have I ever told you how handsome you are when making plans, **corizon**?'_

_’When am I not making...Wait!’_ Backpedaling as fast as he could think, _‘I take it back. Don’t answer that and absolutely do not show me. Delilah doesn’t need to have more **issues** with me.’_

Laughter was the only response he was given.

Delilah carefully folded her hands in her lap a pensive crease to her brow. “I would have to wait until Albert was back and see who he may know or heard of.” 

Nodding, Ferox clarified, “To be clear, I am asking you to be the Bann, Lady. Not any other. You are thoughtful, resourceful and know how to use the assets of the land and its available people.” 

“Commander, I’m five months pregnant, I will be due in several more, and attempting to be a proper bann on my own in that situation is...” 

“It is all about delegation, which, if I recall, you were excellent at.” 

“This is true, but honestly I’m more worried than anything else, Commander. Call it a woman’s fears. This is my fourth pregnancy,” her voice cracked at the edges. “I didn’t tell Albert before he left, else he would have worried or his hopes may have been raised. And it has not been easy this time, though I’ve kept it far longer than the others. Healer Ines said I must be very careful and that the birthing itself will be very risky. It may be that I might not be able to _be_ the bann, no matter my duty and love for the country and its people. Yes, I would like to try, but even with delegation, I’m in a delicate situation.”

_’Ines is the crazy plant lady, Wynne sent us to find her in the woods. She was good at her poultices, but Anders is the real healer here...not that he should come alone.’_ “I understand, and do not wish to put you under any more strain. There is time for both and my matter can wait. Amaranthine isn’t quite ready yet and Varel can continue until you are able. In the meantime, I will be able to prepare the ground so that the acceptance of this proposal is easier.” Gently Ferox touched her arm, “Delilah, I hold no grudge and would not harm you so. Let me send a Warden healer to help ease your mind and assist if necessary. You would be a good mother and I would like you to have that joy.”

She waved her other hand a little near her eyes as she looked away, “Thank you.”

“I’ll have him come to see you tomorrow, if the weather holds. Anders knows his business, and there isn’t a Warden or pup in the place that doesn’t trust his ability to heal. If there is something that can help you or the child, he’ll know.” Lightly squeezing before releasing her arm, Ferox smiled, “In the meantime, should something occur to you, start making your lists of improvements and ideas. Even if you decide not to accept, your thoughts would be helpful and would be most welcome.”

From Delilah’s, they passed the stables on the way to the tavern. _’I would guess, that the trap door to the cavern is, was, used after hours as it was usually covered with sacks of flour and other heavy items. The other entrance, outside the city walls, was more ‘popular’. I’m interested to see how accessible they are today.’_ A pause, _’Our fathers discussed marriage between Delilah and myself.’_

_'Ah, I was wondering,'_ as they walked Zevran momentarily gave his hand a squeeze.

_’She was very good at delegating even then.’_ A bit of a laugh, _’You’ll never guess who she sent to decline on her behalf._ Brown eyes crinkled, it was still funny to this day. _’Rory!’_ There was no grudge to hold, as there had never been any resentment.

Laughter and a grin that was held in sun-gold eyes shot his way, _'Ah then it was a very sad day, no? To be sent someone to comfort you from the gross rejection.'_

Amusement in the link, _’She is no fool, and although her tongue can be sharp, had it come to it, she wouldn’t have been unpleasant. Seriously though, I hope Anders can do something, even if he insures that nothing bad happens.’_

“I will also leave a few recipes for simples that might assist her, that was sweetnettle tea she was drinking, which helps with the strength of muscles yes, but it also does not help much with other issues that can cause trouble sometimes,” Zevran was rummaging in his pack and pulled out an odd set of attachments for his hands as well as a good length of rope that was quickly set under his cloak.

_’I did say there was a door to the fort,’_ teasing his assassin. _’Yep, pretty certain I mentioned that.’_

_'A length of good rope is always a good thing to have on hand, **querido**. Whether it is used for work or more pleasurable pursuits...'_

_’I’ll just trust you on that, yes?’ But it’s always necessary in a hanging._

No one but horses were in the stable other than themselves and Zevran tugged him in close, _'Mmmngood.'_

Contentment, Ferox smoothed the fur of the creature wrapped around his mind. _’I am glad you are here.’ You never could have been a trap. I must have been seeing things, jumping at my own shadow._

XXX

Lieutenant Phillips was good, Ferox would give him that. He’d even found a chink in Ferox’s armour, “Son of a motherless goat.”

Zevran had whipped out the odd climbing things for his hands and currently was burying and twisting them in someone’s guts. _'Where did he get you?!'_

_A nice day for a ride, buy some ribbons, didn’t start out today looking for a fight._ Reaching to pick up a shield that had been dropped, _’Shoulder, seems intent on a knee...however.’_ Several fingers were numb on his right hand. _Lecture from Anders coming up, right after one from Zevran. Something to look forward to._

Phillips swung and Ferox gave him a good bash. In the periphery of his vision, one of those trademark dirty kicks sent Zevran’s current opponent staggering. Ferox wanted to take Phillips alive and keep him that way - for a brief time of course. With a hefty punch with the fist of his swordhand, Phillips was sent to a moaning crumble, bone crunching from the impact.

“Well then, what do we have here, Your Highness?” Zevran crossed his arms.

“The soon to be former Lieutenant Phillips as his judge and jury have arrived.”

The assassin tutted as he shucked his cloak, “Ah, but what of the fair trial all Fereldens are promised, Your Highness? Shall we gather...evidence?”

Doing his best to wring some feeling into his hand, he began listing Phillips’ crimes, “That would be very fair. And last I checked attacking a superior officer wasn’t exactly condoned. I’ll attempt to overlook it for the moment.”

“First, we have small matter of barrels of _gaatlock_ and a rather interesting poison called _saar-qamek_ , both appear to be goods that the Qunari refuse to trade. Excessive amounts of lyrium that are unmarked by Orzammar seals. Oh, and how many slaves were in those cages? I’m afraid I lost count at twenty-five.”

“However, I did have a question of why smugglers would have put a bounty on your life and approached, a Warden with the offer and request of your head. Given the inventory listed, I no longer need an answer to that question.”

“Previous to today, we also have a failure to save the lives of the population of Amaranthine and to come to its assistance. No soldiers left this fort during the two nights of darkspawn attacks. The doors to the fort were locked and many lives were lost. This is clearly a failure in duty.”

Casting Zevran a glance, “Have I missed anything?”

Phillips spit at him through his mangled face, unable to speak from the force of Ferox’s blow.

“Ah, I believe he wishes to give testimony,” his lover stepped forward a ‘friendly’ and ‘thoughtful’ expression on his elven features. From one of the protected and well insulated pockets inside his breastplate was pulled one of the ‘extra’ amulets. “For the purpose of being thorough, yes?” 

Ferox waited as Zevran squatted down and took Phillips’ face in hand, pressing the amulet to the worst side. Knife-sharp flashes of information broke through. Smugglers had been first. Skimmed profits. Greed. Anger at those who had ousted his noble Orlesian father. Remaining in Ferelden, a bastard, not worth enough to take along. Information passed to any who wanted it and had the coin to pay for it. Caverns, a second set, made into barracks when a large ‘donation’ had been made to house sellswords from Orlais. Templar Rylock stationed specifically to stir up trouble, make the Wardens weaker. The image of planning to take out a well - 

_Len!_ Ferox nearly reeled at the plan that was to be put into effect, that had been thwarted by the recent bad weather. A stray panicked thought, _The runestone is with Dagna._

“That was a most unwise plan you had,” Zevran did something, took control of Phillips - _Felipe d’Montre_ \- and forcefully opened the traitor’s mind.

Suddenly, Zevran was blocking out Ferox. The expression was one of blank malice. Felipe shook and shuddered, back arching, twisting within his bindings so that the audible slow tear of ligaments in shoulders, arms and legs was like heavy wet fabric made of meat ripping. And the terror, anguish, sheer unrelenting agony on the former guard’s face would have moved most any person with a shred of humanity to them. 

Ferox wasn’t always that sort of person.

Zevran ceased what he was doing, letting Felipe slump to the ground. “A lifetime’s worth of every fear, pain, and rage, yes? This is what you feel now, hmn?” A lazy smack, “I left you intact enough to hear what comes next. Do you understand?”

Strangled whimpering.

_'The plan was to take out all the Wardens, yourself, Len, any sort of strike that would destabilize Ferelden,'_ burning hot rage was like a sharp slice of mental sound. _'There are various proofs to be had. Eamon now has a reason to go to Orlais other than our convenience, hmn?'_

How could calm have such heat? Enunciating, spelling out the danger, _’Zevran, today was nice weather. Where are they?’_

_'They had not been in place yet, Ferelden is too cold for their thin blood, even though Orlais is not always warm either, yes? These things were planned for evening it seems.'_

_’Then warn them, now.’_ Ferox would have gestured to the amulet, but the weight and numbness in his arm was worse. Shrugging the shield from his left arm, he picked up his companion sword that had fallen from numbed fingers.

Zevran protected him from the broadcast after he pulled out the other senior Warden’s amulet-copies. “There, that is done. Now, let me see this arm, neh?” As his lover guided him to a desk to unbuckle some of the arm guard and the pauldron, his voice was softer, “You must decide on his sentencing, _querido_. It is your right.”

“Pillory. It is their right as survivors.” _Oh, but you long to watch him fall._ “Unlike most, he won’t be leaving it.”

Zevran bound up his wound, “As you say, _amora_.”

Ferox concentrated on the task at hand, “Aiden will need to release and care for those below.” _How can you be so calm? Where there is nothing you want more than to get back to the Vigil? Because rushing in would do no one any good, would it? No. Better to live to get there and protect than to be taken down for being sloppy. ’Did they hear you?’_

_'Yes, I received return hails, sent instructions, and they are mobilizing,'_ several thick gobs of poultice were stuffed into the wound, making Ferox wince faintly after the elf grumbled at the seepage that had come from the already bound injury. _'In a moment I will check in and do so every hour until the...problem...is seen to.'_

Grunting in acknowledgement, Ferox waited, surprisingly patient...outwardly. Inwardly was a different matter as he had his hands on a snarling cat, not certain who was comforting whom or who was spitting and growling with anger. _Both._


	20. Need and Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trundlin' along, we're trundlin' along. Readers, we're glad you've stayed with us, and hope you get even a fraction of the joy we received out of writing it. (Or at least banging our heads in futility as we couldn't make someone do what we wanted at times.)

The ride back to Amaranthine was a list. A list of names, not one was to be forgotten, not one was to be lost. Len, Eleanor, Moira, Light, Elissa, Sarah, Sig, Varel, Alistair, Anders, Adam, Amy - the little one in the kitchens, Ias and the other faces around him - Wardens made with the greater longevity Joining recipe, Geoffry and the palace guards, Armand and his flock, Captain Garevel and the Silver Knights, yes, even Oghren, Oghren Junior, and Felsi. Faces of those in the stables, those learning how to use a flail to thresh grain on a stone floor, the tall young woman in the laundry who was always singing...Merrilee. Everyone named or as least their face pictured, Ferox began again. No one would be left out, they were all needed, no one could be spared. Having left out Master Wade, Herren and the messenger girl with the pained expression, Ferox started over.

The static furred beast and his own internal growling creature were getting along just fine, _Thank you very much._ Twining, rubbing, and rolling against one another, each one holding the other back, as if they took turns reassuring and feeling anxious. A dozen of the better militiamen were marching beside them as Ferox and Zevran shoved through their anxieties and rages, intent on gaining the Vigil and doing so safely. As well as to possibly spook up a few of the vermin who were to plant explosives and poison the water supplies.

Constable Aiden was left in charge of Amaranthine with instructions not to let anyone near the dangerous items, to release, feed, and obtain information from the former slaves, secure the city and the caverns. The former lieutenant was in the pillory, the locals already ‘welcoming’ him, a guard set, ‘do anything but kill him outright, he will beg for death first.’ Except Ferox knew what his assassin had done; Zevran had condensed his entire life minus the joys, amusements, pleasures and knowledge into the burst. Felipe was left locked there, aware of the present, but still feeling every lash, every slice, every intentional poisoning, every anguish, so that the citizens’ judgement and attacks were probably bliss. Not that it mattered, not when being locked in constant horror with no hope of freedom was punishment enough. His punishment in the pillory wasn’t for him, it was for them, for the survivors, their peace, their revenge, it was theirs, and theirs alone. 

_Oh Maker. All I wanted was some ribbons. I thought that the only thing we’d find is an ass of a man who needed a new job. Len, Eleanor, Moira, Light, Elissa..._

Ferox remembered what Ella Hawke had said about the green poison when it was loosed in Kirkwall, how it crawled on the ground, sunk into the well, the crazed delusions in those affected, that hallucinations led to violence. The ones brought to the infirmary afterwards were never the same, even after receiving healing, they were lost and confused, although no longer violent with paranoias that it was all a plot and everyone was trying to kill them. _Sarah, Sig, Varel, Alistair, Anders, Adam, Amy, Merrilee..._

When they got to the Vigil, there were more soldiers and guards on the walls, which was some comfort. However that would only work on a normal assault. As they entered, Varel was seen to be in charge, directing staff, taking head counts, and making roll calls. _That_ was more comforting. Soldiers with mabari were canvassing the entire castle, but it appeared that not all the mabari were there.

“Commander - there you are!” Varel strode up, armed and armoured. 

“Status?” he asked, already knowing that otherwise there would be an informal and very veiled rebuke at putting himself at risk by presenting a target.

“Pairs of Wardens are patrolling with soldiers and mabari in teams, thus far the search has yielded a cold camp near one of the old farms.” 

“Caverns?” thinking of what was directly under their feet and having forgotten the rest scattered throughout the countryside.

“I believe Sigrun and Ogrhen’s group are heading towards some. Armand has turned up a set of tracks that seem promising according to Warden Nevin,” Varel gestured towards the Black Marsh. “It seems that this was a long time in planning, or at least elements of it.”

Ferox nodded his agreement, as it coincided with the information they already had. “But what of the caverns _below_ us?”

Varel reminded him and reassured in one breath, “Already sealed by yourself, but there is a patrol down there at the moment as well.”

“Thank you, Seneschal, invaluable as always. Civilians should be up off of the ground floor, any sign of green ‘fog’, calls for higher ground - Hawke had experience with this and was kind enough to inform me of the effects.” 

Varel nodded. “Understood. Most of the civilians were already in the second and third levels, as I found during the last two assaults, that it is easier to protect them there, Commander. However a particular young woman has been most insistent on staying in the infirmary to help,” the second was said to Zevran.

“Moira?” concern spiked before it was wrangled back to manageable levels.

“Yes, she has already set up and begun checking over what would be needed to deal with injured, as well as Anders. Nothing I have said or that he has said has convinced her to remain in the nursery,” he shook his head. 

_Of course it would be her._ Ferox could picture no other there. “Anders is there, Zevran. I doubt we can persuade them to move the infirmary up a floor, however.”

His lover twitched and began tugging off his gloves, swearing in a steady stream as he stomped off. Most of what Ferox could decipher was that someone was ‘stupid’, another person was the result of an unwedded union, and Ferox assumed that it came down to the elf bodily moving the entire infirmary up a floor if by sheer force of will. _Good. It might make it more difficult to get any possible wounded up there, but it will also prevent exposing the vulnerable to the **saar-qamek** ’s reach. The lives it could save if it comes down to it..._ And if Moira were harmed, how could the children be comforted? Yet he understood her reasoning, knew she was right, that Anders would need all the help he could get, even with just what would come in from subduing the Orlesian sellswords. 

Ferox followed to lend weight to the argument and, if necessary, haul a Warden off by his ponytail, or carry heavy objects... Hopefully not ones that kicked. The door was open and in a wash of voices already. _Oh good, a family fight. Haven’t participated in one of those for a while._ Anders, assigned the part of dutiful son was caught between the ‘parents,’ each one doing what they believed to be best, the right thing. Each one saying the same thing but the outcome different. Playing Uncle Fox was not going to get them out of this impasse.

“Anders - young man, you put that box back down - Zevran, no, if anyone comes in they’ll need to -” Moira had her hands on her hips and the stubbornest expression he had ever seen on her face, and clearly uncaring over the fact that Anders was at least a decade older than her. 

Digging out his best Warden Commander voice and yanking the chain in the amulet, feeling a lurching sensation from Zevran and Anders, and anyone else within a hundred feet, Ferox laid his left hand on Moira’s shoulder, a rumbling growl under the orders, “Stop. Now. All of you, move the infirmary up one floor. It is not safe here. No arguing and absolutely no delay.”

That stopped them all in their tracks satisfactorily. Everyone gathered and picked up items quickly to run them up the stairs to an empty room. Thankfully the box Ferox was handed did not contain breakables because his right arm did not respond. Looking down stupidly, _Hrm, blood. Forgot all about that. That’s going to undermine your authority._

“Oh for Maker’s sake!” Moira was on him nearly as fast as Zevran was setting down his own box. She made faces at the buckles and laces as she tried to undo them, “You’re wounded! Zevran, how could you let him walk around?”

“I put poultices on it, we came to Anders immediately,” oh, Zevran was good, Ferox had to give him that.

_Good deflection, wish I had thought of it..._

Anders had to scramble closer, “Shit! Healer comin’ through!” The dull throbbing ache went away in a nimbus. “Well that was interesting and fun.”

Moira gave Ferox a push, “No heavy lifting for you, ser! You go get some people on the second floor to make room in one of the larger areas. We’ll get this stuff up there. Now, get out from underfoot! Go, go, shoo!”

He half expected her to swat him on the rump like a naughty child, which would have done _nothing_ for his lost authority. Especially with Anders nearby. _Then again if she thought he was acting out, she’d probably swat him too. And harder. Probably with a ruler or a broom._

Shoo’ed as directed, the mother figure joined with the father figure in the plan, the Commander had been reduced in rank to older child. Taking the steps two at a time, and pulling back on his shredded authority, Ferox coordinated the able bodied to free up a large room that had two entrances from the passageway and was close to the stairs. After everything was settled enough that she could be interrupted, Ferox approached and without telling Moira why, he gave her a hug.

She was startled but then returned it in full, burying her face in his shoulder. 

“Moira, we can only do what is in front of us. I’ll not have you risking yourself or my only healer needlessly. There are ways to save others without putting yourself in harms way.” _Speaking of doing what’s in front of us,_ snagging Zevran, Ferox pulled him into the embrace as well, an arm around each of them. _’Kiss and make up, old man. Admit that you were ‘wrong’ and it will go faster.’_

XXX

The search efforts were successful. Ferox had to remind himself of that, even when there were casualties on his side of things. One of the Crows was dead, several mabari - even orphaned and un-Imprinted ones had joined in the efforts, and a handful of guards. As for the amount of injured, Anders and Velanna had assured him that they would recover. That didn’t make it any easier. Sarah had wound up coordinating with other mothers to keep children calm and entertained as Moira, Zevran, Velanna and Anders’ hands were full with the infirmary. Walking wounded were set to helping, or at least passing clean bandages, as Zevran showed a torturer’s knowledge of the body, turning it to the surgeon’s arts. Then again, considering how many times his lover had patched him up, Ferox _knew_ the elf was good at such things. Moira’s constant sewing came in handy as well apparently, both of them buying time for the hard hit injured, while allowing Anders and Velanna the necessary time to heal those who were about to slip away to the Maker’s arms.

A pyre for friend and enemy alike was placed on a fallow field, after uninjured hands managed to clear a path were set to work. Throwing a newly repaired shoulder into the work, knowing the lecture - _Well, **lectures**_ \- Ferox needed the physical exertion. _When did snow get so heavy?_ Large horses drug logs, entire trees really, from the woodlot to build the massive pyramid. 

Guards were set on the survivors in the cages underground, there was nothing more to be done there until rest was had. Captain Garevel was attending to that situation for the moment. Zevran would want a word with the prisoners tomorrow. That would be a headache and a half, and likely result in the need for some heavy gorging.

Late that night, no, it was early morning, feet in front of the fire, drink in hand, Ferox was reviewing Varel’s lists. Names of dead, inventory of ‘found’ items that looked interesting, ranging from personal items, weapons, mounts, and barrels of _saar-qamek_. _My head hurts. What possible use is there for that stuff other than to kill people? There is no way this stuff is going to be sold to someone who would turn around and use it on us, and returning it to the Qunari is out of the question. We’re holding a bomb that could go off on us. We have something we can’t get rid of, and to use it is unconscionable. Oh Maker. I only wanted to leave behind good things._

Everyone had pulled up their mattresses and put them in the middle of the nursery and Zevran in tandem with Sarah and Moira got his and Ferox’s mattress into the nursery as well. The girls were curled up with Light and under a pile of blankets, the hound’s dark head jutting out from under the pile and resting atop a pillow that Eleanor had pushed under her head. Sarah was feeding Len, probably more for mutual comfort than anything else, stroking the downy head. Zevran, head on Ferox’s thigh, was sprawled with Moira curled under his arm, who was shivering periodically, each time a long brown hand would run over her back gently to push the chill away. 

Sighs unsuppressed, the memory of smoke burned Ferox’s eyes, one or ten, the numbers and scare were too great, the responsibility of the barrels not only here, but those in Amaranthine, weighed heavily. The _gaatlock_ actually had other uses, but storage of the two should be far apart...very far apart. Part of him wanted to ride back to town to finish off the ‘soldier’ in the stocks, but it would solve nothing, do nothing other than to vent anger and it would not be satisfaction enough. 

Staring into the fire, it struck him suddenly, _’Lava.’_

 _'Hmn? Lava? What of it, **querido**?'_ a hand lazily reached back and up to stroke his cheek.

_’The answer is to dispose of the **saar-qamek** in lava. It’s too dangerous any other way. Take it down to the Deep Roads and dump it. It won’t be stolen, won’t be used on anyone...especially us, and it won’t need to be guarded or stored.’_

_'Hmn, like I said, **amora** , you come up with sexy plans. If there were no audience, I would likely do unspeakable things to you. Most likely involving cuddling as I am fatigued,'_ a lazy gold eye popped open then winked.

The biggest problem eating at him solved, or at least, its solution planned for, Ferox softened and traced the faded lines on Zevran’s cheek. _’Sleep. There is much to do tomorrow and I would not like to have to have Anders healing you as well. I can give up my worries for now, so there is no need to pretend that you are not tired.’_ Lying back onto a pile of pillows, Ferox settled work tired muscles into the mattress.

There was a grumble and Zevran scooted up along his body, Moira making a sound of sleepy protest before scuttling up closer as well. Sarah had set Len in his crib and gone to lay beside the girls at some point and Ferox found his side becoming a pillow for his lover, while Moira gave the elf the same treatment. _'She called you Edric when we were in the sleigh, **amora**. I know I had not answered your question sooner, but if I thought about the entirety of the situation I would have become...unreasonable.'_

Putting pieces together, he did remember a woman’s voice that night. _’How so?’_

 _'Too many loose ends, yes? Felipe would have been drawn and quartered by hand or perhaps sat on a slightly greased pole and planted in the market square, hmn?'_ Zevran rubbed his head into Ferox’s chest. _'I could not focus. Their father may have been alive today, or at least had a fighting chance, **querido**. A chance lost because of greed and hate.'_

 _’No, the punishment is still just - although I admit that I was very tempted at the time, knowing what I already did. I was desperate those nights with few to rely on... With our backs to the Chantry door, and darkspawn everywhere, trying to save those we could see...his failure in duty was, is, something I cannot forgive. Even with that, I can’t understand what ones who knew him must have felt at the betrayal.’_ Clearing his head, ’The question is, should she be told and allowed the same chance...decision...as the rest of the townspeople get to make? She will hear, and I would rather it be from us.’

_'I know. But I have no wish of piling more upon her shoulders in a single day. Today was difficult enough, yes? Fear for us, the children, memories... She told me that she would not be caught ‘sitting on my keester’ this time.'_

An amused noise as he could easily imagine Moira saying that, particularly considering her mood earlier. _’Some in that infirmary were there to see what was done. Hearing that way would hurt her more.’_ Realizing what plans were in the air already, _’Anders was supposed to go see Delilah tomorrow. Ugg. Not tomorrow, but at least by the third day. If Moira wishes to come after being told...well, that’s her decision.’ Maker. I thought my head was going to stop hurting after deciding to throw those blasted barrels in lava._ Sighing. _’Not now, let it go for the time being,_ taking Zevran’s hand, twining fingers, Ferox’s eyes still burning, closed.

XXX

“Well, not counting the worth of the horses, and whatever bloodprice to pay out to the families of the fallen, we have gained nearly a thousand sovereigns in bullion, gems, and if we add the gear it is over a thousand, maybe even two or three thousand,” Varel was going over his neat script in his book. “I’m no judge of horseflesh, so I couldn’t say what we might get for them.”

Ferox turned to the resident, self-professed horsemaster and raised an eyebrow.

“Eighty horses is a good sized herd, to sell them all at once, if we were so foolish, would only gain us a third of what each horse is worth,” Zevran pulled out his own notes from his inspection of the mounts obtained. “Heavy to medium horse, all bred for endurance obviously, all meant to be used for medium cavalry. I may not appreciate Orlesian horseflesh as much as Antivan, but this does not mean they are not fine horses. The best of these horses would fetch...hmn...perhaps forty or fifty sovereigns here if the buyer actually knew how to use them. Since most do not, possibly ten or fifteen. However, eighty horses are not to be simply sold off. There are ten stallions and nearly twice as many mares, the rest are geldings - that is _breeding_ stock my friends, with others left over for a messenger service or training of our own mounted forces, yes?” He tapped the table with his index finger several times, “These are no simple farm horses, putting them to work in the Bannorn in this way would be like putting mabari to work in a turnip garden when there are workers about, a waste of skills and strengths.”

An idea occurred to Ferox, _Perhaps our exports just landed in our lap._ ”Other than some northern clans, has anyone made a name for themselves for horses?”

Varel frowned, “No. What few we have are holdovers from the occupation and mostly are draft animals. At least, beyond what’s been imported here and there in the last few years.”

Noting how his lover was obviously crunching numbers and running through plans, Ferox vowed, _Zevran is not getting another job. More skilled labour to import then._ “Okay, where do we find old retired horse trainers to train the apprentices to take on this project?”

“I am not _old_ ,” the Antivan grumbled.

Blandly, “The time to fight me on that was yesterday afternoon, when I said it the first time.” _’And you are far from retired,’_ and felt a return of peeved agreement.

Varel coughed, Ferox suspected he was trying to muffle a laugh. “In light of the current events, an Orlesian may not be welcome. Nevarra has a decent cavalry -”

Zevran grunted, “Yes, quite fine if all one is doing is wearing far too much armour and sitting there waiting to be batted about like a fly by an overgrown lizard. The Nevarrans breed their mounts for solidness and sheer _stupidity_ , that way they do not run or dodge when good sense would dictate the wisdom of such actions. Not only that, but their endurance is grotesquely inefficient for what they are expected to do more than trot for a few furlongs. They also are fond of using harsh training techniques on their mounts. Spurs, cruelly studded bits for their mouths and the like. I would trust an Orlesian far sooner than a Nevarran with horses.”

 _Tell us how you really feel._ “Anyone with what you consider to be proper training landing in Denerim anytime soon?”

His lover made a face, “I only gain so much information from Ignacio. He works for ‘free’ and I give him land lots to develop into businesses or housing to revitalize the city and to generate some taxes as well, yes?” 

Ferox pointed out, head inclined, “This sounds like a business opportunity to me.”

“The issue is that there are so many jobs that we have the flock working on, _querido_ ,” shaking his head. “He has perhaps...a hundred Crows and probably a larger number of non-Crows who also work for him. We use the Crows for spying, guarding of the most important personages. They also are trying to build and set up these smaller businesses. With Horatio dead, yes, Ignacio could easily ask for a replacement. But only one. Crows are also not the best of riders - passable to decent. It depends on their master, which training barracks they were part of... So many variables...”

Gently, _’You cannot have this, Zevran. I need you elsewhere.’_

“What of the mercenary guild? I hear they contract out to more than just caravans,” Varel rubbed his chin. When Zevran raised a brow at the Seneschal, he shrugged and shook his head, “I haven’t always been in Amaranthine, _Señor Cuervo._ I went where the Wardens sent me when I was younger, before coming to the Howes two decades ago.”

Zevran sighed, “ _El Liberte Espadas._ That has promise, but the best bet in my opinion is to find a retired, or old and injured mercenary or dozen who could no longer fight as he or she once did. The better cavalry companies usually keep them on for other mundane duties. Including training of recruits who show enough promise to be elevated to cavalry.”

“Let me guess.” _Oh soooooo keen to guess._ “A trip to Antiva is in someone’s future?” _Sooner than planned?_

Inside his mind Zevran became agitated. “This too, depends. Due to Ignacio’s need for a replacement, it could be no trouble to have inquiries made.” _’I do not wish to go. Do not ask me to part from you. Please, **amora**.’_

Ferox’s hand patting the Antivan’s was light, but the possessive hold in his mind was anything but. He couldn’t find anything else to wrap around Zevran in his mind, arms, legs, no problem, and yet he needed more and didn’t know how to produce it, to create it. _’Never, I was teasing only. And if it were forced upon us, you would be dragging me behind you as I clutched your leg. I promise, we go together or not at all.’_

 _’With Len perched upon your head like a bird,’_ relief and an attempt at levity. 

_’And two or three girls on the other leg. You cannot run away from us that easily. So we need a plan where this isn’t the answer and is only the final backup plan...the last one in Thedas.’_

Varel had other duties to attend to and excused himself during their conversation. Ferox had barely heard him, considering how agitated Zevran had been. _’I need you. Need you with me. I don’t want to go more than a day without having you in my mind and at my side. If we discuss a separation any longer than that, there better be blades drawn and blood involved. And you better take me out, old man, ‘cause you won’t be getting very far.’_

 _’Ferox...have you any idea...what...you do to me sometimes?’_ an almost comically intent expression on his face. 

_’I have some idea, yes... Because you do this to me. And those times I can’t breathe and I can’t say anything.’_

A steady drumming of fingers on the table and he could feel Zevran thrumming, _’I wonder if Varel had the presence of mind to lock the door?’_

Laughing, “Apparently, I am too new at this because you can still think and speak.”

“Yes, well, I do not think I can walk without some...discomfort,” he shifted carefully in his chair. 

Ferox laughed harder, “I’d be happy to carry you to your next appointment.”

A growl and he was bowled over in the chair, Zevran perching atop him to lean down close, “Do you know what you are, my most handsome heart? A tease.”

“Oh, and here I was only trying to help. Didn’t want you to be late after all.”

Zevran nuzzled at his neck, _’If it is not a meeting of someone’s back upon a flat surface, then it is an appointment I can miss.’_

Snorting laughter. “I didn’t think you were going to be that forceful with Anders, as he’s an easy enough fellow, but to each their own.”

The tip of Zevran’s nose twitched, “I have no interest in dealing with him. Unless it is to box his ears for wandering eyes that were on the verge of becoming wandering hands, however Moira did a good job of that herself.”

“We are all tethered together because of you, a lifeboat, if you will.” 

Fingers began stroking his face, _’ **Amora** , when you say such beautiful things to me, I wish to never come up for air and simply drown myself in your arms.’_

 _Ah, there’s the always threatened ‘flowery’ words._ “For someone who cannot walk, you move fairly quickly...and seem to think even more rapidly.  I don’t have a meeting or anyone looking for me for the next hour,” eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Tchk, an hour? Pft, measly hour? Bah.” 

“Well, I could meet with my spymaster, my bodyguard, my city planner, ummm, what other hats are you wearing these days? Going to need some sort of title for beating the Wardens into whimpering puddles. These meetings could take much longer.”

“Personal guard of the nursery, porridge maker and teacher, hmn...” 

“Now, now, if we count all of the little things you do, then you’ll be tied up for a week.”

A possessive growl, “Tchk, you think I would mind that? Faugh, _querido_...come now.”

“Oh no, no, no, don’t rush me,” chuckling wickedly. “Besides that, I think Varel would miss his conference room if we just took it over.”

Mournfully, “So cruel. When I tease you, it is you who do not act. You tease me and I am scolded for acting.”

“We were in the middle of town, if I recall.”

“And near some handy inns, or alleys,” he countered. “Or even the stable. And I see we have a handy table, and oh look, a handy chair, some fine walls, a sturdy door, or even the floor, yes?”

“What was it you said once? Be careful or I might think you want me?”

A gusty sigh, “Ahhh to have my own words turned against me.”

“Since I have to follow the rather grumpy mama bear’s instructions, you know the one who growled at me before breakfast about shoveling? I doubt she would approve of your suggestion of hard surfaces against my shoulder...hard surfaces with some form of mattress however, might get past her.” Ferox snickered. “But you’ll have to help me up, as there appears to be an assassin on me.”

“So straightforward, I thought we were going to continue it in your office, the one with the bed in it,” Zevran rolled golden eyes at him before slipping free - only to haul Ferox to his feet by his shirtfront.

Finding a chuckle somehow, “I’d be happy to continue anywhere you’d like and I assure you, there will be no scolding.” 

XXX

The Deep Roads below the Vigil were relatively free of darkspawn, because the frequent culling of the Mothers meant they weren’t reproducing in the area. With little trouble the barrels of the _saar-qamek_ were disposed of, popping in the lava before dissipating, the gas being quickly burned off. A weight was lifted from their shoulders. It was a small quantity, but it was one that wouldn’t be used to harm, not them nor anyone else. The spirits of the Wardens who accompanied them lifted knowing that the burden of holding and caring for the terrible poisonous gas would not fall to them. 

Thankfully, as the rolling target of the royal carriage was secured in a barn at Vigil’s Keep, the party entered Denerim quietly, late one evening. If Ferox could figure out how to make his horse walk backwards, or if he didn’t actually want to help find Ferelden’s way out out of the devastation it suffered, or help its people be more than they were, he would have turned tail and returned to his little kingdoms. Instead, head high, eyes averted, Ferox crossed the threshold, keeping hold of the presence in his mind.

After seeing the women and children to the nursery, the elf cajoling the girls to bed, Ferox paused at his desk and sent a message to the royal apartments of his arrival. In his room, removing his armour and boots, he was too tired to do any more than that. Falling on the bed, as his eyes closed and he began to doze, Ferox realized that his room was much warmer than usual and silently blessed Nathaniel, knowing that Zevran’s actual Saturnalia presents were in place. Unable to move to look up at the ceiling, hopefully, it was exactly what the Antivan wanted. Breath deepening, there wasn’t another thought in his head.

XXX

The bedroom doors that opened to the passageway were kept locked, as they used the entrances from Ferox’s office these days. A brilliant sight greeted the perceptive Antivan, the office had been altered while they were traveling. Heavy fabrics in varying shades of saffron, blue and shocks of vermilion were placed in overlap and draped and drawn up to the center of the room’s overly tall ceiling, reminding him of a canopy or a large tent in construct but of the sky in content. _Someone_ had done research, or at least asked for the input of someone who knew a bit of Antivan colour perspective. The cloth effectively lowered the ceiling and kept the heat of the fire closer to the room’s occupants and Zevran sighed as some of the ache in his bones throbbed a little less. The room’s original intent he was sure had been meant to be imposing and succeeded at only being overly large, dark, cold and soul-wearingly bleak. _And hideously clunky, bah._ But now it had been transformed and become brighter, despite its size, cozier and yet at the same time, no less impressive. It was a trick used in some of the cafes and eateries of his homeland, _And only the occasional brothel. Or some rich merchant’s daughter’s boudoir._

Placing his saddlebags and other belongings in his room, whose ceiling was once also too high, an intricately carved wooden false ceiling had been installed to lower the height of the room, painted and glazed in the clashing harmony that Zevran missed when compared to the dull plumage of Ferelden tastes. _At least Fereldens do not cover everything in gilt_. The warmth of the recently lit fire had already taken the chill out of the room, even more than the office, but considering the fact that Ferox’s office was over four times the size of Zevran’s bedroom, that was understandable. He really wanted to stay and look at everything, but he would rather do it with Ferox’s company, and from the touch he had sent to his handsome lover’s mind, it was thoroughly asleep. 

_Hmn, I hate to wake him up..._ However there wasn’t much of an argument and gave his _shemlen_ a few mental pokes as he tended to sleep through kisses and strokes unless Zevran was there _physically_ to back those caresses up. _’ **Querido. Vamos!** Awaken my sleepy warrior. Do you think I will let you sleep when I must share something with you? **Vamos, hermoso corizon!** ’_

There was a vaguely irritable mumble, _'What? There’s room.'_

Ignoring the groggy mumble, _’Oh do just wake up enough to share this with me, and no, I do not mean the bed. I have no issue using you as a mattress, feel free to hog that ginormous thing. Up! Up! You can stay where you are, but you had best get that mind aware enough to hear my words.’_

 _’You better be on fire.’_ Zevran sensed his lover rolling to his side, opening his eyes while yawning mightily, _’No flames and no smoke.’_

_Flame of a sort... ‘ **Querido,** it seems someone has done something to my room as well as your office. Might you know anything of this?’_

_’Hopefully whatever was done involved that pile of documents on my desk...’_ There was another yawn, so deep that it rumbled not just in their minds but Zevran could hear it as more than an indrawn breath, _’Come in here and tell me all about it.’_

Shaking his head, he tutted, _’No, we will experience this together.’_ Pulling the link open further, he gave Ferox’s mind a gentle tug to reside within his mind. Pointing to the ceiling’s carvings, _’This was done by an Antivan, how do I know? It is more than colour scheme, it is this, the smaller pattern within two patterns, linking together, almost like a large knot, but no matter which direction one looks, one sees something. From here it is trumpet vine. From here,’_ Zevran took a step to the side and tilted his head, _’it is two dancers. Games of perspective, yes? If I were to lay down, which I will not do, tempting as my bed looks, it would change to a butterfly or starburst no doubt.’_ Mentally Zevran caressed Ferox’s shoulders, tempted to just run into the other room and leap upon the bed like a pair of young girls on a Saturnalia morning. Pointing, _’These colours have meaning as well. Red is for luck and the words that form this outermost wheel is a prayer for it. It says, ‘the two head coin makes luck’ and ‘possess only two head coins.’ These words are lined in white for additional power.’_

_’No tails?’_

With a laugh, he remembered he had once asked Zamitie that very question as a boy. _’I will tell you the same thing Zamitie told me when I asked that question - ‘What comes out from something’s back end? Shit.’ I highly doubt that offal is considered lucky in any culture. Even if it is used to make fire.’_

_’Fertilizer’,_ yawning again. _’Farmer’s gold.’_

 _’This is true for any culture in one way or another - but I somehow doubt that it is something one would wish to cover their home and self with for luck,’_ amused. 

The four corners were a background of dark purple with the raised carvings painted in black. _’Purple is for rebirth and virtue. The yellow is for strength and reliability, dependability, yes? The black has no meaning, it is merely to highlight, hmn? But these other prayers are for comfort, protection of family, peacefulness. This is a work of art.’ You may have only been able to rarely say these feelings and words to me, **corizon** , but you have frequently found ways to show them._

_’I have to confess that I didn’t know what it would look like. I only showed what I thought you would want. Much more colourful.’_

Zevran undressed and pulled out a pair of clean leggings and a tunic, going back to Ferox’s room, unable to help laughing. _’It is a good thing you did not pick it out entirely, otherwise it would be brown or some such. Or green. Did you know that green is meant to lock away evil? Keep it in one place? To sleep in such a room would have been... Tchk, I would know then that the only place that was safe would be your room!’_

Watching Ferox blink blearily as he entered, rubbing at his face, thoughts went on behind those deep and warm eyes. Even if Ferox was clearly alittle distempered from being awoken out of a deep sleep, there was still the warmth that had finally, truly entered his gaze since they left Denerim. But the expression through the faint irritation was the same exact one Len would have twist the miniaturized features - curiosity (though Ferox’s was better masked) and pleasure at Zevran’s presence. Even if Ferox’s pleasure was different than Len’s.

With a lazy toss, his change of clothes for the morning landed on the nearby chair. Glancing up at the much simpler ceiling, “Ox blood is the colour of fertile clay, a protection of land, there is no prayer, but only a votive wheel for...” Zevran had to pause, reining himself in. “For long life.”

“ _Telle est la vie_ , such is life,” was the rumble as an arm lifted the blankets for him to slide beneath. “It is what it is.”

 _Yes, such is life._ Slipping under the body-warmed sheets to run a hand over broad, scarred side, “Whomever made these knew us.” Zevran had his suspicions, especially after seeing the maker’s mark on Len’s mobile, but hadn’t thought his duplicate capable of the work over their heads. “And knew us...fairly well, hmn? Who found these for you?”

Sighing, Ferox shifted around in his usual ritual for getting comfortable, “The healer said she knew someone who could do them. She found the thoughts of what I wanted to give you...two ways to keep my Antivan from freezing.”

Zevran shook his head and buried himself in Ferox’s embrace. “He made them, how dreadfully odd. But I have always found that truth is far stranger than lies, hmn?”

His Warden lifted his head for a moment, “Master Wade made the...cloak... Oh.” Settling back, momentarily raised from his stupor of sleep. “Hrm. She didn’t say, but considering the unspoken conversation... At the time I thought it was a Warden she was talking to, there were several nearby. I did ask and got a strange response. ‘Ask this _da’sa_ no questions, as Asha tells no lies’.”

That confirmed it and Zevran could only snort his amusement as he rolled, pulling Ferox atop him, holding the large warrior tightly. It did not particularly matter who made them, why, or when. What mattered was in his arms. _Rest, **amora**. I will be here, always. To the Black City and back._

There was a heaved sigh causing the broad shoulders to shift against Zevran’s abdomen and the face beneath his collar bone to rub, sending images to him, Ferox presenting the sunburst he had shown her, the brightness that seared him, Zevran’s grin before an honest laugh, it was a brilliant firework in the darkness showing the way out whenever Ferox felt lost. Squeezing Ferox tightly, Zevran absorbed it, pressing his face into Ferox’s wavy mahogany hair, one hand finding its customary spot. There came the sense of relinquishing all preconceived ideas of what comfort was ‘supposed’ to be as Ferox pressed his ear to the heart beating within Zevran’s chest, much to the Crow’s pleasure. 

“I am glad, very glad, you are here.”

“There is no other place I would be, _amora_ ,” stroking his temple slowly. “Rest your eyes and mind, you are safe here.”

XXX

It couldn’t be helped. He knew that. _Dear Maker, why me?_ But Ferox knew - he had volunteered for the job and done a damn good go of it. At least until he could actually _smell_ the Orlesian piss she favoured. _And Zevran. Oh no, can’t forget that part._ Or Len, things, people to be attached to, to need, and be needed by. Ones that did not have the games of tit-for-tat in mind. From the time before, when he was still a snowman made of blood soaked ice rather than a man. When he had been cold, he could do anything if it served a purpose. 

The question was if he could still do so. The mask had been lost along the road and he still couldn’t find it. He suspected that Zevran had ground it under a boot heel into dust, then the gust of wind from Len’s laughter blew even that away. Why couldn’t things be simple? Except they were, at least relatively. There was a duty to perform and he would do it. Somehow. Without whining.

A waft of thought, comforting sensation, _’What is it?’_ Gentle fingers pried, found the recent knowledge of Anora’s ‘request’ for Ferox’s time, and there was a knowing hum. _’Ah. Do not fear, **amora**. This is just a necessary, dull task, like cleaning rust from armour. Nothing more. Trying, boring, burdensome, yes, but not bearing any necessary thought.’_

Trying not to make a face, _’I thought I asked you to find a replacement for Erlina?’_

Laughter, _’So you did and so I did. Unless one has a strict preference to the exclusion of all others of one sex or the other, there is no replacing either set of...parts. As you may recall how I said I like bosoms? As much as I heartily enjoy and prefer your company, there will never be bosoms. And no matter what the replacement’s...skills...and the satisfaction granted, it will never replace what you have, hmn?’_ There was a pause as a full-mental caress came, _’And as I understand it, she has feelings for you, as many as she can unbend enough to feel. No matter how good her maidservant is, it will not, cannot, replace you.’_

 _‘I’m not fighting the whole bosom thing. I’m merely pointing out that that she is Anora and those bosoms are hers.’_

A sigh, _’I understand that. What I was saying was why, no matter what replacement or person to pleasure her physical needs does, that they cannot do what you do for her. Which is why she calls for you when you would rather shove her off a tower.’_

Muttering “Tower’s too good, it has to be earned.” _’I’m certain there is an urgent message waiting from...just a minute...I’ll write it myself.’ Damn it that’s no plan._

 _’You can only put it off for so long, **amora** , before you are either forced to follow through on your outlined vows and duties, or it turns around to bite you.’_ In his mind, Ferox felt Zevran pull him in protectively. _’This is not unlike a Crow mission, one of the longer term jobs, yes? Anything to get the job done. Rousing suspicious is not good. I will find a way to help, **querido** , this I vow to you. Meanwhile, there are important matters of national security that you could prattle about, gain some concessions with the knowledge, like Eamon’s rapid departure for Orlais.’_

“Fine.” _’Fine.’_ Growling as he penned the response to pass to a page outside his door, Ferox hid the snarls as soon as he opened the door. _Just fine. Why can’t the Fort be considered to be ‘on the way’ to the Harpy’s sitting room?_

 _’You are mad at me for telling you the truth?’_ curiosity. _’I can feel your ire at more than just the unpleasantness of the situation. Did I not say I would do what I can to help? Faugh, I say it will be so, and so it will be. Still your rage.’_

Snapping, _’I am angry because I knew long before that this would be the case and made no plans for it. I am angry only with myself for allowing myself to step into this trap that I clearly remember seeing, yet seem to have lept in with both feet.’_

Zevran’s voice went very smooth, _’And which trap would that be?’_

The spark of a headache pulsed deep in his left eye-socket, as Ferox clapped the heel of his palm over it. _’The one where I decide that it might be okay to be happy. I forgot why being frozen wasn’t always bad.’_

 _’As you say,’_ a mighty sigh was heaved. _’Very well. You will be pleased to know that Anora’s Saturnalia gifts from you should at least be tolerable. It appears they came from the same perfumer that provided Moira’s gift. At least you will not have burning sinuses. If there is anything else you need, you only have to ask.’_

_’I need you and I do not regret, have not regretted, it for a moment. Thank you.’_

_’Hush, all will be well, no thanks are necessary. I will have the necessary things for your encounter in place,’_ a gentle touch and Zevran’s focus slipped away lightly.

_Stuck your foot in that one, didn’t you, you fool? And it’s getting harder to edit what you’re thinking and ‘saying’, huh? Yes, I noticed that too. Oh Maker. How do I make a plan for that? It’s like opening the desk drawer to take out one item and pulling it out and dumping it on the floor._

As the door to Anora’s sitting room was opened by a more handsome than pretty redhead who was nearly his height, Ferox made himself wear his ‘pleasant’ expression. _It’s almost enough to make me wonder if he prefers redheads himself._ Erlina’s replacement was clearly Ferelden and clearly there was muscle beneath the masking layers of curves and fat, giving Ferox the impression that the woman wasn’t someone he would want to meet in a back alley. _Ah, there it is...the bottom. Big and round._ A bit of him shouted, _I knew it! Well that does explain some things._

“Greetings, Your Highness, Her Majesty will see you immediately,” throaty, low, contralto tones and muddy hazel eyes were pleasant to view and hear as she stepped aside. “Please come in.”

So pleased with himself, Ferox gave her a real smile, not just the ‘I’m pretending to be pleasant’ smile and crossed the threshold without thinking about it. As he entered the room and faced Anora, that disarmed smile was turned on her. Somehow he managed to keep it in place.

“Darling, it is good to see you, I trust you are rested from your travels?” Anora actually stood, coming to take his hands in hers. “I’ve had some news that there had been attacks and was quite worried.”

“It is good to be home. Unfortunately the news is accurate. As far as rest, since leaving the Vigil, that has been a luxury.” _Are you being honest? Maker. This is foolish as well._

Anora released his hands taking her skirts in a grip to elevate them enough to walk to the set table. “While it is admirable and seemly you put yourself to work as soon as you are able, you didn’t need to return straight to your duties the first day. Nathaniel has been handling his duties remarkably well considering how little training he had in them, and with winter having been what it was, I was able to take up some of the slack left due to your absence as well. Another day would have left you able to enjoy the luxury of rest.”

“I admit that I have not put in a full day yet. However, I am glad you were able to assist, as several matters were above our new Seneschal’s pay grade. He will learn.”

Anora’s handmaid poured them coffee - _Thank the Maker it looks alright at least_ \- then placed a plate of odd long shortbread cookies on the table. “Thank you Camille, that will be enough until the meal is served.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” a quick dip of a curtsy and disappeared into the small maid’s closet to wait.

“My dear, I am surprised, you have taken to coffee. Although the service is quite striking,” gesturing to the silver coffee pot, sugar bowl and cream pitcher along with the matching spoons for serving and those for stirring. 

Anora stirred in several spoonfuls of sugar and added a hefty dose of cream, “It was a Saturnalia gift from Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland, while a goodly supply of coffee and sugar came from your secretary. Camille happened to know how to make it after the kitchen’s lone attempt resulted in a truly dreadful tasting substance. I find that this is tolerable and I had heard you have gained a fondness for it.”

As she told of the ‘attempt’, having lost his mask he was unable to suppress the humour combined with a shudder, murmuring, “I can imagine only too well.”

Several moments were taken to enjoy their drinks, and Ferox found that the shortbreads were dense, filled with spices and bits of dried apple - or maybe it was pears. 

“Alise had shared with me some of her experiments with different kinds of cream, the richest were from the goats and sheep that graze on the hills above Highever. When rich the flavour became buttery.” _Oh, now I need sheep. Shut up. And I need a goat...like I need a sword in my side._ “She was quite taken by the tea set and sent us home with raspberry leaf tea and others that she had gathered for you. Apparently some of them open like flowers and when put in clear glasses are said to be lovely.” Another smile remembering, “I was given strict instructions not to touch them.”

A dainty sip was taken, “True, it is usual for men to lack the understanding of the care for such things. I will keep in mind the advice on the herd animals.” Anora made a faint expression of distaste, “If those elves and foreigners have their way, there might wind up being some inside Denerim its very self. However, their madness seems to be turning them a profit, the noise is kept to a minimum and it generates tax revenue.”

 _Elves and foreigners...what no mention of dwarves? Wait, they are too short to be noticed, I forgot. Do not roll eyes, please don’t._ “The smaller animals thankfully proved to be quicker when escaping the destruction. I do agree that it would be more pleasant if they were kept outside of the walls however.” The grazing in the training yard did make for some interesting ‘traps’ while sparring. Quite slippery, but good for remembering that not all terrain was perfect.

“Several merchants and Bann Shianni have cleared building rubble and opened up the basements to fill them with soil, while others they have made them into some form of odd layered...garden. I was informed that the designs were to promote independence from vegetable farmers outside the walls, enabling them to focus upon meats and grains, a very peculiar but interesting take.” Hands were neatly folded in her lap, “A new square has been covered in more wheeled in soil as well, to create future grazing for some of the foul little beasts. Why, I barely recognize Denerim it seems sometimes, so much has it changed.” She shook her head as though to disperse such ‘unpleasant realities’. “Now, tell me darling of these attacks. Was it bandits? Darkspawn? Does the military need rousing?”

Softly, “I rousted them enough in Amaranthine, no more is needed. I am afraid however that we were attacked by Orlesians who expressed displeasure regarding events that occurred here. Apparently they did not appreciate their informant receiving such a welcome. To end this, I would like to send a skilled and educated diplomat as well as someone versed in their spy network to work with, or, if need be, through both channels to determine who is actually responsible.”

“We cannot afford war,” her lips firmed into a hard line. “Neither can we tolerate attacks on our sovereign soil upon yourself or our son. To attack the Heir and the Prince Consort is...tantamount to declarations of hostile intentions. Such acts are to entice war, to cause us to lash out and invite invasion. Or to destabilize and throw Ferelden off balance by forcing the succession to come into question, the Landsmeet into chaos as we seek to name a new General of Ferelden. If it is the latter, then they are seeking to push us to such turmoil that invasion would be easy. If the former, it is to cause us to justify invasion of our shores.”

He could give Anora that much at least - she was a politician. When she wanted to be. But she was no tactician, nor leader to instill actual confidence. That’s what he was for apparently.

“Which is why determining who is behind these attacks is our first course of action. Should it be the Orlesian Crown, our reaction would be different than if it were merely a noble who needs to be redirected. Our Spymaster was quite useful in obtaining information in the field. I was very grateful for his presence. Any hint of another plan, like was what intended in Amaranthine, he will know. But as soon as the passes are clear, I propose that we set Eamon on the road as he is the best on to deal politically with the Orlesians, he can dance through their political roadblocks better than anyone I know.” _And think of all the spring fashions Isolde won’t send home. Oh now, that was mean...well she won’t._

“With the roads being what they were, I don’t think it’s wise to send such a mission overland. It would be better by sea,” Anora was firm. “Spring storms must also be waited out, for even if the passes are clear, roads can be washed out or flooded. No, we will wait until the weather is clear and send Eamon with diplomatic powers on a fast ship. The time wasted in waiting will still be worth it, as travel to Val Royeux will take far less time via ship. And, as you know, his health still is not what it once was. I’ll not risk the person best suited to this mission on bad roads, with bad food, or any of the other many problems that can come up on such trips.”

Taking Anora’s hand and kissing her fingers to make her stop talking, especially since, for once, she was being sensible - _Please stop_. “You are absolutely correct. Forgive me, my dear, I was putting myself in that place and had forgotten that others are not as fast travelling or robust as myself as I’ve found that I am quicker by horse than ship. It is only my eagerness to have the matter resolved with all due haste.”

Anora’s expression softened, _Well, as much as her face ever softens,_ “Of course darling. It is in your nature.”

He wasn’t quite sure how, but he made it through endless prattle that in some ways was interesting in that it had to deal with matters of state and such... But in many other ways it wasn’t interesting at all, or just downright grating due to Anora’s blithe ignorance and lack of understanding of the people of Ferelden and those she was making value judgements on left and right. Just because she knew who had a father that recently died or whose child was turning five years old did not mean she _knew_ these people in any genuine way. 

Then the words that nearly caused him to break out in a sweat and made the fairly passable meal make a reappearance - ‘I did so miss you, my darling husband’ - came as he knew they inevitably would. 

Gamely Ferox smiled, “Not as much as I missed you, dear.” _Yes, about as much as I miss the piles._

One of the few places Anora was not stiff, would quickly be twisting and writhing in a way that no one would ever consider for the prim monarch, was wherever, whenever Ferox took her. As soon as their garments were off, the candles blown out, he felt a sudden rush of sensation. Blinking in the near blackness of drawn bed curtains, Ferox caught a glimpse of dark hair and bronze hands. Shuddering, _What -?_ He received only warmth for answer, a welcoming tug and suddenly Anora wasn’t there, didn’t matter. The twisting of his body with his wife’s was counterpoint, not quite real, replaced by something different. Softness and sighs and groans, fierce and gentle clinging. Gasping, Ferox did not taste Anora’s mouth or skin, but his own and Moira’s simultaneously, Zevran’s memory and present mixing dizzyingly as it twined with his own experience in the dark. Instead of simply following along, Ferox threw himself into it, taking not just the escape offered, but the welcome given and sent with love from one and care from the other. 

One scattered thought, _’Does she know...?’_

 _’I would not use her, **amora**. Yes, she does.’_

A moment of being presented too much, of having trusted, but not realizing how much would be, _could_ be, given. And almost questioned at the same time as he was filled to brimming by what they were giving. He felt an instant of uncertainty, almost unworthy of the offering before being caught up once more. 

He was almost disappointed when it stopped, when he returned to his merely mortal senses. Beside him Anora was panting, clearly wrung out, and his sinuses didn’t burn, some odd flower scent that wasn’t disgusting mixed with Anora’s own musk and his. Ferox was nearly too tired to mentally grumble when she wished to have a post coital cuddle, but as soon as she was asleep from the exertion, he fled.

Reaching for Zevran’s mind as he quickly dressed, _’What was that?’_

A pleasant hum of worn muscles and afterglow, _’No different than what you and I usually do, hmn? I merely gave a stronger sending to cancel things a bit for you, yes? It worked successfully I take it?’_

Admiringly, _’You are a very wicked man, for which I am very, very grateful.’_

 _’I told you I would take care of it, **amante,** ’_ it was said softly. _’There is nothing further of import on the schedule for today, I believe you are in need of a well-deserved rest.’_

 _’A hot soak.’_ Knowing where he went wrong, in same place he has misstepped before, Ferox acknowledged his error, _’I didn’t trust again.’_

A sigh, _’Oh, no. You trust me, of that I am sure. Believe in me or yourself? This is another matter, a creature of a very different colour. The adage that things did not become this way overnight do not hold entirely true for you. However, the fact is, is that healing even with the help of a skilled mage, takes far longer than it takes to gain a wound. As loathe as I am to expend time, as it pains me when you hurt, it is what must be taken in this case. Have your bath, **amora** , I am nearly done with mine and have a few things to do before you come to our room.’_

When he finally dragged himself from the bath, not that he really spent that much time there, Ferox headed to his room. Inside he heard baby giggles with lots of babbling and echoing laughter following sounds of ‘effort’. Puzzled, Ferox’s steps slowed so he could watch.

“Up!” Len was tossed in the air, rolling around in the air, caught, then swung side to side to mad infant-cackles. “Annnd...oh, oh, no! I am going to, ah!” holding Len up higher then letting him slip in his grip a little, Len would ‘fall’ for an inch or two to be caught with each ‘warning’. “Oh no! Oh no, you are going to fall! Oh, oh, baby go down.” Zevran followed Len’s sudden focus over his shoulder and shot a smile as he stood, leaning over. “Our boy has learned a new trick, look,” he said taking hold of Len’s hands and raising him to stand.

It was wobbly and he bounced up and down, bending his knees until his bottom almost touched the floor, but with gentle swings side to side, little, not-quite steps were taken. Len was straining forward in Zevran’s grasp trying to get to Ferox, drooling and grinning, his little nose and cheeks gone pink from all the laughter. The dark brown hair was becoming shaggy and curled at the ends faintly as those beautifully peculiar brown-blue eyes shown as the baby eagerly made his way with Zevran’s help to him.

Laughing at the pair of them and this new trick, Ferox knelt to stretch out his arms to this bubbling creature. “Come on, almost there, funny boy.”

A breathy ‘huh!’ as he tried to pick up speed then plunked on his tush, looked confused up at Zevran and Ferox, still holding Zevran’s fingers, only to push himself up using the assassin for leverage and continued to make his way. As soon as he was nearly within Ferox’s reach he yanked his small hands from the Antivan’s gentle grip and tumbled into Ferox’s hands, bouncing up and down and laughing. Such excitement, echoed through the amulet, Zevran’s surprised laugh at the first two steps taken on Len’s own shooting through the link. Gathering Len up, _Maker, you’ll be running soon, do you have to grow up so fast?_

“Len has things to do, people to be. There is no time to sit down and watch the world go by,” still laughing and the squirming excitement that Len could not contain. 

Zevran revealed the looped amulet around his wrist a moment as he laughed, pushing some of his loose blond hair from his face, “I did not expect him to do _that_ already. Tchk, he was holding out on me! Auuugh, using me to store up energy for steps! On his own!”

Getting to his feet, Ferox stepped closer to pull Zevran into another shared embrace with Len between, “I think he takes after his father, he’s way too sneaky.” 

The hand that had the amulet on it slipped under Len’s shirt, _’Fun!-Good!-Dada Happy!-Papi Happy!-Me Happy!-Oh?-New!-New!-Dada!-Hi!-Hi Dada!-Papi!-Papi-Hi!-Hi!’_

Swirling concepts, a scatter of words, Len’s awareness of them showing surprise and pleasure. Baby memories weren’t long, but the repetition of care, security, encouragement, had produced this jiggling and squirming bundle in his arms. There was not an ounce of fear or uncertainty, even when he fell or would bop his head or be startled, the pervasive knowledge that he was safe, the absolute belief, swamped and washed over Ferox. _It is good you do not remember when we had to part from you,_ watching an open hand go to mouth and blow kisses. That Len was left without scars by those times, that all he knew was the blissful knowledge that all would be well, that there was always someone there to encourage him to get back up, to support and give leverage...Ferox was a part of that.

“How do you do this?”

Zevran was slowly rubbing circles under Len’s shirt, “How do I do what? A copy of your amulet against his skin, yes? This is not news, _amora_.”

“I mean, how do you do this. Know what is needed and find it, do it?”

A kiss was pressed to the side of Len’s wiggling head, a flash of joy emanating from both at the gesture. “When it is obvious that you need something, I try to find ways to fill those needs, _querido_. You do the same for me, yes? It is...I do not know, I only search for some way to show you that it is alright. Just as when Len wakes up and gets fussy, I pick him up and I hold him and I talk to him as I try to find what has made him fussy. Trial and error and the desire to be there.”

“It is difficult to think of an error made, your steps are certain. Perhaps that is the benefit of experience.”

Zevran snorted at him, “I have made many. You are having selective memory, _querido_. Before we left Denerim. Not telling you when I need things, yes? The amulets assist, they are backup, but there are failures of communications. I try to take on too much, as do you. These are errors of the condition of being amongst the living and being fallible creatures.”

Nodding, “It is so. Which is why you will not go play horse master at the Vigil.” A grin, “Not unless we move the seat of government.”

His lover clucked his tongue, “Political suicide.”

Len made a funny noise, then Ferox was quite certain that a changing was in order. “Oh, you’re a very funny boy today. Just full of surprises.”

Zevran laughed at him, “I believe it is his nappy that is full.” Len was plucked away quickly for a quick clean up, during which Zevran blew funny sounds on the huffing tummy. “Bwrrrrpt.”

“What are you doing?” 

“Raspberries, he loves them, yes?” the nappy was fastened and Len squiggled onto his tummy and got his chubby back another of those weird blowing kisses that received much wiggling and waving limbs and breathless giggles.

Ferox sprawled in an armchair, almost relaxed, “Raspberries, indeed. You two are the strangest creatures I know. They must be an Antivan speciality.”

Amusement as more of the strange things were delivered along with tickling touches, pausing every few seconds until Len would roll his head in whichever direction necessary to shoot Zevran a look of ‘Well? Who said you could stop?’ before the Antivan resumed. Eventually Len began yawning between giggles and squirms, apparently becoming rapidly worn out. Ferox suspected that his lover had done much to wear the effervescent boy down towards a nap. 

A vial of oil in hand Zevran sat on the bed and began massaging Len, further chasing him down to sleep. “No, they are not, I have seen Moira give them to Eleanor as she climbs from the bath to get wrapped up in a towel. They are fun.” 

“He seems to enjoy them and I’ll not argue with Len. For someone so small he is very outspoken and firm in his views.”

As the massage came to an end, all of Len’s limbs were loose and he was carefully worked back into his tiny shirt and tiny leggings. “Yes, well _I_ like them a great deal. Truly, you have never had them?”

Teasing, “As I said you are strange creatures. But I do not recall...” Ferox caught himself before calling out to a hound who was not there. “I do not believe so. Nor is that an invitation to acquaint me with the custom.”

Rolled and pursed lips paired with a sidelong glance of narrowed eyes as his assassin set Len in the spare crib that had been brought to his room were definitely warning signs. “Hmph.” 

An attempt at derailing, Ferox dug out the nuggets of interest from the great piles of chaff Anora shared. Her all but signing on the dotted line for Eamon to go to Orlais and, noting that if she hasn’t already been recalled to have Leliana start gathering information before the new diplomat arrived. 

“I had the message sent to our buxom bard when we left the Vigil for Highever,” Zevran waved a hand dismissively, then began stretching. “And Anora’s assessments of the possible intended outcomes was astute.”

Ferox searched for something else to say except it was difficult as Zevran was moving around the room with that lazy casual grace, shirt being tossed over a chest at the foot of the bed followed by a flip that had him clearing the foot-board and landing with a bounce. Hands crossed under his head, the Antivan took up the center of the bed, laying atop the covers, looking very inviting indeed. _Now that is definitely a trap._ Question was, was he going to step in it or sleep in the chair? He was comfortable. _But that would be more so._ Toeing off his boots he sighed.

Warily he got up and went to the bed, even managed to get the covers up and begin sliding under them when Zevran became a burst of motion and had his shirt up and then was doing those weird _raspberry_ things. And they _tickled_. Horribly. Unable to stop the squawk that issued, Ferox tried to fight, but he couldn’t get away, any new position apparently presented new possibilities for his assassin to bequeath the blowing kisses which were quickly joined by light touches all over. By the time Zevran let him up for air somehow the Antivan had him shucked down and was rocking back on his knees, hands on his thighs, looking completely smug.

Gasping, “I _knew_ you were going to do that.”

“Oh? You did, did you now?” still utterly self-satisfied and smirking.

“Yes, I did. Loose a Zevran on the world and no stone is unturned and there are fewer raspberry-less souls.” _Socks gone too?_ With a wriggle of the small appendages the suspicion was confirmed. Even his socks were gone. “Why?” plaintively as he reached for the warmth.

As Ferox quickly moved to put the last bits of clothing away, rolling free of the bed, he felt Zevran’s gaze on him, formulating an answer.

“Mmn, because I like to hear your laughter? Because now you are wickedly nude?” Zevran tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Ah, I know, perhaps because we have both had baths and playtime is fun time?”

“You are an eternal optimist.” _Something I do not mind one bit._ “Where do you hide your sneaky oil? I would continue my massage practice, if you can stop squirming and laughing at me.” 

Zevran grinned and produced it, his trews gone in a flash. “Ah, but the squirming and the laughing is part of the fun, yes? You do things to make me laugh and squirm, I do things to _you_ to make you laugh and squirm. Full circle, no?”

Considering for a moment, “I rarely laugh at you. At least, I hope it’s rare.” 

“Ah, yes, but when you do...it is good,” Zevran stretched out beside him.

“Hrm,” Ferox was undecided. 

Pulling the lacing from his damp hair, he straddled Zevran’s hips. Running fingers through the blond locks, he fastened them up out of the way. A bit of oil on his hands, Ferox smoothed over the shoulders and down either side of the spine before returning to the elf’s shoulders. He enjoyed doing this, the first few times guided by remembered touch and requests from the patient recipient. Strong supple muscles and warm skin, giving was almost as nice as receiving. Unfortunately, his mind was known to disengage and wander to plans in the works and not be here, so it became an exercise in staying focused. Traveling and thinking was one thing, this was another...rude and forgetful...no, inattentive was the word.

A contented groan as Zevran shifted his head on his folded forearms. _’Moira said to tell you that she is happy to assist in your burdens how she can, as she cares for you, and wishes that you do not suffer unpleasantness alone unnecessarily.’_

A sigh. “It was much better. I wouldn’t have thought so, but it was. The scent was a large difference; I was not wanting to claw my skin off or find a window to leap out of.”

“Simple attar of roses and tea, much milder. That is what we shall do henceforth,” Zevran arched a shoulder into his grip. “A ten to fifteen minute warning would be good, to ensure that other matters are in hand first, yes? Preferably an hour, but, these things, sometimes, they happen, hmn?”

“If her face was any indication...they will.” Thumbs running down the spine, before fingers splayed on one side. Firmly so as not to tickle. Fun the first time, but not his task. 

His lover grunted, “We have found a solution for coping, a way to make it not frightful. So, if they happen, they happen. The worst case I will find a closet and flood you with memories while hoping there is a towel near to hand.”

“You and closets... But it is not ‘frightful,’ well...no, if she knew it, would be like when Cailan cut her pigtails off when all of us were much younger, that was something to be afraid of...you would have been the first one up that tree in the highest branches, trust me.”

“Well, I doubt our good Howe would appreciate a show.” His lover rounded out the last thought on the prior statement before following the next. “No, I would have picked up Cailen by the seat of his britches and tossed him to her, as at that time I was well into adulthood and to do something like that, one deserves their desserts. Or if she was too bratty about it, I would have put her over my knee and given her a good paddling then sat her in the corner to learn a lesson,” chuckling. “Hmn, perhaps a poor word choice. Dreadful, as you become full of dread.” 

A grunt of acknowledgement as he moved to the other side, hands warm and tiring. Different work than they usually received. “I don’t call her ‘Royal Harpyness’ for nothing. She is perfectly capable of biting, kicking, scratching,” pauses trying to remember what else Cailan had received that day, “kick to the balls, broken instep...Loghain was very insistent that she be able to protect herself.”

“If someone had cut my hair and I was a little girl, likely I would have done similar, possibly with the addition of a hole bitten in the cheek,” the way that was said, there was a story behind it. “All women should know some basics. The soft strike points. The throat, kidneys, the pelvis - did you know that if you strike it with an open palm, you can cause this small piece of bone to become detached and the person you hit tumbles down like a tree? That always fascinates me - eyes, eyes are always a good one, temple, and the easiest way to break even a large jaw is to get the person you are about to strike talking and swing when their mouth is slightly open. Gives off a nice resounding crack.”

“I am not arguing against anyone being able to defend themselves, but sometimes I wonder if she can tell friend from foe. That’s why I don’t like playing with her. I don’t know if what she has requested, when the wish is fulfilled, will elicit a bite or a pat on the head.”

“ _That_ would be due to her father,” said with a sigh. “I do not like her, but I also cannot help but pity her. She is such a lowly creature in some ways. No better than an abused dog. The man who, if the letters between him and Eamon are to be believed, actually _loved_ her, had been of any steady and nurturing sort, then she would not have turned out half so bad. Of course, that is merely my experience and observations of people and their natures’ speaking. Anora is detestable and not in a position she is suited to, but worthy of more than great disdain? Mph, I am not close enough to the situation to truly judge. I can only help you and seek to ameliorate any psychological damage.”

Forgetting he was not visible, Ferox nodded, letting Zevran lay out his thoughts. They both talked during massages, it was safe and a time for not judging, just setting things out. “I can see her good points and her obvious uses. The problem is, is she can’t be placed where she could do the most good, where her skills would be of much better use. It’s almost as if she realizes that she’s mismatched and is afraid that someone will find out. This leads her to brittle anger.” Lower back and the flexing curve of buttocks, tanned hands slid up from hip to shoulder with some weight behind them before returning to the small of the elven back. Pleased rumble, “You are not frozen and chattering.”

“Hmmn perhaps it is because someone loved or pitied this poor old man enough to find something to help. Either that or someone wished to ensure, under the foolish assumption it would work, that they were not so crowded so often,” beneath his hands Zevran did one of those strange stretches that manipulated his bones enough for hips and spine to pop under the pressure of Ferox’s massage which always elicited a deep moan from the elf at the release of built up tension.

“I can assure you that it was not pity, far from it. As for a foolish assumption, it would have been much better planning not to put a ceiling in here, if space and breathing room were an actual concern.” Ferox had not been the one to think of it, not because he had intended to leave his room cold, but because it did not occur to him. Someone more perceptive than he had suggested it, pointing out that shared space included both rooms. When he had explained the intervening space between, the project expanded to include it as well. Purposely addressing one description and not the other, “You’re not poor either.” 

An odd thrill of some tingling sensation akin to pleasure sparked between them. “Love is all the wealth I require. Of course, the gold does help.”

Thinking of the odd collection of family Zevran had gathered, Ferox shifted to attend to thighs, calves and feet. “Then you are one of the richest men I know.”

“Ah, but you should also know yourself. ‘Know thyself above all others’, _querido_ ,” in his hand the foot scrunched, toes wiggling a moment as he rubbed at the scars there. “Unless you were counting yourself as _the_ richest man you know?” His lover craned his neck to glance at him, “Perhaps it is a touch lower class of me, but there are certain things of Antivan cultural ideals that I cleave to, yes? Like _machismo_ , a man is only as rich as he is loved and can love, only as wealthy as he is able to provide and care for family which is not simple blood relations, but friends, in-laws, neighbours, things of this nature. Money - it will not hold you, though it can buy someone who will, yet those arms that hold you will leave as soon as the bought time is through; it cannot warm you, though it can purchase fuel for fire, yet it does nothing to warm your soul. But when we shuffle from the mortal coil, the legacy left by the loved and loving man is far richer than the man who had all the gold that he could not take with him anyway, hmn?”

Other than those few he loved, other than the those organizations he cared for, the thing that he gave most of his energy towards would never know or acknowledge the sacrifice and gifts. _The ground will not rise up to meet you, the wind will not always be at your back, the sun will not always shine warm upon your face, nor will the rain fall softly on your fields._ If history kept proper records, he would be known only as the one who killed the Archdemon Urthemiel, not one of the many who tried to open Ferelden’s eyes and mind to accepting everyone, one who was supposedly an oppressor, not one of the many who tried to guide the rebuilding what had been destroyed. That legacy would be very small if anything at all.

The Wardens and Silver Knights would remember for as long as they could, a lifetime, as short as it was. Ferox watched their faces as he laughed for the first time while dining with them. They thought him drunk, knowing that even that loss of self control would have been out of character for him. But it wasn’t just once, it was several times, as if Zevran was deliberately trying to show the Wardens a different side of him. They must have thought him cracked. 

Ferox’s mask was gone and the snow and ice melted to reveal the man underneath...the protection gone, his heart melted and vulnerable to this one under his hands and others as well. An urge, nearly as strong as the night he lost Horse, fell upon him and he was overwhelmed with a need to express it. The gifts were too much, unearned, unable to be earned as they were freely given, they lay on freshly open wounds and he was unable to protect himself. There was nothing he could think of doing other than to renew the vows that not one would be taken, they would be protected, kept for as long as he could keep them...this had changed from never leaving to when they were ready...and he knew it was still not enough, they deserved more.

Finding that his hands stopped as his mind wandered, he resumed his attentions. No, he had not even considered himself to be wealthy by those definitions, but unable to discount what he had been given and what must have led to it, there was no real selfish reason he could think of to be so free with affection. _Oh Maker, they were not supposed to care for me and yet I cannot stop this thing because it brings them joy._ Shaking his head, Ferox tried to cast these thoughts from him. _Why must you do this?_ not certain if he was asking this question of himself, Zevran, the Maker, or of the others.

Beneath him there was another sound and because Ferox was touching him, he was able to feel the muscles twitch, but was too distracted to know what it would mean. Until another of those bursts of motion had him sprawling, Zevran perching once more and giving him one of those exaggerated expressions of wily sneakiness. It was coupled with the sort of look someone diagnosing another and was getting ready to prescribe a treatment that had little to do with the ailment - or was going to make a proclamation like the sky was brown and grass was purple.

Wondering why he didn’t feel the intention in the link, Ferox winced, “What have I done now?”

“Hmmm-hmmn...you are a most predictable man,” Zevran was rubbing his chin and nodding then tapped Ferox’s nose so quickly that his eyes couldn’t help but cross in an attempt to follow the motion.

While he was busy trying to puzzle out what was going on - _Maker! Not again!_ Apparently raspberries were a cure-all. Flinching away when a sensitive spot just under his ribcage was found, Ferox was desperately trying not to laugh. And failing. Miserably. It was all he could do to try and get away, but his slippery and flexible as a cat assassin was always where he least expected him. For pure self-preservation he attempted to retaliate, and made the attempt to deliver one of those strange sounding, lip vibrating kisses to the back of Zevran’s knee - it was the closest thing he could reach - and was punished, and rewarded, in one go. Zevran let loose a childish giggle in the midst of _licking_ between Ferox’s toes before moving on to another spot, as Ferox flailed.

Were there even rules to this game? Seeking to dodge and being pounced on by a laughing assassin each time he managed - _Probably intentionally, sneaky elf,_ Ferox fought to speak, “Why?! No, wait. Don’t tell me why I’m predictable. I already know that. Why are you doing this?”

Zevran paused from the mad tangle then disengaged with ease, twisting and sliding around to get nose to nose with Ferox. “Your brooding needs interrupting time to time, hmn? You were sitting there, no doubt pondering what you are and are not worthy of, dissecting yourself, your actions, and judging yourself somehow not enough, yes?” Ferox nearly looked away but couldn’t, he was held tight in the poured molten hot sun-gold eyes, “I understand that it is not easy, that you wish to doubt and to fear. But we could have a serious conversation and only make the problem worse for you, or we could have you rolling around and laughing with me.” 

_But you said... Know thyself above all others, and I was trying to figure something out._ “Fine.”

Eyes were rolled at him, “One must know when to let go and feel and laugh. Do you think Len lays in his crib wondering, ‘why does my dada make me feel safe?’ no, he lays there and thinks, ‘my dada makes me feel safe - I like that.’ You think too much sometimes, it is not a bad thing, but then you become confused and difficult to reach. _This_ \- sometimes it is good to play like children, to relax, to laugh, to be...” Zevran sat up, legs crossing. “Adults do not play like children except with children, or when they are with someone they trust. It inspires the other person to become protective, as well as to respond in kind. You are protective of me, I am protective of you, but there are times when I wonder if you understand that you give of yourself without thought, no matter when you search for reasons you can put on your neat little scales. Suffice to say, that when you play with me, I feel some of the good things in childhood in the now. And I trust you to give me that, yes? Can you understand that part of it? Is that _logical_ and _literal_ enough?” Ferox was trying to find an answer but wound up held once more, hands framing his face. “When you hurt or are frustrated or are mad or scared, I want nothing more than to take it from you and keep you safe. Of course I cannot, and even if I could, I would not take away your ability to experience life.”

A grin cracked him, “Thank you.” Eying his slippery assassin - _In more ways than one_ , “That wasn’t so hard. For the record however, I do not use scales.”

“Weighed and measured, logic-ed and pondered,” lips pressed to his. “Thinking is good, playing is good, existing is good, loving is good.” A chuckle, “Besides, would you rob an old man of his pleasures - watching you squirm can be most...invigorating.”

The laughter was difficult to hide, he snorted instead in an attempt to cover it, “Simple pleasures, indeed, however it wasn’t watching. I would call that entrapment.”

“Yes, well, you did get me good a few times,” the ruched and messy blankets were kicked around to suit Zevran’s desires. “You must do better next time, I left you _so_ many openings.”

“So you did, but I am not one to take advantage of an _old_ man. If he thinks he’s won, perhaps he’ll return.”

Zevran laughed, “Still fit enough to take you to town.” A hand ran lazily over Ferox’s chest, “I will always return for you, _querido_. Have no doubt of that.”

Amusement, “If I am taken to town, why would you return for me, if I am with you? And besides that, what sort of an expression is that? ‘To take me to town’?”

“Well I did not wish to say ‘lay you out in the dirt’ or things of this nature,” Zevran’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he rolled onto his back, hand still lazily stroking Ferox’s chest and abdomen, soothing and possessive at once.

“There is no doubt that ‘laying me out in the dirt’ is entirely possible...probable. You like to perch. But I assume you keep me around to give dragons indigestion.”

Teasing, “And here I thought it was your sunny disposition, tchk, you have figured out what I could not! Or perhaps I am distracted by a fine muscular rump more often than not?”

“Yes...Camille certainly had one of those.” 

“Oh? That was her name? I was distracted when choosing her, she is one of the first spies that Ignacio offered, well, she was more rogue, well...no. More a warrior who can pick locks and throw bombs with some ability to climb,” he tapped a cadence on Ferox’s shoulder. “She was Ferelden, female, and quite different from Erlina... A cross between masculine and feminine, a good choice, able to play either role in the game, mn? Neither is she a Crow, merely one of the better strong arms that Ignacio has been training. Now our good Howe has been doing that, I will do more as well in all likelihood. Though, she appeared intelligent enough to do good spying on her own.”

 _Warm in a snowstorm you mean._ Although the ceiling was eye catching, it did not glow as much as the sun next to him. Rolling, onto his Spymaster, ‘pinning’ him with his weight, Ferox was interested, “Tell me more.” 

“Eh? Trying your hand at interrogation, _amante_?” Zevran made a half-struggle playfully. “Auck! I am pinned! Fine, I shall tell all.”

Remembrance, “Good it will be like old times.” Hands folded, on his assassin’s chest, Ferox prompted for the story, “Who was Camille of the round bottom with during the Blight?”

“Ignacio, he has been quietly amassing for years rogues and warriors he found promising, a way to duck the Guild’s taxes and to not risk his very expensive to train Crows needlessly. Like the Guild, any job she took was just that - a job. She did some work for Howe, some work for us, some work for the guard, her loyalty is to whomever holds her contract and does not break trust,” Zevran explained. “What Ignacio is doing is only possible because he is the only Crow Master in Ferelden and the Guild, it does not make much coin here, yes? Also, the Guild does have loyalty of a sort. It would be...impolitic...to penalize a group that had ended another Blight before it even truly began. We remember Blights. We remember them, long and well.”

 _And I remember the additional duties we ourselves took, and not just for Ignacio - the Blackstones, the Mages Collective, little things, nothing which derailed the underlying goals, not only was it coin to dress and feed them, some of the little things they did furthered our own cause._ A mental gesture in the link of waving off the instruction, “I recall these things and have no intention of penalizing anyone at the moment. However, Ignacio was not looking well last time I saw him. What is the plan when he takes his leave of us?” 

“Cesar will take over, the Crows already here, like him, and they know that I do not have time or inclination to do it myself,” a low thrum sending amusement of what should be apparent. “He is well capable, more merchant than Crow, let me tell you, but that is why it will work. Here there is not so much killing that needs doing, but much of other things. Merchants travel, merchants hear things. Ignacio is of the old order, like myself, killers who do the job, do the job well, and quite frankly, like the job. Hopefully he retires soon, as he has been an interesting friend. I should like him to go to our homeland, sit on a warm roof and sip little cups of coffee and tea. He has been resistant, he wishes to see Ferelden on steady feet before he goes elsewhere. Ignacio will not admit it, but he holds fondness for this country. But he, and us by extension, will be better served if he is in Antiva, listening, yes?”

Another to move to a better position. “Are there resources there that would assist with his health?”

Zevran’s grin was cheeky, “Oh, I know a very good healer there. However she does not like Crows very much, but, she has a soft spot for those in need. Not anywhere so skilled as the Dalish girl, no, by no means, but Zamitie is not the sort to be laughed off either. After all, she brought me back from the dead. They could be the nice little old couple who takes in children and sit on porches. Well, my Zama, she does not sit on porches, last I saw her. Something about waiting until she was in her hundred and teens to sit upon things and shaking fist at children and not a moment before.”

“If she doesn’t like Crows... Did you rebel in order to join them?”

Zevran pursed his lips, “No. I was purchased if you recall. There was no particular desire on my part or her part, but I was a slave, and she was just apprenticed to a _pintore_ , and the Crows were looking to buy. Someone like her could not stand against the purchasers without causing problems, tough before I was purchased she visited often, stuffing me full of food and loving on me. I happened to be pretty and quick, even though I was naught but a bag of bones, no matter that she tended to feed me half her food as well as my own portions.”

“Yes, I did overhear something like that.” However other stories were also told to pull the legs of those around the fire. At that time, the truth was unimportant. “Children are hungry creatures, thus all of your garden plot locations marked and sitting on my desk. Was that already prepared just waiting for our return?”

“Hmn, no, but Ignacio would have done some of this with his own lots of land and I would believe that Shianni was smart enough to try and copy him, no?” Zevran’s hands came to stroke over his shoulders, “I did write up the locations that seemed best for Crown owned, public gardens while we were in Highever though.”

“Actually, it has already come to the Harpy’s notice and apparently I need sheep...or was it goats? Just so I can break my so called agreement with her opinion that animals should stay outside the walls.”

A brow arched, “What is wrong with a well tended small flock inside a city? Groups of ten to fifteen set to rotate and go to small dairies...? Goats provide well when weeds and all other plant material must be removed for new plantings, while depositing good loads to feed new material, create milk, cheese, meat... Sheep are the same, though much gentler grazers, but they make wool... The city could easily become one of the best cheese producing regions of Ferelden. Some good dyers guild folk could make nice cloth or yarn... More exports, yes? Horses, wool, cheese. Antivans love cheese, as do Orlesians...you could sell specialty types and make a steady income. Though Orlesians like theirs fatty and soft, custom transport would be necessary else it go bad, we Antivans like ours hard and sharp, so only a dry packing would be required...” Fingers were kneading slowly at his shoulders, “Ah, that is what Denerim could become! Yes! The yarn basket and cheese producing region, while Amaranthine could breed fine horses, well, fine enough... Ah! And Gwaren, ah yes, it needs a trade, lumber and woodwork... Pelts of course, yes, yes... Are there maple trees there?”

Halfway through, Ferox pressed an ear against the elf’s chest to listen to the rumbling words. He was going to interrupt to tell him he was singing to the farmer, but it was unlikely to make him pause. _Shipbuilding in Gwaren too. Unlikely if we gave it to the Dalish. City elves on the other hand... Although given the Dalish crafting skills, I wouldn’t put it past some of them to learn easily._ When Zevran paused for breath, Ferox rumbled his usual request, “Make a list.”

Zevran tucked his chin in to nuzzle at his crown, “Ah but you looked so comfortable.”

“I am, so you could keep going. Redcliffe and West Hills haven’t had a makeover yet.”

“Hmn...Redcliffe, ah! Linen, flax, yes? Good for eating, good for oil, good for clothes, hmn-hmn? It does well in a mix of environments, yes, yes?” Ferox could feel his lover warming up to the ideas and getting ready to ramble more. “Redcliffe to Lothering, oh! Stone masons and farmers for Westhills...” Zevran was practically humming to himself.

 _If everything he has planned ever finally got done and there was nothing more to do, Zevran would either fall over dead from sheer exhaustion or in boredom start doing makeovers on people. There would be no sitting still._ Ferox began chortling in the middle of an extensive elaboration of his own suggestion of miners in the Frostback Mountains, which was not humorous in the least, but he couldn’t stop. 

“Honnleath, they could be a center of learning, yes, but they could also churn out high level potions, yes? Hmn? Specialty items like glowing rocks for lamps, or - Oh? Now what has you so handsomely amused, _querido_?” 

Sobering as much as possible, when meant not shaking with laughter at the image of Zevran chasing people down to trade out a hat or a pair of shoes that matched better, “So, when everything is done, will you hire out as a consultant for the Free Marches?”

“Faugh, of course not! They are on their own, besides, that would entail leaving Ferelden and the only place that is not Ferelden that I would like to be is Antiva,” scoffing lightly. 

The snickers were creeping back in, “But everything is perfect ‘In Antiva’. Whatever would you _do_?”

“Pft, no it is not. There are issues there,” Zevran protested. “However, in Antiva I have no power to do more than a few small things to help. A man has to have hobbies, yes?”

“Ahh yes, hobbies...I think I might remember those, sharpening a blade, hiking all over Ferelden. No, wait, let me try again. Okay, plowing a field, hunting for food, fishing. Nope, not far back enough,” shaking with laughter.

A disdainful sniff, “Those are all work. Well, other than the hunting and fishing. Reading filthy stories, stealing into some kitchen or other to learn a different dish, going out for a ride, getting ‘lost’ in the city streets, climbing and watching the world go on by beneath me. Playing with Tigress, she liked fetch a great deal. I would roll a ball and she would scatter after it then come back with it, or there was a small stuffed horse toy, no bigger than my palm. Sometimes I would awaken with her shoving it under my hand and licking my thumb until I threw it.”

“Zevran, this is all play for you. Children play.” 

“Well, then perhaps I am a very large child,” his arms came around him. 

“There is no time for play if there is to be food on the table tomorrow. Certainly there is more time for less intensive pursuits in the winter when one is snowed in, but even the tasks are endless to get ready for spring. And you ask why I don’t play. The most you’ve observed in me was this trip and I felt guilty half the time.”

“Ferox, it is all in the mindset.” A clucked tongue, “Life in the Drylands is also very hand to mouth, _amora_. But the way to not get _tired_ of life is to treat it like _play_. The weavers and felters gather in the largest yurt if it is cold, while children gambol about the floor, doing work, and finding joy in it comparable to the children’s darting and weaving around them. The riders care for the horses, tallying them, examining them, guarding them, and find peacefulness in those actions, while hunting any birds, hares, or lizards they come across. Do you think that your brother finds checking the thatching boring? Or do you think he views it the same as climbing a tree? Something fun to do? A bit of a thrill? It is all in perception.”

“I was going to say he was a little touched in the head because everything is a game or he makes it so, usually by employing some prank or other. There are things I find enjoyable, but they don’t involve gamboling across courtyards. I wasn’t kidding when I said that half of the fun of planning for spring was to discuss crop rotations, it’s a mental juggling act, a puzzle, which is ‘weighed and measured, logic-ed and pondered’.” A grin. “Good practice for other things.”

Zevran hummed, squeezing him firmly. “It is as you say and as I say. You take things seriously for the most, while I find the fun in all things.”

 _Patience, you’ll get your fun._ Shifting slightly, Ferox blew a giant raspberry on the elf’s sun-bronzed chest. 

What could only be classified as a laughing squeak came from Zevran, instantly turning into a wriggling creature beneath him. There was only token retaliation from his lover, but obvious encouragement for more, and each time Ferox did so his assassin would buck and chuckle, radiating pleasure. It was curious that the odd actions garnered such vocal and physical reactions, but the expression when Ferox stopped was exactly the same one that Len had given Zevran earlier - ‘did I say you could stop?’

 _I am not going to roll you over and rub your back until you fall asleep. I am certain you have a very good idea what you do to me. How frozen I become, caught in your joy. Yet you wait for me to catch up, each time I am stunned by the light._ One well placed raspberry, Ferox took the elf’s very evident pleased reaction in hand. Fingers playing with the inset patterns, “It seems you enjoy this attention in other ways as well.”

Rumbling, “But of course. All contact with you is joyful and pleasing, _querido._ '

 _Blinding as always._ Light raspberries across the brown chest before a taste, bringing Zevran down from his ‘berry high’, lower around a flexing abdomen until the only thing that came before a lick or a kiss was a breath of air. 

Ducking his head, a cheek pressed briefly against the heavy warmth of his lover’s cock. Thumb and fingers still tracing between the ornamentations, Ferox recalled a tumble of words, of encouragement and praise, hands in his hair, and near overwhelming shared sensation and thought. He wanted that all over again, the feeling of doing something right, of being wanted by this brilliant man, desire and voice washing over him saying nothing important, yet every word and sound wrapping around him drawing him close. Tongue followed fingers, questing for each errant nerve in hopes and desire to elicit more from his lover. Each twitch of abdominal muscles, slight flex of hips, the thick and taut thighs partially embracing him as further attention was paid and subsequently rewarded by each reaction. 

When he refused to be drawn away, Zevran’s mind opened and embraced him, sharing the sensation in an echoing overlay where Ferox was still himself, but could feel and know exactly what his Antivan felt and knew. On _all_ the important levels. Taste and flavour and scent, no wonder it all became mixed and wound up, meaning all the same thing in the end.

The groan was long and agonized right before the pulse became hot, followed quickly as always by a mix of growl and snarl. But just before and right between, there was a warning and plaintive whisper of his name from Zevran’s lips. It was a fascinating reaction, once or twice it trailed off in a whine, limbs flailing in directionless satisfaction. Pulling the thread from Zevran slowly, Ferox savoured each flutter of dark amber lashes around the metallic irises, the hands in his hair cupping his head, smooth, silken skin against his lips and tongue giving him a sense of deep satisfaction and connection. In that exact moment, Ferox wanted, needed, nothing more.


	21. Addictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry - fell behind in posting, travel and anniversary dates like to muckle sometimes with intended work. That, and you know - plot nugs on an In-Progress story that we had been stumped on. That was distracting.

The Denerim Alienage was nearly unrecognizable to those who had only known it prior to the Blight. Since it had been nearly rebuilt from the ground up, Zevran’s many ideas, on numerous lists were implemented, sewers, and a deeper central water supply brought up by a windmill, and even though boiling was still necessary, soon it would not be a problem. All of the new buildings had cellars lined with mortared stones for storage of food, a stone floor on half, dirt on the other for produce that required such, shelving and bins lining the walls, to hold reserves so that they did not go hungry again. 

The street was set with gravel set into a slurry with resistant mortar or stone slabs when available, with beds open for plantings between it and the walking paths which ran along the neat buildings. The first floor of each building was set back several feet and the walking paths were slightly canted so that water would run away from the building into the raised planting beds instead of seeping into the cellars. The second floor of the buildings hung out over the street those few feet, to protect the sidewalks from the weather. It was possible to walk from one end of the Alienage to the other and be perfectly dry even during the rainy season. And all the buildings were three stories, with one or two that were four, not counting the attic or lofts as separate stories.

The gates, although they had not been removed as their protective use in street to street fighting was still necessary, were always open. They had been rehung and refitted, crafted into enormous things, with bands of carbonized steel holding them together, and studded at measured intervals with cast iron. The gates themselves would be an envy for most any noble estate that wanted to double as a defensible place. Yet, still, the gates were open so that fresh vegetables and other produce that were being grown in the planter boxes and in the fields set aside for the Alienage, could pass through with ease. Bann Shianni Tabris, who had become the voice of the Alienage, had several enterprising individuals, who were unable to obtain other employment due to injury or age, run market stands on behalf of the entire Alienage population. While those stands were just outside the Alienage gates, they were close enough to make it clear the source of those goods, while also extending a bit of protection from the sharp-eyed veteran Night Elves who patrolled just outside the gates in a squad of four, while several pairs were up on the viewing towers that flanked the gates. These stands were frequented by much of the population of Denerim, which benefited one and all, and that no one had squawked about the ‘armed elves’ just spoke of how much everyone had opted to work together. At least on this end of Denerim. Ferox put that up to not just the efforts of Bann Shianni, but of the Crows who had been the source of much design or funds, as well as muscle early on when it was necessary.

The Alienage had become the picture and the goal for the rest of the city. Anyone who walked its streets, now more welcoming and clean than they had ever been, took with them the desire to create an environment in their own neighbourhood like what they had observed. Each one was scheduled for rebuilding with the hardest hit at the top of the list, each one having a new diplomatic building and a community garden added to it. Several had already been completed as it was. It was strange to actually walk the place, as Ferox hadn’t had much chance in the last six, no, it was seven now, years to see Denerim up close and personal. He had to admit that it was progressing at a speed he didn’t realize was possible, and even as they were walking around, the sounds of construction had reached him, a loud and steady din during a brief ride out to explore one afternoon.

The individual estates were the responsibilities of the nobles who owned them, but they soon became aware of the elvish workers who were fast becoming experts in their fields of construction. Workers who could be outsourced to other cities and towns once building was complete in Denerim, and as it was, they had already taken on apprentices. As the arls and banns enjoyed the conveniences of clean, warm buildings, the lack of mud tracked indoors or on their clothing, they began to demand the same at their keeps and towns out in the countryside.

All throughout the winter, Bann Shianni and Nate had been meeting and as spring drew nearer, they were eager to put even more plans into action, expanding upon what could be expanded upon - amongst other things. 

Entering Zevran’s office, Ferox closed the door behind him, pulled a chair that was generally reserved for visitors up to the other side of the desk, and without a word, continued a letter he had apparently been in the middle of. 

Zevran’s expression was puzzled, “We will be having a joint meeting?’

A grunt was the answer as Ferox finished his thought before looking up. “Shianni decided to have the meeting in my office, but I wouldn’t go in there and yes, you are late.”

His lover was clearly consternated, the ruler and charcoal pencil he was using to draw schematics - _Where did he learn all these things? No. Wait. Better question, how come I don’t have twenty of him to run the country? And where can I get more?_ “Ah...I became engrossed with the improvements to the designs.” A pause paired with a further confused expression, “And why would we not have the meeting in your office? It is much more accommodating for guests.”

“Yes, apparently it is,” scanning the letter, dotting an ‘i’ before signing his name. “Are you aware of what Nathaniel is up to?”

“I could check in- Oh. Oh, ah. That is...” Zevran was rubbing his temples, having clearly used Nathaniel’s amulet, as it was the only one he wore more frequently than the secondary amulet that usually graced his wrist.

“He’s picking fights so he can ‘make up’ with her,” returning Zevran’s quill to the inkstand. “Apparently my couch is ‘comfy’.”

Zevran cleared his throat, “Yes, it is. I do not think he was aware of me, however, the predominant thought on his mind was not how ‘comfy’ the couch is, but how good Shianni looks posed on it. Well, that is another plan progressing nicely. Someone will have to clean the...residues...up. It will not be me. Perhaps a nice throw should be made for your couch, in case other...liaisons happen upon it.”

Snorting, sputtering laughter, “I could just put it in his office along with the chair from last week.”

“Yes, well, at least you do not have...evidence splattered across a set of designs,” Zevran pointed to a wrinkled and rumpled series of papers that he was clearly referencing for his current work. “I will give Howe this, he is thorough. I always suspected he came across a bit of Crow training.”

Still amused, Ferox shook his head, “I knew when I talked to him, that the only reason he was still in that cell was because it was his choice. He could have picked that lock with a piece of straw. Anyway, since we seem to be the only ones in attendance, to whom shall we give the use of that bit of property that her Royal Harpyness - fix that in the minutes will you? - wishes to turn into a gazebo orchestra band platform for tea and cakes, or a playground for the children, since it’s near that site you wanted to use for a school.”

“I do not mind the idea of a playground and park, that is lovely, however it is at a good intersection and somewhat convenient distance from almost all quarters of the city,” Zevran pulled out a map, though by now Ferox seriously doubted he needed the bloody thing anymore if he ever had.

“So you have another idea for its use?”

A bronze finger spiralled along the heavy parchment away from the epicenter of the three buildings and street corner that had still been vacant, left cleared of debris years ago. Tapping another line of boxes with red dots - red meant lots that were not quite cleared yet, as the three areas the cleaning crews had focused on were the docks, market and the housing directly surrounding both those places - his city planner ‘hmm’d. “I had thought to put another set of apartments here, but the school district should be more open, yes? A center for the city’s community as a whole. Shall we surround it with a bit of park? Hazelnut, pine, pecan and oak trees, all of which have nuts that can be harvested, room for the gazebo on one side, a play area on another.”

Resting an elbow on the desk and chin in hand, Ferox considered the compromise. It would mean shifting some of the labourers, since Anora was interested in spring planting as a way of organizing her tea partiers. Something they could do as a group, to see and be seen, something about hats, but he blocked that out when it came to who had feathers and who was behind a season or two with just lace. Frankly, he suspected that the planting would be done by their servants, while the ladies sipped tea and disagreed where the columbines should be planted. However it would result in ‘free’ labour to some degree and they would see to it that the real labourers could avail themselves of refreshment as well. 

Musing aloud, “How fast can we clear the corner and get the gazebo built for the Harpy’s pet project...oh and cleanup enough of the mess so it isn’t ‘an unpleasant view’.”

“A few well placed bombs would take out the worst, perhaps two weeks,” Zevran tugged out one of his colour-coded lists, checking what workers could be shuffled to focus on it. “Make sure that it is called the Queen’s Gazebo, so that others know who to praise for the diverted workers from the public projects for such a high priority need.”

“You know, well of course you do...that greenhouse is full of imported delicate plants that won’t last a winter let alone a light frost. But I have an idea.” Ferox rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Most of them will be fine, dig them up in the fall for indoor pots and sell them to the nobles for their greenhouses or atriums or even a sunny window. It should recoup some of the cost. Then put in, yes, pretty plants,” rolling his eyes up to Anora’s sitting room, “but useful ones, flowering herbs, even clumps of grains are pretty, a ruffled leaf lettuce, chives, elfroot...I like flowering potatoes with their little bell shaped flowers, just something that can stand the weather. If I had wanted a hot house flower, I would have gone looking for the elusive wild cactus,” he quirked a grin at his Antivan.

A snort was joined by a stuck out tongue briefly, “One day you shall see, _amora._ Mark my words.”

“I’m betting you already have it on a list entitled,” using his best Zevran voice, “‘The Many Things I Will Show My Lumbering Goat Herding Shem Upon Arriving In Antiva, All Within The First Twenty Minutes’, yes?”

“The first twenty minutes will involve simply trying to get off the boat, amora,” Zevran sniffed. “And I have herded goats. However you do lumber time to time, usually upon first falling out of the bed.”

Muffling his laugh, “So you _do_ have a list.”

“Actually other than taking you to a cafe, to see the _jardines_ , to see Zamitie and set ourselves up at the townhouse - not really, no,” Zevran leaned back in his chair, balancing it on the two hind legs. “It will be a vacation of sorts, hmn? My plans for it are basic, only to show you daily life’s joys there, as you have shown me yours. Of course it will have profit and serve us in various ways, but, by and large it is for the experience itself, an organically growing thing, _mi hermoso corizon._ ”

“I like vacations, but where does the profit and service come in?” Ferox was curious, if that was all he had planned.

“Trade agreements, horses, checking the accounts from the spice plantation,” flicking his fingers dismissively. “And the bakery, the brothel, the little townhouse I came into that is in a not so good neighbourhood, and...hmn, what else was - ah, yes, the backing on those traders I put in. Also the properties that Rinna and Taliesin owned came to me with their deaths, so there are also accounts there that I must check, though by last report all was in order.”

Nodding, _Another working vacation._ “No wonder you bemoaned that you could not move property here.” 

“True, but then I would also have to sell my slaves, or free them, but Antiva does not make that easy. Interesting that a slave can own land and slaves, is it not, but becoming legally free is nigh impossible,” delivered with a shrug. “As I have said before, there are issues with my homeland. Not that slavery bothers me, it is the swings in quality from master to master, yes?”

Lightly, “So if it’s difficult to free one in Antiva, why not do it here?” Letter dry, Ferox folded it carefully and tucked it in his vest.

“A free man in one country is a slave in another. The Guild owns me, _querido._ The only way anyone leaves the flock is feet first,” crossed legs and a tapped boot. “Right into the fire.”

“Yet you, like Anders, have left, well not the exaggerated seven times, but twice, that you’ve admitted.”

“Escape? You believe I have _escaped_?” the look of incredulity shot his way was profound. “I assure you, if I stepped sufficiently out of line - say, disregarded a direct summons or orders from the Council of Crow Masters or the Guildmaster himself - I would be slated for death. Currently there is the sentiment that I am best off here, rather than killing my way to the Guildmaster’s seat. They do not order me to do things and I do not go to Antiva with ambitious designs. If some information and profits are funneled their way, then they are pleased that I am not making trouble. I have purchased clemency in many ways and continue to do so. But that will only last so long as I do not...make a fuss. Should the next Guildmaster take it as a feather in their cap to kill me, then that will be an order handed down, _amora_. You are all _hostages_ that they hold against me and my good behaviour and non-interference in their politics.”

“I did not say escaped.” Getting to his feet, a bit frosty, “I think I shall clear out my office. Thank you for the information however.”

With bridge of nose pinched between thumb and forefingers, brow furrowed, “As you wish, _querido._ I will not keep you from your task.”

Instead of ‘cleaning out his office,’ Ferox went for a walk, without Len and did not stop by the kitchens either. As he was still angry after a lap around the battlements, he went in the training yards, instead. He couldn’t fix the situation for Zevran and couldn’t change it; all he could do was support whatever the assassin was going to do whenever it came down to that. Time for new plans then, ones that should have been worked on years ago, an escape plan perhaps.

By the time he returned to his office it was clear and several lists were left by Shianni detailing the ‘meeting’ he had missed as well as status reports of various projects and other requests for the Alienage. Anora was meeting with Eamon today to tell him the good news of his appointment as ambassador to Orlais. Shianni and Nathaniel had worked some things out - _Thank the Maker that couch is leather._ The pillows someone decided went well with his ‘sky’, as Eleanor put it, would be sent as a gift to Howe’s room with his compliments. Letters had yet to come from Dagna and Bhelen, but given the blizzards that were hitting the Bannorn and that the Deep Roads were not open between... _You know, that’s not a bad idea._ Wardens, in the winter running messages between Orzammar and Denerim, there had to be an opening at West Hills, given the destruction there. It would keep them alert to darkspawn and give them some live training during winters, especially since they were going to clean them out anyway for the dwarves sent by Bhelen. 

Although he could have asked through the amulet, he was aware that a bit of distance might be appreciated. Scrawling a note, Ferox suggested, as a peace offering, that if Zevran didn’t have any appointments that afternoon, they could look at the site proposed for the park/playground/garden personally. The note he received stated that there were other matters that had to be attended to, but that sometime in the next few days would be better for such a survey.

Shrugging, Ferox knew he had picked a fight and then walked away from it. Granted, what he thought he had asked didn’t quite get the answer he was expecting. He had expected something that he could work with and make a plan for. It was a lot more than he had expected and none of it good. To hold hostages like that, and here he was making plans for one more; simply put, he wanted to tear the Guild apart and knew that he didn’t have the skill to do it, nor a plan that would survive that. 

Well, he had put off inspecting the Fort and its various innovations and renovations. The towers at the top had been rebuilt and he hadn’t been up there since that dark night. _Lovely, just lovely_. Which was ‘worser’ - in the words of Eleanor - Eamon or Fort Drakon? After a minute or two he went to the Fort. _Just get it over with._ Remembering the winds up there, Ferox grabbed his heavy cloak, dread dogging his steps.

XXX

 _Okay, honestly, next time they can come to me. Wait, that’s not going to take care of inspections. Maker, would you mind terribly just getting rid of the dungeons and the roof? No one will notice and I certainly won’t tell._ Jotting his notes from the visit, he knew he didn’t want dinner. He was going to need air, on the ground. _Oh look at this, unfortunately, I missed Eamon. He’ll have to be briefed however...oh Zevran, you lucky dog...cat._

Speaking of which, the multi-hatted elf had not left his office as the door was closed and light was shining from under the gap between wood and floor. Either it was something interesting that held Zevran’s attention or Ferox was in the dog house. If it had been something interesting, mad or not, he would have said something. _Option number two! Ding! We have winner. Woofwoof._

Sighing, he continued down the long corridor, wishing that some of the stuffy fashion of hanging up worn out and therefore fairly useless bits and pieces of weapons or armour wasn’t en vogue. _Is it too late to start out for Amaranthine? I mean, it’s only dark. I know I didn’t miss a corner of any storage room, thank you Captain, whatever the frell your name was, Smith, so I can’t go back there for entertainment. You know, the Wardens need a tavern, all two of us. Okay not a tavern, but a real headquarters would be nice. Using Vaughan’s basement for storage was a good idea, and it has plenty of room for other things..._

Picking up the history book he had been reading, _Sigh, at least the doghouse isn’t outside,_ Ferox went into Zevran’s room to wait where it was warmer and ended up reading until he fell asleep. 

A groan woke him, trudging steps that almost made noise, but not quite, it was just outside the range of hearing in that strange way that he had become attuned to. Groggily, Ferox rubbed the heel of his palm into an eye-socket, the fire nothing but a glimmer of coals, barely outlining the bending figure. The sound of leather being pried from feet, the whisper of cloth being tugged away, and the exhausted sighs reached him. He waited quietly from his place atop the covers and when Zevran collapsed nude on the sheets revealed with a shove of a hand, Ferox wondered briefly if Zevran was even aware of his presence, for he seemed completely out of it. 

Rolling to his side, the book open on his chest slid off, covers closing with a soft thunk. Setting it aside on a table next to the bed, he turned back to check on the elf. _Was he snoring?_ No, but it was the heavier breathing of the inebriated, but all Ferox could smell was a bit of beer, certainly not enough for his assassin to be that inattentive. Caught between two plans both bad, _A) Wake up assassin, always a bad plan; or B) Go find somebody else who needs yelling at, not a good plan._ He’d place money on who should be yelled at, but that one was in Kirkwall, the frightening keeper of the nasty ideas and a maker of things he was sure he didn’t want to know about. _Okay, so you have determined which plan is ‘worser’. Now what?_ Snapping cold, _Damn it! All I want to do is fix it._

More than just his stomach growling, Ferox got up and headed down to the kitchens to find an early breakfast. It wasn’t until he was sitting in his corner by the fire than he remembered he had left his book behind. “Fine.”

XXX

At the end of the third day he was seriously thinking about taking up drinking. Ferox had been distracted at his appointments with the various banns, he might as well have been drunk. At least then it would have been an excuse for the distraction. And why did his mind only think of riding to the Vigil **after** sunset? _Because, stupid, he keeps working and only comes to bed a few hours before dawn, obviously in a drugged stupor, not even noticing you in the bed or you leaving it each time he collapses. That’s why._

Sighing, _I want to go home,_ Ferox knocked on the door to Zevran’s office.

“Enter,” came the call, which Ferox did, to be greeted by a chaotic scene of maps, designs, notes, reports, that even Nate was looking at somewhat helplessly, even as Zevran tore through them at an alarming rate, a quill in each hand, writing what were obviously different sets of thoughts and orders.

 _Please don’t make me ask. But I want to know._ “Zevran, what are you doing?” _Damn. ‘Nathaniel, find somewhere to else to hide.’_

The seneschal quickly made himself scarce, much to Ferox’s relief and Nathaniel’s as well if the expression was anything to go by.

Zevran’s scribbling paused, both tips picking up from the parchment angled precisely so no ink would drip, “Road construction maps. The inns, places for them, routes we took during the Blight, routes I have heard were popular, pathways, biways, and the like. The roads need not be straight. Straight roads require tearing through the land, which requires a greater effort expenditure than working with the terrain. Only in areas where speed for travel is of utmost priority should so much extra effort be expended.” Of course the Antivan made sense, that was how he always was. “However, there still needs to be outposts. There is a trick that the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ and Dalish use that utilizes smoke and a series of signals that can communicate over vast distances. An outpost, small ones, placed at measured intervals would be beneficial.” Sand was sprinkled over one of the tracts after a brief inspection, “Maps of the banns who are governing each area, what places could support the sort of travel that would be necessary for the commerce of the country to expand... Planning for expansion and population booms, school buildings, ah, and yes, this -” a hand went unerringly through the slew to pull out a drawing, “- I was thinking of the ballistae and catapults, the heavy ones. This is a smaller version, I wish to see if it can be made lighter, more efficient, to be mounted on naval ships the way they do in my homeland. Which I have yet to make a study of.” Zevran pushed away from his desk, his chair scraping along, yanking several books from his shelf, “These are only passable descriptions of the shipbuilding process, I have a few wainwrights I plan to gain information from and make the according designs.” 

His lover poured a cup of sludgy black coffee that even from where Ferox was standing, smelled burnt, while reaching into the top of his desk for a vial and upending its contents into the cup. The expected sour face of reaction at whatever cruelty had been committed to the drink didn’t come, it was merely downed without reaction. Once he was done, Zevran finally looked at him, “What do you require of me?” 

Carefully, “I require your presence.”

“Well, here I am,” a waved hand. 

“I can see that. Will you please come with me?” _Do not sigh._

A frowning look swept the office, “But there is so much to do. And my desk is disorderly, and if Nathaniel tries to clean it one more time, our next sparring session will not be so friendly. He keeps getting everything out of order.” Zevran shook his head sharply, “Faugh, he keeps overstepping the agreement of him working on the palace things while I focus on other matters.”

_You do realize that if you haul him off over your shoulder, people will talk. I know, shut up._

With razor edged precision, Zevran set his cup down, shaking his head once more, “But yes, yes of course, I will come with you. I had forgotten that you wished to go over the school and park district.”

 _It’s midnight! Maker!_ “Yes, please.” _How exactly are you being so calm? Years of practice. I said shut up._ Hand on the latch of the door, “Let’s go then.”

Zevran grabbed his cloak and threw it over his arm, “Of course.”

He laid a light hand on the elf’s shoulder, “I’d like to take the kitchen exit, I need to get something.” 

“ _Como desees,_ ” said with a faintly startled twitch at the contact.

“I didn’t have lunch, so I was going to grab something we could take with us. Did you eat, Zevran?”

“I was not particularly hungry, however Howe did thrust a plate of cheese, preserves and bread at me at some point,” his lover followed quickly.

 _Which was under a map or six, no doubt. Five, but who’s counting? ‘Nathaniel, stay out of the office for now. And for your own sake, don’t touch anything, please.’_ A quick shot of assent took _that_ weight from his shoulders. “Oh,” Ferox sniffed, “do you smell that? Fresh bread, hot out of the oven. Mmm, melting butter.” His stomach rumbled.

His Antivan tutted, “You have not been eating enough. I can hear your stomach, tchk, we must put food in you else you will become ill-tempered before we get to the district.”

 _Good idea._ “Frankly, I don’t remember what was for breakfast...” Entering the kitchen, the bread did smell good, Ferox sat in his favorite corner near the fire and tore off a chunk of the warm bread set before them, buttered it and handed it to Zevran. “Here.”

Zevran looked at it like it might bite him, but accepted the fresh-baked goodness and began to eat mechanically. In short order it was gone and as soon as it was, Ferox would pass his lover another chunk, sometimes buttered, sometimes with a bit of preserves, or both those things with the addition of a slice or three of cheese. While Zevran was busy chewing and not paying much attention, Ferox gestured for something more than bread to be brought.

A creamy potato kale soup arrived that looked like it had sausage in it. Tasting, Ferox gestured to the bowl in front of Zevran, “It’s good. Try it.”

“I am sure it is,” another of those faintly distasteful expressions that spoke loudly that the idea of food was not really desired, but once more his lover set to it.

Tearing more bread to dip into the soup, he handed another piece to Zevran before taking one for himself. The sunflower seeds with the golden flax was a nice combination and the kale in the soup wasn’t overcooked. _Better? Yes, shut up._ “Hrm, I forgot my cloak. We can get it and go out the other gate.”

Zevran cocked his head, then shrugged. “Of course.”

Trying to take his time or at least slow the elf down, after eating, they went after his cloak. “What time...watch is it?” _Figure it out, old man. Look outside. See the moon._

There was a brief hitch as his lover halted near the window. “Tchk, the sun is not up yet. Braska, I thought I had not pulled an allnighter.”

“Well then, we have time for a nap, a lie-down.” Decidedly, “Yes.”

Bronze hands scrubbed over his face, “ _Querido_ -” _Progress!_ “I am not tired, you go on and sleep, hmn?”

“That’s fine, you don’t have to sleep, come keep me company. I want to hear all about the road and the inn and the stables.”

A fatalistic sigh, “I have made the customary lists, you need not worry over me talking your ear off.” Even so Zevran pried his boots off and his sunshine yellow and orange, weld and madder dyed doublet to lay on the bed.

Ferox did not ‘putter’ putting everything in its place, double checking so his mind could be at ease as he usually would. However without rushing, he did line up his boots and fold his clothes, but the little things were unimportant right now this second. Pulling back the blankets and sheets, he patted the bed. “Come on slow-poke, you have a few minutes before sunrise, enough time for me to hear everything.”

There was hesitation, worry, the flash of insecurity that he was wanted there. “ _Como desees._ ” 

“I want you, Zevran. And I want you to get in bed.” 

“ _Los sientos, amora_ , I cannot think,” and slid from the bed too fast for Ferox to grab him, but he didn’t go far, just grabbed another vial. Ferox wanted nothing more than to grab the glazed vial from him as Zevran sat back on the bed. “I cannot let myself think about things. And if I stay while you sleep, I will be left to think. But if I take this now I have perhaps half an hour before I will succumb to temporary oblivion.” 

“The sun will be up by then.” _What a liar._ “And you are going to tell me about your roads. Put it down, we won’t be sleeping.” 

He hated seeing Zevran poisoning himself like that, not when there was no pressing need. When his lover pulled off his remaining clothes to slide between the sheets the vial was set aside and his assassin rolled into him. There was a grayish cast under the dark brown, sun kissed golden skin, barely there at the edges, and his flesh was oddly dry to the touch. And slightly clammy at the same time.

Rolling on top, hoping that weight alone would keep Zevran there, Ferox rested his chin on folded hands. “Did you use Loghain’s maps?”

“Yes, as well as the information of current landmarks from refugees, merchants, soldiers, and our own trek,” beneath his palms, Zevran’s heart was fast, pounding against the ribcage as fingers slid into Ferox’s hair. “For the small, messenger buildings, split log cabins large enough to house two horses and four men would be enough. In other areas, ones near rivers with either stone or forest nearby, should be made of mud brick and reinforced. While wood is cheap and plentiful, for housing it tends to have the distressing capability of easily burning down.”

“True, and forest fires are common after lightning storms.”

“Rivain has frightful ones, hmn? Some mages or smith, or mage smith, I do not precisely recall the history of it, created these odd things to go atop buildings to channel away lightning,” the fingers continued their rubbing while the other hand undid Ferox’s braid, freeing the sable mass to fall loose.

“That would be a helpful. I was discussing storms of this type with Captain Smith at Fort Drakon the other day. They have to clear the roof so no one is struck by lightning. The Chantry is often struck in smaller towns, so I never thought of the Fort until he mentioned it.” _I’d have you call Anders down from Amaranthine to purge whatever you’ve put in your system, but somehow I don’t think you’d like that...or even do it._ “Have you seen one of these things that catches the lightning?”

Beneath him, Zevran shifted, settling deeper into the mattress. “Some of the merchants with permanent shops have them on their buildings. They are made of metal and they have thin glass balls hanging about them. For what reason, I do not know, nor how they work, only that they do.”

“You’ll have to point them out when we go. If they do work, even though I’d never put a man in plate up there, perhaps one in leather could still keep watch. But tell me, how many inns and hunter’s shacks along the road? Certainly not one for every day’s ride?”

His lover shook his head, “Every three days, with an inn every six, as the inns are to provide succor and shelter in storms and such to those in need. Safe points, hmn? On less travelled roads until the trades pick up more, inns can be nine days walk but the little shelters should still be every three days.” 

Ferox wasn’t certain how he did it, because he was low on sleep as well and wasn’t flying around the room like a sparrow trying frantically to find the window. Each time Zevran stopped talking, he asked another question on point. Penance. He had made the Crow - which to his mind had always sounded like ‘former Crow’, _Which it wasn’t, apparently, but you really hadn’t thought about it before, now had you?_ \- consider his own situation. A situation which appeared to be inescapable, something that would be unsettling to a rogue of his skill. Ferox’s own was something he could get out of eventually, alive until the end, certainly ‘hostages’ were kept, but no one was going to die. _I wouldn’t be so sure about that._

When Zevran reached for the vial, Ferox grasped his wrist, “Don’t.”

“I am tired, you are tired, I will be unable to sleep otherwise, _amora_ , this will allow it to happen, and for the stamina and lyrium droughts I consumed to pass through while I sleep. Nothing more,” and in his grasp, Ferox could feel the faint tremors. 

“You’ve been using -”

Zevran cut him off, “It is an old trick. Enough blood cap and lyrium burns a person at both ends of the candle, yes? Then to sleep, I use this. The entire reason to bother with either, is so that my mind has no time and no energy to plague me with nightmares, hmn? If I do not take the stimulant again, I will return to a more...usual...pace and energy. Remaining awake, will only be highly unpleasant as my body purges it.”

 _But lyrium is addictive. Highly addictive. Well yes, I imagine he’s rather aware of that. Shut up, I’m just about sick of your lip. Doesn’t make it less true._ “Fine.”

“You know, you are a bit like a woman. When a woman says ‘fine’, it is anything but,” a nail cracked the thin wax seal and pried the cork out. “And any man who is continually foolish enough to buy into it, well, usually winds up with his nethers nailed to a wall at some point, yes?”

Growling, “This fine means, touch the stimulant again and I will haul you out to Gwaren over my shoulder to run it off in the Wilds and I will not bring you back with me until it is out of your system. Understand?”

“I make no promises, if the purging over the course of the day is too bad, I will drink half a vial.” The sedative was poured into Zevran’s mouth quickly, downed without even the mildest of flinches, no matter that even to Ferox’s dull, human nose, it smelled foul. “We would not wish for me to be like Alfastana’s Templar brother, hmn? I know my business as a chemist. And how to work it from my system as safely as I possibly can. That reminds me, if the Wardens have more Templars Join, they should be slowly weaned off. I will make sure to write down instructions for those instances.”

 _Now he’s volunteering to write lists rather than tell me? Great, just when I was beginning to be attached to the verbal flood. Do not argue._ Waiting for Zevran to settle in, Ferox acknowledged the explanation, “I hear you.” He had meant any further reliance on said potion, but he was not going to argue the the point.

_’Nathaniel, Zevran has a ‘secret stash’ of goodies in one of the cellars, could you bring up some of those pear looking nasty tasting things, anything else that looks like an edible fruit, oh, and some cranberry juice. Just put it in my office before morning. I’ll also need you to reroute any appointments for both of us.’_

Nathaniel sounded far too awake, _’Of course Commander. Will he be alright?’_

_’Yes, but if he acts strangely again, would you please let me know? I’m sitting on him...but I still wouldn’t recommend touching his mess in there. I don’t know how much he’s going to remember.’_

_’Yes, well, if I thought that would work, I would have done it halfway through the first day. But I suspect you would have more success in that arena,’_ the sarcasm was blunt-edged, almost holding a hint of concern.

 _’We all deal with our monsters in different ways.’_ A mental shrug. _‘Thank you for keeping an eye on him.’_

_’Of course Commander. Happy to help. By the way, Shianni’s making some pillows for your couch, I’ll leave them in your office once they’re done.’_

Laughter in the link, _’I am certain you mean, ‘trade them out’.’_ Ferox paused, _’Get some rest, Nate.’_ Settling in again, using Zevran as the mattress, even though he knew the elf would be out as he had on the previous nights, Ferox was unwilling to take a chance of his assassin disappearing. An ear pressed to the skipping heartbeat, he drifted fitfully, waking up often to insure that the warm body beneath him was still present, that no one had spirited him away, that Zevran was still breathing, and still sleeping. _You love him. I know. So, tell him._ Ferox sighed, _‘I love you.’ Happy? Happy. Good, now shut up and go to sleep._ His conscience appeased for the moment, he returned an ear to the heartbeat and sighed again.

XXX

Zevran _detested_ withdrawal. However, it was his own fault, and he was old enough to face those faults with a modicum of grace. Of course it also helped that he had been through it dozens of times before. Physical addiction was not easy to overcome, but Zevran just reminded himself over and over when the shakes and the nerves began, that all he had to do was wait five minutes. And every time he said to himself ‘Zevran you will wait five minutes’ when those minutes were up, he would make himself wait five more until it added to at least an hour. The stimulant would only be downed when he knew there was no other choice, as irritating and vexing as the process was, the longer he waited between the smaller doses, the less his body would depend on it. 

Ferox kept a kettle on the fire for tea and frequently refilled Zevran’s mug, pressed food on him when it looked like it would be received without a particular shade of green, read when he wanted to hear something, just hold him when he wanted that, and did nothing when that too was desired. After the second day Ferox had Zevran’s office moved to share space with him so, when either of them felt like doing something, he could without putting the other out.

What was worst though was the attentiveness - because he _enjoyed_ it. _Tchk, Zevran, you are being selfish._ It made him feel guilty, and during the darker moments of getting through each day while still maintaining something that looked like work, caused the voice of self-flagellation to whisper that he had done it for the attention, when the only reason he had begun drugging himself was the desperation to stop the nightmares that had come within five minutes of Ferox leaving his office. Nightmares that required no sleep, ones that put Ferox, Len, Moira, Eleanor, Elissa, Nathaniel, Sigrun, and many others, from a laundress to those he had amicable relations with, into Rinna’s place. And instead of a nebulous Crow’s hands covered in blood and dragging the knife across a throat, it was his own. All that had been left to do was cause his mind to race so fast that his energies were burnt through, and when his mind and body would not be able to plague him with night terrors, to dose himself to sleep. Still, that little niggling whisper scolded him no matter how he drove himself through the purging of the toxins from his blood.

 _’Do you know what is so aggravating about these effects, **amora**? The stupid moroseness. The Guild has a whole science to dealing with this, as during our training we are made to learn to cope with mental or physical addictions and withdrawals because they can be used as weapons. Lyrium is the worst, hmn? Easiest to obtain here in Ferelden instead of the other stimulants, but, it is the worst,’_ a lethargic and grouchy mental mumble.

They were in a ‘hold me’ stage, as Ferox had come to call it, he had been reading correspondence, mostly out loud when the next stage hit and now the Zevran found himself in his _shemlen’s_ lap. Touching was important, and the broad hand was under Zevran’s tunic rubbing his back. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, I have tried not be become addicted to anything. Gloomy, depressed, angry, these I know however and it takes no substance to get there.” 

“Mmn, there is a difference between trauma related states and those induced by chemical. When it is chemical, it is your entire body against you, as though your fist gains a mind of its own and, independently of your will, begins punching you no matter how you direct and exert your will over it to make it stop.” Zevran wasn’t a particularly slight or small man, broader of shoulder than most elves, and while he was lean, he was still very muscular, however at the moment he felt so small as he burrowed into Ferox, face turning into the scruffy neck as he spoke. “Both are not good ways to be.” Lashes fluttered against Ferox’s throat, _’I am sorry, amora.’_

“You have sat with me enough times, the first time for nearly two years. I will not abandon you to this or any other thing regardless of the source.”

Zevran grunted, shifting to squirm a hand into the collar of Ferox’s tunic. “We are taught to do this on our own. Each time you catch me up... It always surprises me. When I told you of my mother and my first kill, even in the midst of your own ills, you were still able to empathize. It was that which pushed my attempts to draw you out. Ferox, _querido_ , you were still able to connect to others’ feelings, even damaged. It is like a bad wound in an extremity. If the toes or fingers can still be felt, then there is hope the wound will not result in amputation. Each time I sought to draw you out, there was still the flicker, but also, each time, you allowed me to see that flicker, realizing it or not. Yet, each time I spoke of my pain, you were there, catching me up when I thought I had no pain about those things still.” 

_’And I had been angry because I had allowed my mother to be killed and didn’t, couldn’t stop it.’_ “Two sons, two mothers, same pain,” Ferox signed. “A mirror that I cannot, could not, look away from, since the face wasn’t my own.”

Burrowing and wiggling even while in his chair, yielded a tangle of bronze elven limbs. Zevran made himself into a small clinging mass as Ferox continued to rub his back slowly, relishing the contact. And inside Ferox’s mind, Zevran burrowed deep in there with the same mad, clinging scramble, as if they could find the perfect position and puzzle of limbs and thought, the world would all go away. Open to everything, there were no secrets he could remember that were worth keeping, the only thing that was important was being there now. Ferox kept him safe, and the warmth close. Everything would have to work out somehow, because there were no feasible plans to remove the Guild’s leash from Zevran, other than run away and hide and that one...well, it had not worked so well.

XXX

When Ferox passed by a slightly tipsy Bann Ingrid talking to an effervescent Dagna as they giggled over Nate dancing with Shianni, with the Warden smiling through the clearly stomped toes, about what a ‘darling’ couple they were, he had to mask his own smirk behind his wooden goblet. Things were progressing well, and adding an endearingly bumbling Alistair dancing with a hopping and laughing Sigrun who was saying wild things to make the Templar blush like a tomato, was an absolute coup de grace. The best part was how Anora grit her teeth and smiled when greeting Alistair with her best ‘warm’ formality. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Helmi was chatting up Bann Alfastana with a rather flirtatious air. 

_Interesting..._

The first true day of full spring was being celebrated in welcoming style with a feast. The Landsmeet would convene in three days to air grievances and hear of any new, major changes to Ferelden’s laws, while officially confirming current policies, but for now it was a convivial affair. Drink flowed, people danced and talked, ate too much, and laughed too loudly, all happy that another winter had finally passed. Later there would be entertainments of Zevran’s design, which Ferox had not been told the details of. However, his elven lover had warned him that he might wish to find a large, locking closet by the time his performance was finished. 

The center of the massive Landsmeet hall was cleared eventually, people finding seats at the large trestle tables for the main part of the meal. Ferox was waiting, even as he talked with his brother, only paying half attention to the conversation as he waited expectantly. Suddenly the doors banged open, several bodies tumbling, arcing and flipping into the cleared area, striking the floor then vaulting up. Everyone’s eyes snapped towards the display, even those so in their cups they could barely focus. Each body was minimally clothed and painted - _No - tattooed_ \- glistening from being rubbed down with what Ferox _assumed_ was oil, but hoped not, seeing as he suspected they would be playing with fire. _Combustibles and fire, not a good mix. No, certainly not._

A soothing and reassuring thread in the link caressed him as more of those bodies entered, some male, a few female, and at least two fit into the ‘indeterminate’ category. Drums started off lightly tapped, the three performers in the middle stamping and stepping, leaping and vaulting into wild contortions of shapes, the torches and lamps left lit reflecting off their skin, and the tempo began to pick up speed, becoming a deep, pulsing vibration. An odd stringed instrument began to drone in time, like a voice that should be discordant, but wove into the sounds. Beside him, Fergus’ hand began tapping out the beat on the table, _That’s right, you’d recognize these things, you got to visit Antiva at least a time or two..._

Fire bloomed, an explosive blast from a slick figure to be claimed in a kiss of flame from another dancer. Leaping through the cloud of flames, the musculature familiar, now made foreign, swung and twirled balls of flame at the ends of chains. Designs were made, after half the torches were damped to silence, forcing everyone to maintain their focus on the dancing Crows. Flowers and starbursts were traced in the air, bodies half revealed to disappear in a breath, red and gold and orange glimmers leaving after-images burned in retinas. Nearby and inside, Ferox felt the joy and trance of the dance flooding Zevran, the heat from fire brushing over skin, too fast to scorch, every now and then slipping from the dance to be quickly brushed down with more of whatever poultice made them all shimmer so. Like wild spirits entwining in the primeval they were, anything could happen, like fireworks. A dragon could appear and Ferox wouldn’t be surprised as anything seemed possible in that moment.

The fire-play stopped, but a different sort of dance began. Pairs faced off, bodies moving in liquid glides and Ferox distantly recognized it as something he had seen Zevran do to warm up, identified it as something mixed in his fighting when there were no weapons in his hands, and as the little boy hopping and skipping with ruby-crystal blood figurines wafting about his body. But it was still magical, not quite real. The fastest one, the one leaping the highest, bending and contorting the most, was Zevran, of that Ferox had no doubt, and all eyes in the room were on him, locked in the assassin’s magic.

Even Anora was leaning forward, a hand pressed to her breast, teeth digging into her bottom lip. To see Zevran’s dance was to want him, but none of them could have him. He belonged to and with Ferox; it was Ferox who woke up tangled in shared sheets, Ferox who had those dexterous hands running over him nightly, those lips that mumbled sleepily in mornings. _Mine._ They could all look, but oh, no, they could _never_ touch. Not in any way that mattered. When Zevran and the flock dispersed, those torches that had been doused were re-lit, and Ferox began to excuse himself - to Fergus’ knowing grin and Anora’s protest.

“Darling, I’m sorry, I was foolish, I forgot the wine was not cut, and my head is feeling quite poor,” taking her hand and squeezing it. “‘Ere I make a fool of myself, I should go and gain at least a bit of fresh air, perhaps sleep if it does not cease its throbbing.”

His _head_ wasn’t what was throbbing at all, but Ferox would never tell Anora that.

“Oh, if you must, then you must,” Anora released his hand with a dismissive - and clearly disappointed, to his eye - nod.

 _Maker._ Air first, at least that was true - he did need some air. Finding the closest door out, he found himself in the courtyard gardens and saw the flickers of Wardens also seeking ‘air’, or in their cases, stargazing or walking with a companion. The gardens were lit with candles, even some nubbins in thin wood boats floated in the ponds. It was a very pretty scene. The flickering lights however brought others to mind. It didn’t matter how many times he saw it with his own eyes or replayed it in his mind, the question always was, how could he move like that? An annoying question buzzed through his mind, a fly circling before he waved it off, _I am not going to ask why. Zevran chose me by whatever lists and options mattered to him. Let it go._

As though thoughts of him summoned the assassin like a spell, smelling of some spiced and crisp unguent, an odd flower in his hand of a brilliant crystal blue tinted purple towards the center, taking up his entire cupped palm. “Hmn, that went well, yes? Will you take this?” 

Raising a brow, Ferox held out his hand, “Certainly.”

Zevran tugged him to a stop, and affixed the flower to the back of Ferox’s braid. “Ah, now, there we go.” 

Making a face as he reached back to touch the petals, “Why flowers?”

“ _Flower_ \- the singular, _querido._ ” A cluster of smaller flowers in golds and blues and violets were fastened to the blond locks, along with a few streamers, and a wide belt of woven ribbons held the loose vest closed around the narrow waist. “Spring ritual, the time of blooming. Flowers are given to lovers, yes? Each have meanings. The lotus is one of the best, but it was hard to cultivate them. Apparently the old buzzard had success this year.”

“Some meanings the Orlesians tried to leave behind, yes. I like apple blossoms myself and syringa, even though it is not useful, has a nice orange scent.” Head buzzing with more than just alcohol, “Why’s the lotus ‘the best’?” 

Where they were was quiet and Zevran reached up to tug his face downwards, “Flowery words, _querido_. That love is to bloom repeatedly in such beauty and splendor.”

“As in someone falls in love over and over? Or have I missed something?”

“You missed something,” laughter as lips touched his. _’That the love is born over again and again between giver and receiver.’_

Murmuring, “Very flowery. Are you certain you would not settle for perpetual concord?”

“Ah, but those are very light and airy and highly _feminine_ flowers, _querido_. Surely you would not expect me to make you a crown of them?” 

Laughing, “No. But tell the farmer in me that this repeated beauty and splendor has a real use other than just being nice to look at.” _Not that I can see it._

“The flower you mean? Oh, they are quite edible, I have a red lotus cake to share upstairs...” holding up his fingers to demonstrate the size of what was more like a tea biscuit with delusions of being a small scone. “But that has a much different meaning than blooming love, _amora_. Hmn, something about heat and lust...” said with a wink.

Shaking his head, “Well, I did say that I was going to retire due to a headache if air was not the cure.”

“Good, as the closets, including the larger ones, are all occupied from the sounds coming from them as I passed, hmn? An exciting and deeply embracing evening,” his assassin chuckled, stretching his arms high overhead as though to take the sky in his arms.

Clasping his own hands behind his back, Ferox knew he was walking a fine edge of control and what was worse, was that so did the elf, knew how tantalizing he was, knew that particular stretch displayed sun-bronzed muscles and when he bounced back to his toes the vest gaped invitingly to touch exercise heated muscles. _Maker, I can’t take my eyes from this one,_ wishing for a brief moment that they were anywhere but this crowded place, outside still, but in a quiet field, along a babbling stream, a hay loft…all of the places he wanted to to take this one, rubbing his face on him, breathing in the intoxicating scent. _Maker, I’m doomed._

Instead he forced himself to ask a question, any question. “I’ve not seen this outfit before.”

“Hmn, this? It is borrowed,” fingers plucked at the edge of the vest. “A bit of Antivan fashion to deal with the heat, yes? I am still quite warm from all those flames, ah so invigorating, it has been ages, augh, years actually... It is good I still have the ability, eh, _amante_?” As they resumed their walk, Zevran hopped onto one of the low walls, slinking along, “So? What did you think? Hmn? I am dying to know, _mi hermoso corizon_.”

 _That you are causing me much distress, which you well know; that every eye in the place was on you, even the Harpy wanted to drag you from the room; that I rested my hand on the hilt to remove her myself, if necessary, and anyone else who thought to touch; that if eyes were not upon us, I would chase you through the halls, just to hear you laugh, to watch you play, or throw you over my shoulders and return to our rooms..._ Thoughts rampant and disorganized, chaotic in their appearance made him pause. _’You were, are, beautiful.’_

One of those playful laughs, nearly joyous as he flipped forward to ‘walk’ on his hands along the stone wall, _’It is good to know, yes?’_

 _Good to know? Well, you don’t say things like that, it’s not like you. Oh. Hrm. Where’s the trap? Wait, I’m already in it by choice._ “As you say.” His voice was gruff to hide what would be a note of stress. Knuckles white in a death grip behind him, restraint was necessary. This route to the family wing was longer...Ferox was going to crack unless he thought about something else, but still he could not look away.

Another lazy flip had Zevran walking backwards, on his feet again at least, but there was the risk of him not knowing where his foot would land next. “Mmmn, you know, I think that before we go to Antiva, I should have a shipment of some clothes sent, so that no one is swaddled up and dies of heat. I believe there is a handsome set of deep dark blue pantaloons that should do the trick for you.” Hands were held out as though measuring Ferox from the distance, “Eh, none of my shirts will fit, however, some of Taliesin’s will. They will keep you clothed until we can gain a few things in the city. Something red... Ah! And a green sash, yes. Oh. Wait, no, that one got bloody and went to the rag pile...”

Putting clothes on led to thoughts of taking them off and that was a path laden with traps that actually _had_ to be avoided. His steps quickened as desire rumbled, wanting to catch this ray of sunlight as if it were a firefly in a jar. To hold and wrap it around himself, rolling against him, hands on that bronzed chest, flexing shoulders, the comforting scent of sandalwood, sweet, salty and bitter flavours on his tongue... _Maker, this isn’t helping,_ plaintively.

“The children, they will be easiest, as most usually only wear a tunic and shoes with a little belt to keep things in order, yes? Many parents simply cut down a dress or shirt and find colourful bits of ribbon to weave or rope and such,” Zevran’s hands linked behind him as he nodded sagely, eyes twinkling in the star-filled night. “You see, colour is important though, what you might think is an attractive combination, in Antiva, is a nightmare of clashing or truly dour. Dour is not the look you wish to achieve. A dour man usually means he is so serious that he can never be persuaded to do anything, yes? Gaining various trade items with a dour man would be quite difficult, so, we must make you blend slightly. Not much, no, no, do not fear I will not pull out this particularly stunning red and orange paisley tunic-vest that would be _most_ becoming on you when worn with blue checkered pants, but, a bit of colour, yes?” An eloquent shrug, “However, I know I will be likely diving into a chest full of silk garments and rolling around like Len in the bathtub. Aieesh, I will be a peacock, it has been far, far too long since I have dressed like a man instead of a guard in palace colours. Tchk, so dreary.” A long brown finger tapped his chin as Zevran continued to muse aloud, “Normally I was not particularly ostentatious, one patterned garment and one solid colour, with only a few bits of jewelry. Sadly, I am behind in fashion, but, that too can be used to our advantage - traders and merchants will say ‘oh, poor dear, you have been in that barbarous country so long, here, have a markdown, and have some tea, maybe some biscuits!’ as they wring their hands and bemoan the fates.”

Really he wasn’t paying attention to the actual words, it was the voice as in times before, the animated tone, inflection, accent...he would attempt walking on water in full armour for that sound. The bits of humour lighting the amber eyes while they danced and he had to clutch his hands tightly to keep from reaching out. Right now, this second he didn’t care what anyone wore, or what colour it was or what it was made of, or what was acceptable or not. Watching the expressive ears twitch, Ferox knew before he heard it himself that the rumble had taken up permanent residence in his chest. Although most of his features were schooled, there was no controlling the longing in his eyes. It was going to be a close thing to not chase his sun through the halls, a game of tag, as hide and go seek would have him deteriorating quickly into snarling and tearing the place apart in search of what belonged to him. 

When the edge of the small wall came, Zevran merely stepped off of it as though there was no change in footing, dropping down and continuing his unerring backwards walk. Almost purring as he rubbed his chin in thought, “But I truly must get you in a horseclan vest, my that would look quite fine. Ah! And there are these gardens, they have the most ingenious fountains - the ground looks as though there is naught but a simple pattern, but every few minutes, water sprays upwards lightly. Both children and adults run through it, but adults usually wait until evening, mmn? Then there are the night plazas, which usually do not open until well after dark, they are lit by the lichen and flowers themselves, with small lanterns here and there made of glass in soft shades.”

Zevran had become the halved apple to a horse, the twice baked treat to a mabari, a cookie for a child, a mug of ale to Oghren... _Oghren really? What is he doing here? Shut up - it’s my analogy, and anyway, it’s true._ That said, even though tunnel vision had descended on him, Ferox knew they had been either going round in circles or taking the long, very long, way, back. All led by the veritably skipping and dancing elf. Stopping, he looked back to the palace and reorientated. Should this continue, he would snap, and for that he would not risk carefully laid plans. At the moment, he was left wanting to throw them out the window or light them on fire, _Maker._ The garden paths in his mind, backtracking was the answer, _But, Zevran’s playing and teasing, and doing that glowing thing. I know, shut up._

“You seem rather distracted, _amora_ , is there something amiss?” smooth, poured, hot spiced mead, the flash of tongue licking the back of teeth and those _eyes_ were hooded.

Carefully chosen words rumbled from him as if much effort was used to coordinate them in the proper order or to even say them in the first place, “I have had enough air, Zevran.” 

It took even more restraint to not just spin on his heel away from this temptation that was taking much of his thought. It was as if the elf had become a personal desire demon, and looking away was the last thing he wanted, but underlying rules and self-discipline would not let him act impulsively. The core of behaviour and character that would not allow him to light everything carefully planned for on fire.

“Mmn, it has been a long day, has it not, _amora_? Very well,” his lover reached out, grabbing his forearm, then sound was muffled. “Ah, move quickly and lightly, _querido._ Else we may be discovered by those with a rogue’s eyes... However, they are no doubt _busy_ with their own enjoyments, yes?”

Jerking a nod, Ferox did not trust his voice but he placed his hand on the assassin’s own, pressing gratitude that he was not pushed farther than he could go, endangering what Zevran himself would not put at risk either, even if the temptation were offered. He knew this, yet it was he who called the end to the dance. The elf was more flexible and perhaps stronger willed, or just relied on him to stop... Ferox wasn’t certain which, but knew that he had reached his foundation, his back was against the wall having been led much closer to it than he thought possible. The entire way to their rooms, Ferox had to clutch at his ironclad will, especially with the way Zevran glided beside him. At the moment he would have welcomed a closet if it meant an end to the torture, as Zevran chuckled throatily at intervals, as though well-pleased and deeply gratified.

Now, there was no need to choose one over the other, a forced choice between all of the different things he wanted. No need to pick one and walk away from the others. _Would there be one in the future? There is always that possibility, anything could happen. What would you do?_ Distracting thoughts from his distress, but they led to places he did not want to go. _Not now. Not these thoughts now. Nothing is burning down tonight, and Howe has been sprinkled over his fields. Let this go - it leads nowhere happy. No sinking today. Okay, well, the cleanup for the park is going well. That’s better. Sarah is happy with her family being across the hall. Good._

Dragging himself back up, _The fire dancing was...oh yes, that was what brought this about._ It was as if he had poked his head out a door to a snowstorm then came back in and had to get his bearings. Nothing had changed in the room, yet it felt like it had. Feet back on the path and the sun next to him, clouded but present, he returned to a rumble as the desire reclaimed him. The heat of flame on skin, the gaze holding his while speaking of peacocks and brilliant colours, a display of self. Reaching corridors used daily, Ferox was himself again, nowhere near his core, but back where the longing to have Zevran’s scent and flavour and heat wrapped around him and sharing his own became his only thoughts.

As they neared the doors, Zevran darted forward, reached the doors and slid in quickly, laughing and teasing, _’Catch me, **amora.** ’_

Growling, Ferox followed, locking the doors behind them. _Play. It is only a game, tag. You wanted to play like this, remember?_ Annoyance lifted, freeing him of its threat. The inner rooms’ doors were all open, from office to Ferox’s room, to Zevran’s. And the windows were all closed. _Just tag. Only tag. No hiding._ The amulet told him where Zevran was and he began to stalk him, continuing the rumbling growl, keeping himself light. _Just play._

As he entered his bedroom, Zevran dashed, jumping on the bed, and springing in the air, somersaulting over Ferox’s head to spring back into the office, barely clearing the door’s mantle.

“Oh, now that’s not fair!” Turning quickly, he followed the dexterous elf and closed the door behind him, wishing briefly for the key. Grateful that Loghain had not left him with fragile decor, Ferox charged gamely after his playmate dodging between the couch and armchair. _Let me guess, you’re going to strip and oil yourself so you are harder to catch? Please don’t._

Zevran whirled putting the desk between them, grinning ear to ear, “Are you going to catch me?” Before Ferox could answer, his assassin was diving between his legs and rolling past him and into his smaller bedroom. “Too slow!”

 _That’s a very good question._ Ferox looked down at a wrapped present on Zevran’s desk, one that contained an apron made of a cloth worthy of a Remigold, in a brilliantly coloured flowery pattern. It would wait. Still growling in play, he stopped chasing and went back to stalking, intent on reducing the amount of space Zevran had available to move around in. Blocking the doorway as much as possible, Ferox closed the bedroom door behind him. 

Zevran was circling the table, keeping it between them, teeth bared and sliding over a broad bottom lip that was twisted into a grin. “Something **wrong** , _mi hermoso corizon?_ You look a touch... _flushed_...”

Rumbling, “Really?”

“Oh yes,” an agreeable nod, hair having worked its way looser, falling every which way into a halo of gold, making Ferox focus on the devilish gleam and the fact that colour was high in those dark features as well, while Zevran licked his lips.

His head slowly turned until his chin nearly touched a shoulder then in a shudder shook sharply. “I would have said that you were running a bit of a fever.”

“Oh? Then perhaps I should lay down?” still circling, eyes merry and turning their blinding brilliance on him. 

With a snarl, Ferox lunged forward to grab the front of the elf’s vest from across the table, willing him to hold still for a minute or two. Circling the table, without releasing his grip or ceasing his growling, Ferox guided the elf backwards into the wall behind him. Leaning into Zevran, not wanting to play anymore, he kissed him, sharing in the link the frustration he had felt the entire way there. All the need, all the want, all of it.

Laughter within and without mixed with a low groan, while sharing the burning joy at the play and Ferox’s focus, _’Mmn, much better... You caught me - now what are you going to do with me, hmn?’_

Breaking the demanding, searching kiss, Ferox nipped along Zevran’s jaw to his ear and whispered, low and rumbly, “What do you want me to do, love?” Without waiting for an answer, he tasted the hollow below the delicate earlobe, interested in preventing thought.

Zevran’s fingers dug into Ferox’s biceps, head tilting to grant access, laughing with a hint of breathlessness, “I am yours, _amante_. You caught me.”

Tasting, again before licking the ear, “I pride myself on fairness and would hear the prisoner’s _many_ words.” Tongue finding the fine point.

“On what...subjects?” from the corner of his eye, he watched his assassin’s lids flutter closed. “I am...quite conversant.”

Unable to restrain a growl, “The subject of what should be done with someone who not only seeks to distract me by their very presence, but misleads me in my own gardens, and then attempts to escape.” Sucking gently on the pointed tip, feeling it curl around his tongue, Ferox gave it a nip just to feel hips jerk towards him.

“I imagine that such a rude person owes you an apology for such misdeeds,” Zevran’s hands flexed rhythmically in time to the words and attentions. 

“I suppose that an apology is more reasonable,” still rumbling, but a bit of amusement changing the tone slightly, Ferox licked the pointed tip again, “than flaying them alive.”

A light shiver ran through his assassin, face turning enough to rub their cheeks together, near purring. “Mmm, a good tongue lashing at least is in order.”

“Hrm, not going to let this offender off lightly. I like that, but something tells me you are trying to get in the magistrate’s good graces.” Ducking to nip his neck, Ferox licked the bite, before tracing a nipped and licked path along the ‘prisoner’s’ collarbone to the hollow of his throat.

Against his lips, Zevran’s pulse was strong and steady, the skin exertion and, still, somehow, faintly fire-warmed. “Then what might be done? Your bird leaves it to your discretion.”

Sadly, “That’s it then, no requests for clemency? No throwing oneself on the mercy of the court?”

“I trust in the judge’s honour and caring heart to see that justice is done, and proper, respectful penance is served,” Zevran’s voice was thickening and those hands had begun to wander.

Ferox laughed low, breathless himself, then nipped and tasted the other collarbone. Gloating again that this one was his, given freely, and that he belonged to Zevran in the same way. Fingers unknotted from vest only to slide against the bronzed skin under it, and with that warmth in his arms, he guided Zevran to the bed. Stone was nice for some things, but cold and unyielding for others. “Off with it then, I’ll not be responsible for rumpling your finery.”

“Having trouble, _amante_?” smirking even as fingers slid into the waistband finding whatever mechanism held the wide belt closed, vest spreading open as the belt fell away.

Pulling his own fine tunic off and the solid coloured one underneath, “No trouble at all, I happen to have a very talented rogue about.” Ferox made quick work of folding the clothing before stepped back into Zevran, hands again on brown skin sliding the vest from him. His voice lowers again, “I hear he’s quite talented with buttons, pockets, and even, if you can believe it, knots in lacings.”

“Truly? Tchk, should I be jealous?” delivered with a wink then a kiss pressed firmly against his mouth.

Holding him securely, Ferox leaned Zevran back on the mattress as the kiss deepened and tongues tangled. Lying beside him, he sketched the dark markings, flicking a piercing occasionally, and ran a hand over the deep ribcage while sharing his thoughts and observations of the fire dancing and the assassin’s agile, athletic movements that evening. He shared his pride, Fergus’ familiarity with the music, Anora’s face, the reactions of those nearby, his own fascination and how what was shared in return heightened the excitement he felt while watching the display.

Zevran’s hands were always fluidly graceful and strong, and as the calloused palms pressed to his cheeks, pulling him in closer, “I have a secret to tell you, _amora_.” Voice suddenly hypnotic, _More hypnotic, actually,_ “I was dancing only for you, I could not even see them, and if I could have, I did not wish to.”

 _I know this secret. Why do I know this secret? Is it a secret if I know it?_ The words were drug from him, Ferox did not know where they came from but only that they were true. “And...I... I only danced for you,” wonderingly, “No one else mattered.” 

The memory opened to him, sparring with Geoffry at Highever, doing his best spins and strikes where Zevran could see. Sharing the thrill of the strength to move like that with such a heavy sword...all of the weapons really, and had even done his best imitation of the rogue’s two dagger style when those weapons were chosen. The day before he had been a lumbering ox in heavy armour, but in leathers the next day, on that day, he had danced for Zevran.

“And you were vivid and lovely, _mi bonito,_ as you always are, but even more so,” fingers traced his features slowly.

His face still close to Zevran’s, the elf had been so possessive after that sparring session. He too felt possessive, but not in a way that would have him dragging Zevran off to a small room. Ferox was proud to have the watching eyes, but if anyone had touched his lover, his hackles would have gone up. _Wait, you did drag him off to a small room - here._ Rumbles shook him, _Sometimes you don’t think, or think far too much. Zevran is right. Shut up. What are you waiting for, then?_ Fingers skated to the laces on trews, teasing through the material at the flexing heat there. Teasing and tormenting his ‘prisoner’, he laughed when hips rose wanting more. 

_How can hunger look so...adoring?_ Ferox wondered as Zevran’s eyes lidded, shoulders pressing back to the mattress even as his back sought to arch, lips parting to release a soft breath. He knew from the tales that were told around the fire that driving Zevran to his edge would be impossible for him. Ferox’s borders would be reached long before he could even see the Crow’s. Zevran did have edges that could be reached, like the one where he asked, almost begged, so nicely - Ferox like that, very much. Words rolling from him with recognizable ‘ _amante_ ’ and ‘ _querido_ ’ and other words that reminded him of ones he knew. After all, the ‘punishment’ should fit the crime, and Zevran had taunted him almost to choosing between the duty to country and his desire for the Antivan sun.

Nipping lightly, his tongue slid through a ring with a swipe to a dark nipple. Lacings caught on fingertips as Ferox tugged gently, continuing his playing with them even as they were untied and loosened; he understood the need for air and of being confined, and the hard heat had been far too trapped. Palm flat, fingers quested beneath the waistband grasping the weighty manhood and slid against the hot skin for a moment before withdrawing. Rolling over the elf for a tug at the other golden ring in the sensitive nipple, he moved down to the firm stomach nipping and licking before pushing himself off the bed to stand on the floor. 

“For once, you are still wearing too many clothes,” complained Ferox. Tugging at the waistband as Zevran lifted his hips, warm hands joining his in the inconsiderable effort, the thick silk material slithering against the golden skin, and suddenly the last of the clothing was removed.

A faint smirk, “I thought perhaps I would take a page from your book, hmn?”

A snort as boots were toed off and his own trousers removed, “I have said that if you were as cold as you say, then clothing is a good thing.”

“Ah, but there must be air-pockets to warm, yes? Morrigan did explain to me some of the Chasind methods for keeping warm when I came to her with frostbitten ears once,” a languid stretch, muscles lengthening and contracting.

Ferox pressed his face into the arching stomach and blew a light raspberry, “Wear a hat?”

Zevran squirmed, “Yes, I was wearing a ‘hat’, but the helmet did not accommodate...very well, hmn? That was when she ‘lent’ me one of hers, the one with the thick, ugly ring of fur? It has space, to trap and contain warmed air, just as when there are several blankets and a nude body - otherwise the body is trying to warm up layers of clothes like they are skin, which does not trap warmth very well, no?” he sounded far, far, _far_ too logical to Ferox’s mode of thinking - he wanted to at least _try_ to make Zevran lose his train of thought. 

_I wanted him to talk, just not make sense. Difficult, I know. He liked possessiveness, go back to that._ Growling as if he were displeased at all of the chattering, Ferox sprung on the elf and landed on hands and knees over his assassin earning a _very_ interested sound. Seeing that those actions came closest to getting him what he wanted, Ferox maintained the growling rumble. Returning to nipping and licking, kissing and light biting, sucking and tasting of ears, lips, throat, neck, and shoulders, the sounds Zevran made in the back of his throat weren’t quite words, however their apparent pleasure was quite obvious by each shiver and buck to get closer to Ferox. _Just shut up and talk._ Concentrating some attention to the piercings on his chest, Ferox continued to return to nip Zevran’s stomach still growling. Swirling a tongue over the tip of the broad-headed, elven cock and over the spheres, the scruff on his cheeks brushed against the heated warmth, before finally wrapping his lips around him, taking him in. 

A panting groan, “ _Mi, bonito amante, aie, gusta, te amo, va’ylsa - tieshu’lath._ ” [you/this (is) vital-pure-love, from the Ga’hals language]

Ferox loved this, the flex of muscles as hands began to tug at his hair, fingers sliding against his scalp, the soft sounds of wanting, the need building, there was nothing else he wanted more, just all of this with the babbling nonsense washing over him. They could be directions to a complicated recipe, the location of the next Archdemon, curses, or even Zevran’s last will and testament, it didn’t matter. He wanted more. Rumbling pleasure, Ferox drowned in a sea of words and scent and touch and finally, thick, musky rich sharply tanged semen as shoulders curled from the bed, a hand in his hair, the other clutching his shoulder as Zevran bowed forward. 

_’I love you.’_ Milking the velvet soft skin over the contrasting silverite hardness of his sun-god-lover until there was no more to be had that exact moment, Ferox found himself on his back, knowing he was in store for similar treatment. 

There never was anything to do to quite brace himself for Zevran’s wildness when it struck, only to drift and thrash as he was devoured from head to toe, inside and outside, thoughts, images, words and touches. A sharp intake of breath, tongue slithering and lashing delicate but trained muscles, then back up only to return, hands and even the angled plains of the handsome face were added to the onslaught. Ferox was not sure of much other than Zevran’s name and that the desired words and sounds of hunger, a minor slip of control, the willing demonstration of edges that Ferox had a hope of reaching, and that he never wanted to stop. Stretching, filling, the deep spots struck and massaged, the slow but inexorable gliding, one of Zevran’s hands cupping the back of his neck - bits and pieces broke through for Ferox to hang on to, not particularly aware of anything other than the plateau of sensation Zevran carried him to as words and sounds blended. 

Blinking dazedly, the sensation of tongue lapping at the sweat collected in the hollow of his throat, touching gently even as force and speed elsewhere picked up, Ferox found he couldn’t hang on to thought and could only clutch at dark brown skin. Heat exploded, a flood of it, and Ferox arched into it, pulling the Antivan summer sun tight as his Crow stilled, hips twitching and pressing as a broken moan was left unmuffled. Belatedly, he realized that the disengage did not go far, that Zevran was doing something else and then tightness enveloped his own cock after Zevran left his body. Distantly recalling that the state he was in was where he wished he could push Zevran, Ferox struggled to reach for the borders, even as the sun pressed his face in Ferox’s shoulder, body arching and circling, sinking and rising as there was the fight to sway upward. That was until he felt what Zevran was feeling as well as his own body’s experience. Penetrated and penetrating, riding and ridden, Ferox could find no up or down, no point of reference - was that his voice or Zevran’s? - _No, it’s both? Oh...Maker!_ One blink would have him staring up at Zevran’s colourful ceiling or looking in the transcendent expression of bliss as gazes locked and met; the next the ceiling would be gone, and he could see his own contorting expressions, felt the blazing desire to never look away; another the world had swung perspective and hands were entwined on the mattress, hips snapping forward endlessly. Everything became a feast of dizzying senses, the link through the amulets making everything outside of Zevran disappear, a pure tide of connection and emotion and thought blotting out existence outside of it. As surely as their bodies and senses wound together, the entirety of their psyches did as well.

When the end came as it must, Ferox thought he would be left feeling empty and agonizingly bereft, but was not. Zevran was still there, having left a piece of his mind inside Ferox while taking a piece for himself, but it didn’t feel as though anything had been removed, only...stretched between them. Slowly he regained muscle control, not quite willing to pull away from his assassin, as at some point Zevran wound up on his own stomach with Ferox covering him. Kissing the honeyed golden, tattooed shoulder, Ferox moaned, squeezing their entangled hands as there was a very contented, extremely odd sound when Zevran’s head turned, thumping on the mattress to roll an eye in his direction.

Flushed and sweaty and very satisfied, all Ferox wanted to do was somehow find the energy to rejoin like that, because the very thought of trying to handle the crash after such a high was frightening. However, he could feel Zevran’s presence even more keenly inside his mind, instead of an alternating elven-feline image taking up residence, coming and going, it was more like the very walls and building of his mind had somehow melded with Zevran’s own mental fortifications. _All this because I unfroze? Dear Maker - why didn’t you do this a long time ago? Oh, do shut up._

As Ferox gently began to pull out so he could stop crushing Zevran, a backwards press of hips and a wiggle caused Ferox to groan at the sticky-tight caress until there was a distinctly _odd_ sound from his lover’s throat. _Wait - did he just? ‘Did you just -?’_

Zevran writhed under him, limbs and joints rolling and stretching, making more of those...downright delightful trills. Backs of hands rubbed at brow and cheeks before spine popped and another feline sound escaped as Ferox watched, one eye scrunching closed the other fluttering, hair a mess, crushed and torn flower petals everywhere. The sight alarmed Ferox distantly, and a hand summoning the energy to check found that the lotus was not in his hair any longer. 

A trilling-rumbling-purring growl as Zevran was on all fours, then sank down to his chest, hips high in the air to then lunge forward like an awakening feline, “Tchk, I took that out ages ago. It is on the floor I believe or the dresser, someplace safer than the bed.”

Fatigued and fascinated now that that worry was relieved, Ferox rolled onto his side and stroked Zevran from his crown to his back, “Are you... _trilling_?”

“Mmmn, yes,” punctuated by a pounce and the sun wrapping itself up in him. “Aie, now that was fun! Mmn, I do love you, _querido_. Very much, strange man that you are, yes?”

 _Fun? I thought that was incredible._ Fitting himself to his assassin, “It is good that you’re tolerant of my eccentricities.”

Another contented trill and a sleepy rub of face along with the sent acceptance and awareness of what was unsaid, but felt, _’Thank you.’_


	22. At Home With You

The former arl, Eamon Guerrin, was gone. After the ship set sail to Orlais, Ferox and Zevran held a dance in his honour under the sky fabric in Ferox’s office. After which the list of names was finalized; a list which put forward those they wanted to fill the empty banns and arlings. After a few boring names was Delilah Howe for Bann of Amaranthine; Shianni Tabris for Arlessa of Denerim; Amethyne, daughter of Iona, for Bann of the Denerim Alienage to fill Shianni’s vacant spot, and Gorim, a dwarf, for Arl of West Hills. The list was fair, well thought out, balanced in its appointments, certainly there were more humans named than they would have liked, but it was difficult to find qualified nominees of any race. 

The second proposal was to put the Chantry in charge of the town of Haven in light of the discovery of the urn which contained Andraste’s ashes. This gift would give one vote, that had already unofficially been given to the Chantry, actual status. The declaration was well written and covered the terms and limitations in great detail. The third proposal was to give the town of Honnleath to the Ferelden Circle of Mages. Not only would this supplement their available farmland, but would enable those mages who so desired to retreat into isolation or practice outdoor skills, to do so.

In short, all three proposals were outrageous and sure to be rejected by Her Royal Harpyness. Zevran said that he had a plan and Ferox was certain that he was going to be the sacrifice, something he was learning to accept without feeling too much panic or alarm. _Remember, keep all attention on you, this is how we fight our battles. Zevran will not abandon you. The proverbial ogre will fall at your feet with his blades dug into its back - which wouldn’t be possible if you’re not keeping that ogre very well distracted._

Zevran had laid out a rather startling set of clothes and was currently giving Ferox a very close shave. Leaning back in the tub, head tipped and eyes closed, he waited as patiently as he could. Short scrapes, rinse, fingers lightly pressing and holding the skin taut, a music of a sort, coupled with the drip-drips of water and Zevran’s soft humming. He could almost relax, could nearly let go and rest in the capable hands. Normally his assassin would inform him further of the plans he had made, instead he was given instructions. The afternoon meal, that Ferox usually spent with Len, Light and sometimes Eleanor, would be taken with the Harpy. 

Fingers combed through his hair slowly, working a bit of one of those Antivan oils that Zevran favoured into it, the smell was soothing as well as the actions. Mentally he rumbled, almost happy, despite the uncertain ground under his feet. Under normal circumstances Ferox would never consider such a thing, but if Zevran promised to be the one to do it for him, he wouldn’t mind so much if it became a regularity. His lover even went so far as to dry him off from head to toe, for the most part ‘behaving’, other than lips pressing to the base of his spine once. Deep indigo trews were paired with his black riding boots that had been polished to a dull, inky gleam, a pressed and pristine snow white shirt was covered by a longer tunic in a complementary shade of lighter blue to the indigo. All of it was held together by his swordbelt, the knot deftly tied. 

Hands ran over his shoulders and chest, double-checking for creases, accented and low voice murmuring, “Be disgustingly charming, the play I described to you last night? Tell her of it and woo her, but remember, do not cut to the chase. If she presses for you to join her, remind her of the meetings with the merchants, hint that some new teas and spices have been brought in and that you wished to sample them to see if they were of good quality.”

XXX

The same actions were performed off and on several days, each time Ferox demurred, did not speak of the list. Whenever Anora would make noises of frustration that there weren’t enough lords to run the lands, Ferox would guide the conversation elsewhere after saying he had been pondering the same problems, wondering who would be good replacements for those unfilled positions. As soon as he was able to escape those boring meals with the constantly judging Harpy who would sigh and make scandalized comments about Helmi who had taken up with a human, or shake her head about how ‘obvious’ Nate and Shianni were, while asking the entire time why they couldn’t ‘comport themselves in more seemly fashions like Moira and your secretary?’ 

At some point he realized that it bothered him that Anora never said Zevran’s name. _Not that she’s worthy of saying it... But still. He has a name, he isn’t some thing or Maker forbid, a pet._ Anora would take advantage of all the information brought to her that came from Zevran originally, but couldn’t be bothered to mention him by name, just by station. She made free with nearly every other person’s, but Zevran was _beneath_ her notice, unless she wanted some tidbit of information, service, _Or her feet rubbed_. And even in those cases, _she **never** said his name._

 _Perhaps giving him a name would grant him station and power?_

Thus far all Ferox could tell about Zevran’s plan though was that it held an aspect of ‘winning’ Anora. _At least you haven’t had to service her. Poor Camille, good woman that._ And apparently it was driving her to distraction as he was being regularly called in for ‘impromptu’ meetings to gain his opinion all for the chance to gain another opportunity to try and pull him aside for a bit of husbandly duty betwixt her thighs. Which he continually put off as delicately as possible - or somehow was interrupted in a timely fashion before things got farther than a few pets and kisses. That was likely due to his lover’s interventions and foresight.

When the third week and eighth matrimonial meal was shared, it was the evening meal, and a later than usual one. Zevran had handed him the packet of papers, had tended to him and prepared him, and Ferox made himself swallow his revulsion for what would be done that night. However, it was tempered by the knowledge that Zevran would be joining their minds to make the experience tolerable, dare he say, pleasant even. 

_You’re really going to have to find some way to thank Moira for her forbearance and assistance. I know._

As the meal progressed, Anora began shifting in her seat, a hand coming out to touch his repeatedly. Instead of focusing on the work that had been avoided in all the prior conversations, Ferox doggedly clung to ‘duty’ and ‘worry over the nation’ even as Her Harpyness became obviously distracted and aroused. On and on he went, each time she made overtures they were sidestepped neatly, until he thought she would eat him alive and ride him to the ground from the looks she was giving him. 

_’What did you do?’_

_’The sugar in her coffee of course, it is working? That is why you ‘chose’ honey the last few times, yes?’_ amusement along with a knowing smirk.

 _’I think she’s going to try and eat me.’_ “You were right darling, Ferelden as it stands is not on firm footing, it breaks my heart and vexes me deeply.”

 _’Tchk, that will not do, we must have her begging,’_ a grumble. _’Touch her, oh, yes, lightly on the inside of her wrist, women like that for some reason...’_

Anora was licking her lips, sipping from her small cup of coffee, “Dearest, it is good to see you so devoted to the nation. But what would you have me do? There are too few who come from good standing to put in place. Come, I think I must retire for the evening.”

Shaking his head, taking her hand, and circling his thumb over the pulse in her wrist lightly and slowly, “Darling, I can hardly think for the worry, I apologize, I should leave you to your rest. I will see what I can do to help lighten your burdens and the burdens of our fair land.”

“No!” she began to rise, to clutch at his hand, then flushed as though realizing how desperate she had just sounded. “No, no. Please, remain awhile so that I can hear your thoughts.”

So on it went until she ‘pried’ the information from him, which she barely read, too focused on the way his hand lay upon her thigh as he spoke. Seal and signatures were put to paper with alacrity, then when he made to leave once more, Anora veritably pleaded with him. At first Zevran’s purpose for that bit of instruction didn’t make sense, until he realized that it was something ‘embarrassing’ to keep Anora focused on later and too busy to think about those pesky papers and patents she had signed until it was far too late to change her mind.

To the safe dimness of the curtained bed they went, where the acts were with someone else, the sensations were not Anora. It was not the Harpy he was copulating with mechanically, but Zevran he was making love to with Moira sharing her body with them. It wasn’t the physical-mental pleasure that touched Ferox, but the thought, the care, the simple acceptance and wish for his comfort that drove him on in those simple, yet not so simple, actions. Even as Anora became a wild harlot, begging and crying out for more, those were distant things, barely touching him at all, he took the gift, the sharing and the escape his Antivan and the young mother offered.

Afterwards he bathed, grabbed a tray of food and made his way to Zevran’s room, almost eschewing it for his own, knowing that his lover’s quarters would be filled with the scent of sex. However, it had been shared and his mind had been filled with Moira’s scent and taste, but first he would leave the platter in his office so that he could judge if the room was too pungent for him. _Well, if it’s too much, I can always go back to mine._ In the always warm room Zevran was making free use of the large urn of water he kept for boiling, scrubbing his dark skin free of evidence. Ferox had bathed, but then again, it was just himself to deal with. Not another party that probably desired post coital intimacy that Ferox would never share with Anora in any meaningful way.

“Tchk, I will be done soon, forgive me please, I can meet you in your room in but a moment, _querido_ ,” golden locks were sweat tangled and hanging in ropes about the long line of muscular neck where he stood before the fireplace, skin and sinew rippling with each motion and the long passes of cloth.

Closing the distance, Ferox had no desire to wait one moment or two and frankly didn’t care about clothing becoming wet either. Enfolding his lover in his arms, “There is nothing to forgive. You are perfection as you are,” laying kisses across a shoulder.

Zevran leaned back into him immediately, surprise welling between them, but at least it was a very pleasant sort of surprise. “Oh? Surely you cannot mean my simple self, _amora_. Did you drink your coffee with the sugar? I warned you that it had been tampered with...”

“There is no one else here and regretfully I did without ‘sugar’,” a rumbled mummer into his favourite pointed ear, nosing it as hands flattened, one against the warm moist abdomen and the other above the heartbeat that spoke to him when he woke up at night. 

“Ah, yes, well there is plenty. We can indulge another time, hmn?” chuckling the washrag was dropped into the basin. 

Burying his face into the crook of Zevran’s neck, Ferox breathed in the mix of scents, salt, Moira’s perfume sweet and musky, nutmeg and other spices, with a sandalwood base. Rumbling, “I brought a meal up.” _I know how that sharing drains you._ Another deep inhale, rubbing his face into the bronze column. 

Zevran craned his neck to kiss him, “Ah, _mucho gracias, amora_. You are a paragon of kindness.” Nude and damp, the elf relaxed in his embrace, “What have I done to deserve you, hmn? I know not, other than I am a lucky man.”

An internal twitch, “Same as me, I assume.” The words were difficult and halting, Ferox has been working on accepting the only answer that he had been able to find to explain why Zevran loved him. “You did nothing, absolutely nothing beyond what you are and already do.” He was troubled as this was the first time he had said these disconcerting thoughts aloud, ones that he couldn’t quite trust or believe himself.

His assassin turned in his arms, giving him a squeeze before slipping free to muck around with one of those weird things that had come from Antiva. It seemed like sometimes that some new bauble or oddity came every other day. The air thickened lightly with the smell of Zevran’s usual mix of spices and resins, thin streamers of smoke wafting from the delicately carved and pierced stone. However it _was_ a recent addition, one he hadn’t gotten a good look at. Following close behind Zevran’s mild puttering, done wearing nothing but what the Maker gave him, there was something simple and lovely about each motion, the complete comfort in his skin and surroundings emanating from the elf in peacefully content waves. All Ferox wanted was to get his hands on Zevran’s warmed skin, just to touch, just to be near - _You know, that’s probably how he feels all the time. Huh._ Running hands from Zevran’s shoulders down the broad back, watching utterly fascinated as his lover’s hands danced over the small table with its bits and pieces, and noted with slight smile that the incense holder had been made to resemble a lotus. 

Pressing the words into the back of the long neck, “What are you doing?”

“Mmn, making enough to last for the night, to clear the air and to make it smell more like home,” the mortar and pestle ground up various items he used small wooden scoops to deposit into the porcelain bowl. “I am having a bit of homesickness, hmn?” There was a pause, “This is home, I am at home here, _querido_. I did not say that well. This room has become more and more ‘home’ for me, hmn? That is all.”

Ferox sought to explain what he had been feeling about the strangeness of what home was becoming and what it was no longer. “I think I know what you mean. I call Denerim home, but only parts feel like home, like our space here. The Vigil in its whole is more comfortable as home, and home-home, Highever, isn’t that anymore, though the cottage isn’t so bad, that’s an almost home.” It was a line of thought was dark and uncomfortable and he tried to leave it behind.

Another of the stone worked masterpieces was put together with a small lit coal, “However, the most apt description is that you are my home, _amora_. Wherever I lay my head, so long as it is near yours, then I am home, hmn? There is never a true leaving but always a constant returning and homecoming to you and your arms.”

A laugh escaped, of course Zevran had felt the turn in the link, “You are right and I am the fool. I should have seen it.” With a sigh, he rested his chin on the elf’s shoulder, watching. “So, what makes up these smells of home?”

One bowl’s neat and shaped lid was lifted, the handle formed into a strange, long tailed bird with a slender neck and small head, revealing mounds of small white globs. “Frankincense, in many places this is worth twice its weight in gold.” From the line of containers, each with a special lid, opened and set to the side neatly, displaying the contents as they were listed. “Myrrh, copal, cloves, orange peel, lemon peel, orange blossoms, chamomile, lavender, cactus blossom, jasmine, amber from a pine tree, amber from something else - I never can remember what, but it is called rose amber, patchouli, sandalwood, hops, vetivert, lemon balm, lime, sage, saffron, cardamom, bergamot, black pepper, rose hips, almond flowers, vanilla, cinnamon and allspice. Of course I could cook with many of these, but setting some aside to perfume the air or make tinctures to add to carrier oils, only takes small amounts from the other supplies, hmn? I used to have a rack that went from floor to ceiling with narrow drawers that housed hundreds of different plant materials, and another rack that held finished tinctures and those in production. Here, I just keep those that are essential and easier to procure.”

A rumbled agreement, Ferox wasn’t tracking the use of the gifts shipped ‘home’, it didn’t matter except that Zevran was happy. None of this was really information he was seeking, certainly there was some idle curiosity, and one never knew what might be useful. Rather what drew him time and time again was the voice, what used to drive him to growling and snarling and snapping at the assassin, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be **quiet?!?** ’, half-roaring the words at the elf. An elf who would only pause before blithely continuing without any obvious remorse.

Now, Ferox would have brought up nearly any topic just to hear it. He loved the change in pitch when something particularly interesting was revealed or some insight into life before was made known. And the steady rising and falling cadence, a pattern that came from speaking a different tongue originally, applied to the one spoken today. No one else sounded like him. Even the other Antivans, almost as though they were highly reserved with those not of their own ethnic group, because Ferox had heard on many occasions Zevran’s verbal interactions with the others of the flock, and when they were speaking to each other, they all used the same patterns, but only Zevran used them all the time, with everyone.

The glorious and hodgepodge clutter on the table was rearranged as though to make it more orderly and a pot was opened, sniffed, set aside and another received the same treatment as the first, but instead left in hand rather than set aside. “Mmn, now, about that food?”

XXX

The declarations went out immediately, the original written in ‘Queen Anora’s own hand’ along with ‘her’ accompanying neatly written notes and comments which were, of course, kept for the official records...records they were certain she would check when the chaos of all the ‘spurned’ nobles voided their night soil into the drinking water, casting out poison and shouting long and loud about the folly of having non-humans in any position of power. 

Reading another letter of complaint that had not yet made its way upstairs, “You know, the seneschal at Gwaren is getting rather old...we should start thinking ahead. As it would be nice to have someone already there, one who knew their business and would be supportive of change when it occurred. Although you know she may send for a healer thinking that she’s losing her mind, if we do this too often.” 

Zevran hadn’t returned his ‘office’ back to his own space, and Ferox wasn’t about to suggest it, because he liked the current arrangement. It was nice not to have to repeat everything at the end of the day or open the link in the amulet and interrupt what the other was in the middle of when something needed either of their immediate thoughts. The old office could become more of a small meeting room so that those who needed to confess their secrets in private could do so. 

“Mmn, then we should wait until she is with child to put that forth. She will be too busy and too out of sorts to be a problem, _mi hermoso corizon,_ ” his lover was studying information on ships and shipbuilding, making notes on a piece of paper, while comparing schematics that Ignacio had provided. “It means waiting, but we should not throw another large change or make any sort of social coup for awhile, yes? In this case, what is a few years? We have everything else in place and barring an accident, that old seneschal will be kicking around long enough to serve.”

“Well, that’s another one on Gorim, I think he pulls ahead on the hate correspondence although Shianni isn’t that far behind. By the autumnal  
Landsmeet, I’m still wagering that she’ll take the lead.” Snickering, “Just wait until we appoint a mabari to something.”

“But we already have, Lightning is the Bann of the Nursery Court, if you had not heard.” Zevran grunted, “We need to do something to give Shianni’s title a bit more...legitimacy in the eyes of the nobles. When is our good Howe going to say something and cart her off to the Chantry for a wedding?”

“You don’t think he’s waiting for my permission do you?” Nathaniel had lost his father, had no older brother, and Ferox was his commanding officer. Even though Ferox had, historically, looked up to the eldest Howe son. “He’s always been single-minded and always aware what he wants, and usually has thought out how to get from here to there...but Shianni is a bit of a wild card.”

Zevran shrugged, quill scratching, “You are part of his family in a way, hmn? It would not be strange if he wished you to discuss it with him. Perhaps not for permission, but to reassure him that it is good. I take it from discussions I have heard amongst others of our sex, that this would be an expected behaviour. To ask the questions of what they desire, to find out how they wish to proceed, so on, so forth. He may be aware of what he wishes and needs, but to reaffirm it and affix it in his mind might be necessary. A second opinion rather than ‘permission’, yes?”

“For someone who is always translating from a flowery tongue, you certainly know how to take the curse off of a word,” ruefully. He paused, “Fergus may do as a granter of permission though, Nate always looked up to him.”

Lips quirked as he glanced up from his work, “And insults and curses from my own tongue would make no true sense in Common. To say the cabbage has been cooked is to say something has been ‘fucked up’, but ‘frelled’ in your much milder usage. Or that someone has an empty olive bowl would be translated in terms of intention into ‘bloody stupid’. Which is exactly how I would sound if I did not translate for intent and use rather than literal, yes?”

Laughing, “And son of a motherless goat?”

“I believe that one translates across all languages, _amora_. But I have always believed more firmly in ‘shitting on the three-hundred-sixty days of the year so that Andraste is covered by the back end of a pox ridden dog so the Maker eats shit when he eats cunt’ as my favoured literal epithet.” A sip was taken from his mug of beer, “Of course in Antivan it is much shorter...no...it is said much faster, mmn? It is not a slow language the way Ferelden is.”

Finding Earle the rock farmer’s voice, “Nay ser, ev’erthin’s jist frozed from tha toes up.”

The look Zevran shot him was nearly peevish in its amusement. “You ser, still owe me some rock stew.”

“I iz purty sure, you done gone an halped yerself, t’uther nite. Now I be hordin’ it.”

“Helping myself to a promised serving is fair, but it is also fair for me to expect you to _give_ me a helping - think of the first as interest on the debt,” a grumble. 

“That thar’s a mighty hard bargain’an. Iz an oral con-tract bindin’ in this here arlin’?”

“Oh, I believe an _oral_ contract is quite binding, that is how things are done, especially since so few can write their name, let alone read a contract,” he was very firm.

“Seems ta me,” tugging his forelock, “beggin’ yer pardon ser, but this here con-tract, if ‘twere given, it should be heard by the arl of whare it were spossedly, spoke.”

“Ah, yes, but I am the arl’s man,” Zevran pointed out, rising and casually locking the door. “I speak with his voice and hear with his ears, yes?”

He watched Zevran’s slow approach while shuffling papers around on his desk so as to look ‘busy’, “Whall, I did hear sumthin’ to that a‘fect. But, I’d been drinkin’ an’ thot he were talkin’ out his ‘ear.”

“Drink has a tendency to cause one to doubt what they hear if it is true and believe what is untrue,” nodding agreeably.

Ferox was amused by Zevran’s inexplicable attraction to ‘Earle’, but suspected it wasn’t the ‘rock farmer’ so much as the implied ‘fun’. So he wasn’t surprised when his lover tugged the chair back far enough to make room in his lap, or when a hand firmly began rubbing his groin through the material while lips went to his neck. And he _certainly_ wasn’t surprised when Zevran made himself comfortable to set about kissing him.

After hitting his head on the back of his chair, ‘Earle’ drawled, “Poor Ethel, she’ll be one saaaaaad sheep ta’night.”

 _’Oh, now we would not want that, perhaps I could stop,’_ said while fingers were slipping beneath his waistband making Ferox hope that Zevran was only teasing.

Rapidly retracing his steps, “Please no, I’ll send Earle another sheep...how about ‘Shaun’,” pronouncing it ‘Shorn’, “- to keep Ethel company and as thanks...or perhaps it was more of a consolation for making a contract with such a well spoken individual...the rock farmer was clearly outclassed.”

His lover hmm’d, nodding distractedly, intent and Ferox was relieved when Zevran did not stop as he had ‘threatened’ he might. Instead he let himself relax into his lover’s hunger, releasing a breathless laugh that trailed off quickly into a groan. _You know he would never abandon you._

XXX

His couch was busy again. Such a popular location for their meetings...seriously, it was going to be moved into Nathaniel’s office by nightfall, and the Warden would be the one moving it. And then he was going to find some nice chairs...nothing that reclined, nothing with cushions, plain, serviceable chairs. It wasn’t that he disapproved, oh no. It was that he was trying to read, and had been trying to read, at his desk, when they came in. 

Twitching, _’I’m going to kill them...it’s really just the giggling. The giggling is what’s going to push me off the edge.’_

 _’From what I know of her history it is interesting that she has not only wound up with a **shemlen** , but a noble one at that,’_ Zevran didn’t even look up from his own pursuits of rolling cone shaped things half the length of his thumb from those powders and resins of his. _’She has taken to sleeping in the servants’ quarters of her castle rather than the bedroom.’_

 _’Damn, didn’t think about that,’_ rubbing his forehead.

Zevran did look up then, _’Neither did I, and I am the one who is supposed to think of those things, **amora**. The other half of the time she sleeps in the Alienage.’_

_’Okay, we have a neighbourhood near the Alienage that doesn’t have an embassy or any other grand building at its heart, what if we just let her start over and the Wardens can have the monstrosity after all?’_

Another cone set aside and a new one begun, _’And make half her guards be elves, the taboo of elven military and guard personnel makes things unnecessarily difficult. Personally I find it rather heartening that she does as well as she does - not striking guards if they get too close, hmn? A bit of giggling is tolerable in that light.’_

Picking up the next ‘wish list’ for the Alienage, _’I’d kiss you, but my couch appears to already be occupied._

A thread of elven consciousness curled into his mind, physical limitations meaningless in that space. _’I have a modified floorplan that would make a lovely little **hacienda**. Of course, I was saving it for myself, but expanded upon, it would make a defensible and very comfortable home for an arl.’_

_’I believe that she has another meeting upstairs shortly, we can run it by Nathaniel, perhaps spur him in the right direction.’_

_’A wedding present from the Prince Consort and Warden Commander,’_ Zevran set the fifty cones on a rack and lay it near the fireplace to dry.

Ferox accepted the idea with a grunt, well satisfied by the ideas, but more curious about what Zevran was doing than finding out what a ‘ _hacienda_ ’ was. _’So, wash me with your words while we wait for the real meeting to start. What are you doing?’_

 _’Incense, **amora**. I take the resins and powders, a bit of ground up saltpeter and coal, and roll them like so using a bit of a gum from a tree’s sap,’_ as always gestures to the mentioned ingredients then a demonstration of how he did the work, his hands going through each motion with slow, exaggerated care. _’I make them for gifts whenever they are useful. If I run out, I make more, hmn? A small box of them with a hand carved holder, and perhaps a vial of a perfume oil to wear, they are easy to make, keep my hands busy, my skills sharp, and it is relaxing to make these simple triffles, all while they are received as the ‘best’ gifts a person has ever had. So I am told.’_

“Ahh.” Glancing up, Shianni was preparing to head upstairs to tea and torture - _Poor girl, I do not envy her_ \- with the wives of the arls and banns currently in residence, hosted by her Royal Harpyness. _’Did Dagna deliver the runestone?’_

His lover pulled out a clever looking box with an oddly sliding lid, _’Three came with Helmi, the first was already installed with little fuss and fanfare in the Alienage. We must be careful of perceived racial preferential treatment. So there was no ceremony for it and was treated as nothing more than a shipment of turnips.’_

_’That, and we don’t want it to go missing suddenly. Let me guess, that’s what was happening when I was dodging the Harpy’s advances and playing Whose Who with Arlings and Banns?’_

Zevran smiled as he lay prettily wrapped items in the box, _’I was being careful in disclosing such details on the off-chance you had sugar and wound up spilling the beans, as being highly susceptible to influence is one of the effects.’_

 _Some days, many days, you and your foresight scare me._ “Hrm.” Ferox was fairly certain that any comment he made would not mean what he would be trying to say. How would one go about politely call someone a ‘sneaky bastard’ without sounding insulting? Best left for another time. Perhaps a time without the echoes of giggles rattling around in his head. _Oh say goodbye already. You know, if you got chairs, she’d only sit in Nathaniel’s lap - or worse, use your desk. Maker. Fine the couch can stay. Besides it’s leather and you like it. ‘So who’s the box for this time?’_

 _’Why, the new Bann of the Alienage, Amethyne. Something for her to at least look forward to when she goes home from dealing with Anora, yes? The poor child was so intimidated, that I felt abysmal that we chose her to some degree. However, she is dedicated to the task, if not the social ‘niceties’, and I wanted to do something to make the bitter medicine go down a little more sweetly,’_ a wide, emerald silk ribbon to set off the young woman’s colouring, was tied neatly around the box, pinned in place by a pair of pretty little earrings set with dull green cabochon stones in silver. _’If good breeding means that one must act aloof of the travails of the common populace and holding one’s nose so high that they cannot see their feet, then I am glad I do not qualify.’_

 _Says the one who forgot with me Sarah’s family and Shianni’s troubles. What are you saying? I didn’t say it, I thought it. Nearly the same thing where he’s concerned. You need to spar or something. Dig in the dirt, find some physical labour, you are not yourself. Fine. See, this is why he calls you ‘a woman’. Fine, I’ll do it ‘fine’. Happy?_ Wincing, avoiding the pit he was digging to apparently jump into, Ferox looked up to Nathaniel shooing, Shianni out the door. _’You are nothing if not thoughtful.’_ “Nathaniel?” Putting his feet on the footstool closer to the fire, “What do you have for us today?”

XXX

Len’s birthday came and Anora actually had a _tea party_ where he was the guest of honour. _If being put in a crib out in the garden for women to make noises over, then sniff and quickly ignore him so they could talk about who got him what and what a fine deal they got on it..._ And the one time Anora actually _tried_ to hold Len, his son put up a frightened, god awful shriek, waving and crying, screaming for ‘dada’, ‘pahpi’, ‘moi’, ‘rah’, and even the girls or Light. Ferox was almost worried that the mabari would fall upon Anora to defend the squalling toddler with complete violence, but she was an exceptionally quiet and wise mabari, so did not. Instead she went and hauled Len by his britches from Anora’s surprised grasp, to deposit him in Ferox’s lap.

Anora blinked rapidly and tried to look regal, “Well, he has been having issues with colic off and on. The excitement must make it worse.”

 _Do not laugh,_ as he watched how the women and their husbands had expressions ranging from shocked to amused at the entire display. Len of course was red faced, had big fat teardrops leaking out his eyes, and was clinging to Ferox’s tunic with balled up, stress reddened fists, face in Ferox’s neck, mewling piteously. Embracing his son gently and cupping his dark haired head, he rocked lightly to try and quiet his child’s distress, he was quite obviously _terrified_ of his ‘mother’, which was odd considering how outgoing the boy was in general.

 _I’m sorry, my boy. You are a gem to be shown off and gloated over right now. This morning was fun, so much better than tea and torture._ Finding a bit of history, Ferox rumbled softly, reading from one of the smaller, palm sized books he had taken to keeping on his person lately, “ Stone Halls of the Dwarves, Brother Genitivi, Chantry Scholar, ‘Some years ago, at a time when Orzammar was uncharacteristically open to visitors from the surface, I traveled to the ancient thaig deep beneath the Frostback Mountains to learn more about the dwarven way of life. Like many people of the surface, I had met surface dwarves before, but had no idea how truly different they lived from their cousins in the ‘homeland’. Surface dwarves are considered outcasts from Orzammar despite their necessity to farming and trade, and by and large, they have eschewed the culture, the politics, the honour, and the brutality of the world they left behind.’”

Len tapered off as he spoke, breath hitching in hiccups, clearly trying to listen, but whenever the other ‘celebrants’ made a loud noise it was echoed by a frightened whine.

 _Stay with me, Len. Look the Harpy is blowing out your candles. Make a wish. Getting out of this next year doesn’t count._ “Hidden from the sight of the Maker, the ‘dwarva’ (as the dwarves refer to themselves, our own word no doubt deriving from theirs) revere the Stone – the very substance that gives them shelter and inspires their creativity and strength. When a dwarf dies an honourable death, he is said to have ‘gone to the Stone.’ They do not worship it as a god, however, as I quickly found out upon asking. With stares of incredulity they mocked such notions. The fact that they came from the Stone and thus return to it is, as they see it, a matter of practicality.’” 

As the table filled with presents was pulled forward, Ferox shifted Len to face outwards, continually murmuring to him to keep him reassured. Whispering, “Look, it is time for presents, you remember those, my funny baby.”

Len twisted his head to look back and up at him with so much trust, “Dada?”

“Presents,” pointing to the pile of boxes that Anora was ‘fussing’ over. Lips close to the tan little ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, we’ll open them together.”

Zevran had said that they had ‘a non-human preference.’ Ferox nearly retorted that day two different things, first that yes, he personally did, in his own affairs, and the second that he didn’t really have a preference either way. However, after thinking about it, he realized that it was actually a preference for common sense, and where he currently was, it was a trait difficult to find in the humans around him. It was a fact that struck him once more as he watched when the more practical individuals had set gifts on the table, he had mentally marked them. Likely they would have something that Len would enjoy, instead of a gift meant to impress. If all else failed, he had an aromatic wooden circle in his pocket with several brightly coloured interlocking rings that slid smoothly on the ‘bracelet’. It must have been carved from one piece of wood, Zevran inspected it closely, but other than a raised eyebrow, didn’t say anything. It was another piece he had found in Kirkwall and because so many gifts were given at Saturnalia, Ferox had saved this one for later.

New linens that were heavily embroidered and would be scratchy on delicate baby skin, clothes that were too starched - _Do not laugh at the silver and gold spoons, do not laugh. No, I mean it - don’t laugh. Your papi will have a field day with these, my boy_ \- were amongst the gifts Ferox set aside along with a special little chamberpot that was far too large and gaudy for a toddler rump. _Hopefully Zevran might use it for a planter or something._ But the plain set of chamberpots that were nested one inside the other in several sizes was a good solid gift from Shianni. There was also a fine set of footed leggings that Amethyne had knitted that were soft and silky that Len kept trying to suck on, enamoured with the shades of blue that went from dark to lighter that had been dunked in woad washes of increasing strength. Little toy horses and blocks with carved letters, a cube with shapes cut out of it and wooden shapes that could be deposited in them, all in different colours, simple and sturdy, were big hits with Len who forgot about everyone else as he kept trying to grab and play with his new windfall.

And when Ferox had a cup of coffee in hand, his funny little baby kept trying to be a big boy and take the cup from him to sip. Which Ferox allowed with reluctant good humour, _One does not turn a year old every day._ Watching as Anora opened the last of the presents, the ones that were ‘too good’ and knowing Len’s moods, he knew that shortly the boy and he would both need a nap. _Here, play with the blocks again, I’ll stack them up, you laugh and knock them over. Evil ‘mom’ lady seems to like that sound much better than crying. I wonder if Light will do this for you later? Eleanor and Elissa surely will._

Len was yawning and tugging at his ear or turning his head to rub against Ferox’s arm while his other hand kept busy with the blocks Ferox continued to stack for him. As the party neared its end and Len was turning into a pumpkin due to the delay in his naptime, and if he didn’t get to it soon, he would turn into a very, very unhappy boy, _Unfortunately, my boy, the Harpy has her eye on you for saying a ‘proper’ goodbye to _your_ guests._

Making a pretty picture for the guests, which would appease her somewhat for what he was about to do, Ferox carried the sleepy boy and posed next to Anora. A hand rested on the small of her back as he leaned close, supposedly to whisper sweet nothings, “My dear, I hate to carry the guest of honour away, however Calenhad is going to need a change before he begins screaming. Not a way we would like to end his first social affair. If you would release him, I would whisk him away before he begins this impending outburst.”

Anora smiled ‘warmly’, head turning enough to gaze steadily at them with one eye, the other, firmly affixed on their guests, “Oh, of course darling, we wouldn’t want our son to be uncomfortable. I’ll see to the guests.”

Brushing his lips lightly against her cheek, again for effect, Ferox escorted the exhausted boy through the gaggle of admiring women, their husbands mostly inert, except for a few individuals, the sensible ones who took an interest in their children. Making their exit as quickly as politeness would allow and protecting Len from excessive touching, Ferox himself had had enough. Thankfully by the time they made it to the hall, Len was back to rubbing his face instead of acting as though he were about to recoil as he had done with those with strong perfumes or those who were too loud during his exit. Of course, there had been some he reached out to or waved at, maybe even blowing kisses to one or two, those who didn’t rush towards him or squeal, he had even tolerated a bit of cheek brushing from Shianni with a gap toothed smile that was broken by a very vocal yawn.

Len began to yawn harder and harder, squirming in Ferox’s grasp, which he switched to put him on his hip. That resulted in his son laying his head on Ferox’s broad shoulder, an arm curling around his bicep, and sighing heavily with each step. Stroking the curly downy hair on Len’s head, _I know. You miss your bed, hmn? I think you and I both need a bit of shut-eye, maybe we can convince your papi to join us? You’d like that wouldn’t you? ’Ser Len is looking for his papi, would he be free for a nap?’_

 _’Oh? All the excitement a bit much for him?’_ amusement. _’Well, of course, I will meet you upstairs.’_

 _’Wasn’t so much the ‘excitement’ as the press of unfamiliar people... The Harpy most specifically when she desired to display her motherly skills. Unfortunately, it wasn’t well thought out, but nobody was bitten,’_ a mental shrug as Light padded along beside him her nails clicking faintly. “Thank you girl, biting the Queen would not have gone over very well. I don’t think Horse would have restrained himself and I certainly wanted to bite her myself.” 

Light cocked her head, a sharp ear flicking, her rump wriggled for a brief moment, clearly pleased with the praise, but sedate about it as she always was. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a lively mabari, it was more that she was an extremely placid one, happy to be with ‘her people’ with a stately and serene disposition. Light played with the children rambunctiously when they ‘needed’ that, but otherwise didn’t run around. She was also very quiet, always watching everything going on about her with keen interest in her canine expression. Ferox appreciated that kindness she had, and found that he enjoyed her company more and more the longer they were paired. 

“We are going up for a nap with Zevran, will you join us or do you need to check on the girls?” He enjoyed watching the hounds think and wondered briefly if they could wear an amulet what the thought processes would look like.

The mabari took the time to mull it over, head snaking out to press her nose to the back of his hand and lick Len’s foot in a doggy ‘good night’ kiss. She took her duties very seriously, but with Len being in Zevran and Ferox’s ‘capable’ hands, that left the nursery unguarded. He could see her debating the pros and cons as they walked up the stairs. As they passed the nursery she gave him a gentle push towards it, her answer clear that she had to at least check up on the ‘den’.

Entering, Ferox figured he could at least use the time to give Len the aforementioned change. It was not as dire as he made out, but as he was looking for any excuse to quit the party, it proved to be a convenient excuse. _See and be seen,_ and they both saw enough. _You know, something like the caretaker’s house in Highever would be nice. It was friendlier._ But, the nursery was closer to his work and made it easier to stop in and run off with a child or two, or just stick his head in. In a perfect world... _In a perfect world, there wouldn’t have been a Blight, Zevran wouldn’t have been sent to kill you, and you wouldn’t have Len...okay, we’ll stick with this one for now._

He enjoyed the usual domesticity of the nursery, there was always a kettle of water for tea set on to boil, a pot of soup or porridge warm for always hungry children. Elissa or Moira were always singing, Eleanor was usually reading or playing with Ulfric, Sarah’s son, Sarah’s mother Agnes was always tatting lace, knitting or patching this or that item usually with Sarah. 

“Oh someone’s sleepy,” Moira came up softly, passing him a clean linen nappy. She leaned down to kiss Len’s cheek, smiling sweetly at him. “Hello handsome, you need a nap, don’t you? Is Daddy going to go take you to bed, or are you going to stay with your Moi?” Stroking the hand that patted her cheek, “Ulfric’s having a bit of a trial with his belly, if you can take Len, Ferox, he’d probably be better off for his nap with you.”

“Good for me, bad for Ulfric.” Fastening the clean nappy, “Light wanted a looksee before we did just that.”

Moira nodded, still stroking Len’s small hand. “Good. Oh Maker they grow up so fast.”

“I’d like another, it’s good for a child to have siblings. Adopted or otherwise. I’d like him to have options.” Ferox wondered at the desire to share these thoughts, ones he had previously only shared with Zevran. “I don’t want him to be trapped and have to take up something heavy that he doesn’t want to or might not have the inclination to do.”

She folded up and set the dressings aside, “That’s what being a parent is about I’ve found. Doing your best to give options and to help them have the tools to take care of themselves. But don’t have another simply because of that, as some...backup plan. Because he or she is just as important as Len is, they should both be seen as their own people. It’s hard, I know, sometimes I look at Eleanor and Elissa and don’t know what to do with how different they can be, even though they look so much alike. Just think about your own brother, you and he are clearly siblings cut from the same cloth, but not much in common sometimes.” Moira turned to him as he picked Len up, a thoughtful look on her heart-shaped face. “Both of you are responsible men, willing to apply yourselves to what needs doing. Yet you are like night and day. Len, and any sibling that might rise up, will likely be similar in some fashion, so I doubt you have to worry.”

“The debate of nature versus nurture,” knowing what had shaped him - both, Ferox kept his tone light. “When the plans were originally made, yes, it was a crude backup, the best I could come up with at the time. But things change, people change; in this case, hopefully for the better. However, the plan is still sound, even though the backup would be someone important in their own right, having their own goals and needs. That can no longer be denied.” 

Moira took his hand, sandwiching it between hers, “Then I’m glad.”

Shrugging as he returned the hold with a squeeze of his own, “Even adults can grow up and learn something. My teacher is patient for the most part,” Ferox grinned, “and doesn’t beat me much.” 

“No, he’s much better at making other people do his bidding in other ways,” giggling. “He knows all the angles and arguments, until what he says is just so _reasonable_ and you question why you had a hard time believing what he was saying...”

Chuckling softly so as not to wake the sleepy boy, “I know someone who says that his movements are like a dance. It is possible to see ahead, but he can easily surprise you as well.” 

She relinquished his hand, “Well, he is a rogue. I’ve always said that and didn’t know why he thought it so funny... Master Howe had to inform me that the man actually is a literal one! And then everything made sense! Now, Len is well and truly out, it looks like sweet Lightning is done with her rounds, and you look a bit tired yourself. Go and get yourself some rest.”

“I don’t care for parties. Do expect to be inundated with useless items.” Smiling for a moment, “Eleanor will enjoy inventorying the deliveries.” With the hound leading their way, Ferox was surprised that she had not made the choice to stay with the girls. _What was safer than where they were?_ He opened the doors and let Light go first, so she felt useful doing her duty, even as he knew Zevran was already there.

The mabari quickly sniffed around, searching and checking, going up to Zevran, shoving her head into his hand for a quick greeting then clearly deemed that all was well and dragged one of the blankets from Zevran’s chair to make a nest of. Circling several times and pushing it around then flopping heavily, nose pointed towards the two doors before she closed her eyes. His lover raised a brow at Light then closed the door behind Ferox, taking their son to cuddle him and allow Ferox to remove his fine tunic, shirt, belt and boots. 

_’Apparently I should offer choices more often. Light decided to join us after checking in the nursery.’_

_’No doubt after going over Eleanor and Elissa’s coursework,’_ Zevran grinned as he slid under the covers in nothing but the cropped and hemmed leggings that he had taken to wearing when sleeping with Len.

_’Their handwriting and arithmetic skills have improved greatly. No doubt you’ve had the opportunity to review Eleanor’s bookkeeping for the diary. I was interested that she was tracking the different costs of things available from various merchants. Did you set her to that task or was it her own doing?’_

_’I may have pointed out things, but it seems she has a knack for such matters. Elissa is doing well with her little projects as well, Ulfric’s crib was recently ‘decorated proper-like’,’_ Len woke enough as he was being settled to make a grumpy noise until he realized who he was with and where he was, quickly settling as Zevran lay him in the space between them.

 _’Elissa was also quite taken with the carvings on your bow. Perhaps that is a door to archery or crafting...depending on her interest. I only saw the eyes light up.’_ Laying on his side, Ferox watched the amber eyes on their boy, feeling the subtle thoughts flickering in the amulet the information was considered, weighing it with what was already known. 

His assassin twined their hands together briefly, leaning over Len to kiss him slowly, musing through their amulets, _’Encouragement is all we can do, hmn? You are lovely, did you know that? Our son is beautiful, our life is good, our family is large and cares for us as we care for them, life...is good.’_

Crinkles appearing at his own eyes, _’I didn’t know, but I’m pleased that you find me so. As to the family, as I have said before, you are our lifeboat, finding ones in the waves that need saving. Ones that want rescuing and are willing to row together. Without you, it’s unlikely that we would have found each other in the storm. I would take full credit for Moira, except it was you who found her employment in the kitchens to begin with.’_ Ferox grinned, _’Exactly how long were you going to let me think I had done something right for once, on my own?’_

Zevran snorted, _’I may have employed her initially, but I did not think of her for anything else. I just thought she seemed kind and steady and had had a bad turn it appeared like. We needed someone in the kitchen, so that was where I put her, so there is no credit for me to hand over, as it was yourself who hit upon her as the best choice for Len, for which I am glad and at peace. You have done many, many, many things right, **mi hermoso corizon**.’_

Laughter in the link, _’You cannot fool me all of the the time, love. Sometimes when the light is right I can see right through you.’_

 _’Ah, but in this I was not making plans, I did not see in her anything other than a nice young woman,’_ he protested.

 _’If there is a rogue ahead of me and I lean down to pick up a gem that he has passed by, what am I to believe? Did he actually miss it or was it put intentionally in my path?’_ Ferox traced the light markings on Zevran’s forehead and then the crow’s feet - _Amusing that_ \- at his eyes.

 _’Do you honestly believe I had time at that point to vet everyone for every possible path? I was run ragged, **querido** , functioning on little respite, planning as well as I could for many things, yes, but honestly, **amante** , I am but a single man,’_ Zevran shook his head, chuckling. _’There is only so much I can do alone, I have many limits that are more easily reached than you seem to believe.’_

Not giving in, Ferox lay back but reached out to keep contact, _’I am certain it is just as you say.’ But regardless of where your boundaries may or may not be, I do not believe for an instant that you would leave any diamond in my path without some thought._ Changing the subject, _‘Should you desire a good laugh, in a day or two, take a look at Eleanor’s journal of deliveries. The inventory of birthday gifts should provide amusement.’_

_’I want Light to go over them before he has too much contact with them unless they are from known individuals,’_ Zevran lay back, legs twisting and hooking over his that Ferox had, out of habit, scooted towards him for his assassin to be able to do just that. 

_’She did with what he’s already played with. Even if ones are trusted, things can still be tampered with,’ _knowing where the instructions were going next. _’If I were you two, not that I know anything except a gut feeling, I’d take a look at that silver cup first. The tag, card, or whatever was lost.’_ __

___’With any luck, Anora drinks out of it first,’_ Zevran fussed with the blanket with one hand, making sure there was a good air-hole and breathing space for Len, while covering the three of them. _ _

___’Such cheerful thoughts. Speaking of which, would Eamon and Leliana have landed in Val Royeaux? I know now that by horse it should have been done...but you are the one making a study of ships.’_ _ _

___’No word yet, but my calculations indicate that sometime in the last several days, or in the next several, they should land, mn?’_ a hand lay over Len’s stomach, fingers rising and falling with each snuffly breath while the other found its customary spot in Ferox’s hair, massaging his scalp._ _

__Sighing, contently, eyelids fluttering closed, he returned to an earlier idle yet curious thought, “Have you tried an amulet with Light?”_ _

__“Hmn? What for, _amora_? Is she unwell?” already sitting up to reach for the pouch of them, aiming specifically for the one he wore on his wrist frequently but not always._ _

__Ferox cracked an eye open, “No, or at least I don’t think so. I was just thinking that she’s been exposed to darkspawn, just as Horse was, it’s possible that she could make use of an amulet like a Warden does. Just a passing thought. They are certainly intelligent and we might be able to learn more about them.”_ _

__The simple amulet was looped and fastened around the tendon and corded muscle wrapped wrist, “Ah. We could do that later, you look exhausted, and I thought I was going to get a nap with my two favourite men, mn? Luring me with such promises, for shame.”_ _

__“It is not an answer we must have now, especially if it ruins a nap. I was merely curious and didn’t wish to forget a thought that might prove useful.”_ _

__Zevran chuckled, leaning over once more to kiss him. _’Far be it from me to interrupt your musing and questioning of the universe, **amora**. But I am mortal and selfish and I think I would like to know what a toddler dreams of.’_ _ _

__The gentle slipping in Ferox’s mind came and he relaxed as Zevran used Ferox’s Taint to link them to Len. Pretty flowers, grass for rolling around in, singing, smells of mabari breath while being licked on the cheek, family, brother, safety, sweet milk and spicy porridge. Bits of cheese and fruit being tasted and experimented with, blue leggings, and the happy, rolling knowledge that all was well, being surrounded by the security and heartbeats, nearly loud enough for baby-ears to hear. Zevran didn’t maintain the link long, just enough to check and see what Len was up to and to share it out between them, while sending threads of love to the sleeping mind._ _

___’Ah, that grounds me like very little else, yes?’_ said with a contented sigh. _ _

__“Yes, few things can match that,” as very wicked thought of what else grounds him, followed quickly by a spark of laughter, dances through the link._ _

__A hiss and rumble, _’Tease.’__ _

___’I rarely tease, but I did promise you a nap, as you pointed out.’ ____ _

____The look Zevran gave him was priceless, _’You said napping, that was what I got ready for, now you tease me, and he is in the bed, and no jostling, and the crib is over there, and he is settled and being unspeakably cute, while you, my most beautiful and distracting lover, are veritably smirking. Oh, oh you are evil, yes.’__ _ _ _

____Ferox returned the rumble, lower, deeper, _’Hrm. Quite the dilemma. In your shoes, err pants, I don’t know what I’d do. Yes, that certainly is a conundrum, now isn’t it?’_ Yes, that was a smirk, something he generally tried not to do as it usually irritated him when he was subjected to one. Growing serious and leaving off his teasing, Ferox relaxed and straightened his spine, closing his eyes, he soothed, _’Zevran, of course, I want you. I hear you and am filled with longing. However, it is good just to know this thing and to nap. Simply because there is a desire doesn’t mean that it must always be met immediately. This and the question of Light can wait until we are rested and free of duty.’__ _ _ _

____There was a grumble and Ferox could feel the feline mental presence with all its fur on end puffed up, _’Yes but...aiesh, explaining the logic is...is... Mph. You, you playing, this makes me mad with, mmmn... You playful is irresistible for me, **amora**. It is impossibly enticing, as though the finest meal is set before a starving man, and then told ‘oh, no, now is not a good time’ or ‘it is alright, you can wait for the other guests to arrive before helping yourself,’ especially since it is so rare, **querido**.’_ A self-deprecating laugh, _’Bah, you drive me insane.’__ _ _ _

____“Come then, have your contact and I’ll smooth your fur,” a quiet laugh. “Perhaps it will help you wait for a meal only intended for you.”_ _ _ _

____There was a scramble which Len made a little growling response to, only to receive one in turn, that made the boy giggle in his sleep, and then Ferox had an armful of assassin._ _ _ _

____Tugging the blankets over them again, before stroking fingers down Zevran’s back, “Better?”_ _ _ _

____“Vaguely,” the word paired with a proprietorial bite followed by a lick to his shoulder. “There, now you have my ‘cooties’ as Elissa says, so no one else will want you.”_ _ _ _

____A snort, “Oh, no. Too late. Besides that, you’ve already marked me as yours.” _’I have yet to come up with an appropriate way to mark you...other than a scar or two you foolishly took on my behalf.’__ _ _ _

_____’If we discuss marking me, that nap will not be had, **amante** ,’_ along with a great deal of images as to how he wouldn’t mind being marked, particularly along the neckline. _ _ _ _

_____’I said, appropriate.’_ _ _ _ _

____It was his lover’s turn to snort, _’There is nothing inappropriate with lover’s marks all over one.’__ _ _ _

____Amusement, _’You are all wound up. I mean a mark like what you have given me, visible yet suitable and subtle enough for polite company. Now put your ‘headie down and go to sleep’.’_ _ _ _ _

____Zevran rubbed his face firmly into Ferox’s chest, emitting soft growls. _’We will need a slab from a pig, with the skin, then I will teach you how to put ink into skin. Then you will put your mark on my rump, I believe there should be a good patch of skin there, or perhaps beneath my navel? Hmn? You can choose the spot.’__ _ _ _

____The image of roping and hauling Zevran to the ground like cattle, branding him with the Cousland emblem, then finally watching him leap to his feet and indignantly galloping off, had Ferox shaking with laughter._ _ _ _

____“Now that is an idea, _amora_. At least the roping and hauling,” legs wrapped around his nearest thigh, locking tight. “However a stamp brand would be droll and simple, yes?” _ _ _ _

____“Although I appreciate the consent, I would not harm you other than what I already do inadvertently.”_ _ _ _

____Zevran raised himself up on an elbow to frown at him, “Harm me? What is this ‘harm’ of which you speak? Also, _querido_ , a mark is a mark. I wish your mark, then ah - wait. Here, a common saying amongst men and women alike - ‘pain is beauty’. In the pursuit of some form of beauty, whatever the beholder and the possessor believe it is, pain is often a consequence. It is normal, it is natural. The mark would be meaningless in some ways if there was no journey to it at least symbolically, yes?”_ _ _ _

____Ferox clearly saw the field of traps before him, and stepped carefully, “Perhaps, but I have caused enough injury that I desire to do no more unless that is the only option available. You see this as a small thing, ‘what is a little more added to what had already been done?’ It isn’t a small thing to me and I won’t have another added to what is already heaped on my head - there is enough to account for.”_ _ _ _

____“When we go to Antiva, you will see, and it is my hope that you will actually understand, what it is I mean in this, _mi amora_. I could show you, give you my memories, but understanding is something only you can find,” Zevran sighed, shaking his head and lay back down._ _ _ _

____“Yes, I’m certain that, ‘In Antiva we poke each other’s eyes out with sticks and then jump off cliffs or bridges,’ as children do following their friends like sheep,” teasing._ _ _ _

____Primly, “Cliff-diving and jumping is quite enjoyable, and there is also the sport when we tie ropes to our ankles and leap from bridges, what do you have against these things?”_ _ _ _

____“As Nan would say, ‘Just because everyone else is doing it does that make it right or safe?’”_ _ _ _

____Zevran shook his head, “You are going to die of a heart-attack from lack of excitement.”_ _ _ _

____Snorting, thinking of their travels and the death of the Archdemon, “I had enough ‘excitement’ to last me several decades, I’m still recovering. Just because I got to experience it all at once, doesn’t invalidate it. Frankly, I’m surprised that I didn’t have a heart attack then.”_ _ _ _

____“Mph, which one of us is over half a century old? No wonder you thought I would be shaking my fist at passing children as I reminisced about ‘the good old days’.”_ _ _ _

____“Ahh, you forget, it’s not the years, it’s the miles and I’ve been rode hard and put away wet.”_ _ _ _

____The look Zevran shot him was comical once more, “No. No. No. I will not get into a game of oneupmanship, no matter how tempting.”_ _ _ _

____Laughing, “Then I win and you get to take your nap, old man.”_ _ _ _

____A rapid tattoo was tapped on Ferox’s sternum. “Shall I refute your claims? Ah, yes, perhaps I shall count the ways? Years do count, yes, as does ‘miles’, but if we were simply speaking on that, you can rest assured that you have perhaps reached my halfway point. You have some catching up to do, and with that attitude, you never will. Pup indeed, young one.”_ _ _ _

____Throwing the blanket off the pair of them, Ferox spoke to Light, “Let us know when Len starts to stir.” Then ‘tossing’ Zevran over his shoulder, who he was certain was grinning having finally gotten his way, and growling, hauled him off to the other bedroom and shut the door behind them while the faithful mabari hopped up to lay beside Len._ _ _ _


	23. Wild Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We suck. Briala's been traveling and working like crazy, and me, well, ahem, I'm behind because I suck big time and got a wild hair on my tookus to try and finish something I was working on last, like, in '09. Sorry!

And so easily, time moved on, their routines settled. Highever Saturnalias in a happy cottage, visits to Orzammar, West Hills, even Kinloch Hold in fall or spring. The children became more vocal, their personalities growing and blossoming into individual preferences, with Eleanor loving the time at the Vigil so long as she could be attached to Seneschal Varel’s pantleg or hand. Elissa loved it for access to all those archers of different kinds, at least when not being taught dirty, nasty tricks by one of the flock, specifically Tyronne who told her to dip her arrowheads in feces or garlic juice. Nate’s teaching was more about form and less about death. Sarah took frequent work on the side as a wetnurse to nearby families in Denerim itself, her days off spent in the palace’s nursery. Agnes became everyone’s old mother, content in passing on firsthand accounts of the end of the Rebellion, as it seemed she was known back then to swing a nasty ladle into heads. The flock became so present and normal in day to day life, that the small, elite guard of Crows entered into the roles of extended family themselves, teaching languages to the children. 

If Ferox sat back and looked at all that had been managed, he would feel overwhelmed by both good, bad, and of course the added dash of ho-hum grinding dreary. The Vigil expanded, Denerim’s neighbourhoods expanded, and so the world inside a tiny backwater nation’s realm, grew. He only had to focus on the steps before and just behind, allowing his faithful, loving scout to stare into the unknown to guide Ferox onwards.

The message sent to Kirkwall was answered very quickly, apparently the little healer and the duplicate were still in residence, not traveling as she supposed. As she had expressed a wish to see what she helped create, three year-old Len was removed from the Royal Harpy’s grasp. Ferox was not certain how much ‘sugar’ Anora had taken in that night to get her to agree, but it was done. Wherever Len went, so did his ‘nursery court’; Seneschal Eleanor, Captain of the Guard Lightning, Official Court Portrait Painter Elissa, who was also Lady Elissa, an accomplished archer, and Moira, Len’s self-adopted mother were in attendance. Sarah and Ulfric had been left behind in Denerim, as Sarah was caring for another newborn, one whose mother had died in the birthing, so couldn’t be spared, even though she remained in the employ of the Prince Consort, who had been planning for the second child and kept the peace of the nurse in place. Zevran’s flock of followers were aboard as well as Ser Geoffry and three other knights...not even with ‘sweetened’ tea would the Royal Mother allow the Heir be allowed to up and r-u-n-n-o-f-t without his guards. Not that Ferox minded, he still recalled the sickening lurch of realization that Len was a target for those wetwork teams, rather than just himself, so the more guards, the merrier.

The new estate of the Arl of Denerim had been completed shortly before Shianni and Nathaniel’s wedding, which also served as an open house party. During the time that estate was being built, it caused endless discussion, but after those more widely traveled claimed it was ‘the fashion,’ the derisive remarks were kept to a minimum. At the party, the nobility were most shocked at the blatant wearing of arms and armour by elven guards. Although the proclamation against elves bearing arms had been rescinded since the Blight, to actually see it was eye opening, to say the least. _Tongue flapping is a more accurate description_.

Even though the Howe name had done much good recently, thanks to Delilah and Nathaniel, of course the old wrongs had come up as well. Prior to Rendon Howe’s issue with his teryn, at least in the memory of those who should have known better, the Howes had been upstanding citizens. At the party, as in any other social setting when a scandalous whispered conversation was being held, it was casually interrupted or a puffed up Ser Bantam was drug off to meet Lord Helmi. Ferox himself had growled at a knot of them and the subsequent scattering of the frock wearing chickens was amusing.

After Shianni’s things were settled in the new estate, the Wardens took over the old one. Although Ferox may have had personal issues with it, those issues were nothing compared to Shianni’s or even of his own reactions to Highever and Ostagar. The building was much larger than what they needed, but the Commander hoped that the Wardens would grow into it. In the meantime, it would have other uses, visiting dignitaries, whose entourages were large, and another fruit and vegetable garden for the neighborhood. As the grounds were plentiful, hutches for rabbits and chickens were built along the narrow paths between the keep and the surrounding walls.

Denerim was rapidly progressing, when for years it had been slowed to a crawl, focused mainly on demolition and getting a few buildings habitable. School, parks, gardens, grazing grounds, orchards, covered markets, stone paved streets and sidewalks were springing up. Dagna’s healers had eventually come around and had a clinic on the Dwarven Embassy grounds. Trade was again flowing into the city with the rebuilding of the lighthouse, harbour, docks, and warehouse buildings. The workers who returned to Ferelden found plenty of new diverse employment waiting for them. Neat squares of apartments were built with courtyards at their center, mixed housing for singles and families, based on the success of the Alienage’s ‘planning and zoning’. First floors were often shops, and the second floors, which extended out over the sidewalks to protect pedestrians from the weather, were apartments joined by decking so that the residents didn’t have to go far to socialize with their neighbors - building a community was as important as the buildings themselves. Once the main building projects were finished and the roads gaining progress, the plan was to have buildings covered with mud brick faces then covered in thick layers of whitewash to help maintain a steady interior temperature year round. 

As unpopular as ‘Anora’s’ issued bulls were, they had a rapid impact, freeing up and adding to the labour pool. Focus on the basics while looking towards what would be needed shortly, left some of the seasons lean, but even that was becoming something of a passing concern. Within the next five years, Ferox and Zevran hoped to have the road projects as more than short and tenuous strings holding towns and cities together. Taxes were spent as soon as they arrived, profit margins were tight, but there was hope that it would change soon. 

Something that even Anora participated in, much to Ferox’s shock, was evening rambles through the rebuilt neighborhoods. It finally occurred to him that it was an opportunity to show off the latest trends in ladies’ fashion and to ‘take air’ - he winced every time his words came out of the Harpy’s mouth, but as it gave her a chance to form ‘real’ relationships with the families they walked with, he leashed most of his growling. Although he was not happy that the credit for the improvements, that were Zevran’s brainchild, were given to the Queen, most of them she didn’t even look at, review, or sign. The records certainly showed who was responsible, but the public face was hers, and the public face accepted the praise graciously. Which did have the added benefit of the Harpy not questioning every single proposal that crossed her desk with either Zevran or Ferox’s signatures, so long as it had to deal with land or trade. He wondered if she realized that she was becoming a true figurehead that was used only for her seal, but doubted she could focus on such matters. Zevran kept her periodically dosed with mild aphrodisiacs or sedatives, so that it was left to Camille or Ferox to keep her mind away from those items and allow them to do the ‘proper’ ruling of the country relatively unhindered. 

Zevran’s desk, once it was ensconced in Ferox’s office, had not left, which was something Ferox was very grateful for. He had taken to wondering if the amulet inclined elf had given him some of his own craving for touch and closeness in that sharing of minds on that first evening of spring. It was strange to want it, and as Zevran often complained, mental touch only put off the need for skin to skin contact for so long. While he was still working on play as a physical interaction, playful words still came easier and often ‘Earle the rock farmer and his sheep Ethel and Shorn’ made appearances just so he could to listen to Zevran’s complaints regarding being teased. 

The girls had once overheard ‘Earle’ speaking with Zevran as they walked by the nursery, and Ferox supplementing the history lessons, had begun to tell stories using Ethel and ‘Shorn’ to the girls’ delight, as well as Len’s. His boy would baa like a sheep at him, demanding that he do the voice, with Ulfric quickly following suit so that then there would be two toddlers baaing. So of course he would use those voices whenever teaching them about a broad range of subjects, such as planting and harvesting crops, animal husbandry, ranching, to food preservation. And whenever he did that, he could feel Zevran practically crawling the walls of his mind, nearly beside himself with a frenzy that wasn’t displayed outwardly other than a set of bared teeth from time to time - directly afterwards, behind closed doors was a different story however. Thanks to the old rock farmer, Ferox had found his place in the nursery beyond being ‘Uncle Fox’ who told boring stories with his colorful book of maps. Much to the surprise of the adults, Earle, or Ethel when a female voice was needed, also sang songs for planting, for baking or other time sensitive tasks, harvest festivals and other folk songs.

Traveling by ship left Ferox entirely too much time to think and brood, and despite Zevran’s gloating over his vessel design made tangible, it was much too much time on his hands. Aboard ship, they both spent time with the girls and lessons, but unlike the elf, when lessons were finished, Ferox needed air, needed to be away from too many people in small spaces. Although constantly together in the link, Ferox would stand on the prow, balanced with wide stance - alone. His thoughts were lighter than before, and generally, he could pull himself up when a dark mood took him. Still serious, he often now merely acted the part of someone with no sense of humor when it suited him. Also, he was merely acting when came the silver-tongued devil, an act that was also happening less. Frankly he didn’t miss that mask when it did not come easily, felt disarmed without it occasionally, but it was never a talent he wished to acquire in the first place. As his mind churned over this and many things, he reflected that although the mode of travel left him inactive, he was pleased that the others had a home base and were not constantly displaced as they had their last trip. For them, he would be anxious for movement, would read and attempt to hold himself to patience, or as much as he had. 

The letter from Avernus with instructions to ‘Stop shouting, young man!’, arrived well within the allotted constraints, carried down the mountains by Levi. He also passed on unofficial correspondence he had received from his brother Mikhael Dryden that was sent with some trade goods out of Orzammar. It was regular practice for official correspondence to be read, so they had taken to other means to communicate of anything outside of routine reports and meeting notes of trade negotiations. 

They would be using the opportunity to land at Ostwick on the other side of the Waking Sea to negotiate trade deals, meeting contacts from Markham, Hercinia, and a few from farther north that both Zevran and Delilah’s husband had made overtures to or had already established trade deals with. In addition, city leaders and other ruling entities were to be visited, so that they could be subtly shown designs or items of Ferelden make. All of this was the intended route to make further inroads with difficult personalities and all around plumbing the markets to see what niche they could fill. 

Moira had developed into an interesting puzzle for Ferox. Essentially she was Len’s mother, at least the mother who cared about him, which was more important than the physical womb in which he was created. And since the girls had self-adopted him as well, that made Uncle Fox - probably Earle, as he was more popular - one of their two fathers, ‘Zev’ being primary. That Moira helped make the evenings with the Harpy infinitely more pleasant, he could not ignore, and had been at a loss on how to thank her for it these years. It was awkward at best, but she blithely smiled and spoke gently and sweetly to him as she did to one and all, accepting all the rough edges that showed to those who he didn’t wear a mask with. Trying to share his views and opinions on what he wanted for the children, which in his mind encompassed more than just Len and the hoped for sibling, opened the door for other discussions and he had found a woman who was as down to earth as she seemed. 

Something Ferox caught himself doing, unawares, was leaning towards Moira when they spoke. He had grown fond of her scent, perfumed or not, finding it pleasant, comforting, and, despite - or perhaps because of - his activities with Anora, very much wanted...associating it with good things. _That causes a lurch in your step, now doesn’t it? Shut up. Leave it alone. Don’t touch. She’s Zevran’s._ Standing on the prow of the ship, his tightly braided hair resisting the tug of the wind, Ferox shook those thoughts from himself. A man did not flirt with or want a good friend’s woman. Okay, maybe a man could flirt a little, but only in a harmless brotherly way, compliments on her hair or dress. He should not do the things he wanted to do...did do through the link. _Oh Maker. You’re in trouble. Yes, I’m in trouble. You’re really in trouble. I know. Shut up. It’s worse because it’s **your lover’s woman**. Shut up! Just. Shut. The. Frell. Up!_ Breathing, he stilled himself. _What do you say? What do you do? Nothing. I don’t do or say anything. Let it go. Leave me be._

Growling to himself, _You know he’ll figure it out. Eventually, but not because I said anything. He probably already has, considering how you go straight into his bed after washing the stink of the Harpy off, and him still smelling and tasting of Moira. Shut up. Or how you lick him clean - like that’s not a dead give away. Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?!_ Leaning forward to grasp the wooden railing, Ferox stared at the dark water. _It’ll stop when Zevran’s dealt with the Harpy. And how do you think he’ll deal with her? Kill her of course. I know. And then you’ll have to live with that. And then he’ll have to live with doing something so...premeditated - and for what? To make things easier? There’s already a workable solution. Yes, one that involves Moira, hmn? Can’t say you’re sorry about that part, now can you? Maker - just leave me alone! Nothing is decided, nothing irreversible is done._ It wasn’t all about making things easier, or sharing in the link with Zevran as the assassin took Moira, but sometimes, that’s just what it felt like. 

Moira, the subject of his thoughts, approached, looking enticing in a pair of Zevran’s trews and a tunic belted around her waist. That always startled him, the habit she had taken during their weeks aboard ship, the wind was not particularly kind to skirts, and she had had to frequently catch hold of them or risk granting one and all a show. He had to say, at least in the confines of his mind, that it made her appear even more feminine somehow, showing off the sway of hips as she walked the deck, a mug in each hand, and her hair only loosely bound. 

A steaming mug was passed to him, the now free hand tucking a dark wave of hair behind a sapphire studded ear revealed with the unconscious motion. “It’s like we’re the only people out here. Which is funny, because if we went to the cabin, it’s almost like all the people in Thedas are crammed into a tiny space.”

A soft grunt of thanks and agreement, “You came out without a cloak, come share and watch the dolphins.

“I was getting overheated downstairs, so I didn’t think it’d be _quite_ as chilly as it is!” smiling as she shrugged herself under his outstretched arm.

“Summer or not, it is the wind and the closeness to the ocean. The more inland we go, the warmer the sea and the wind becomes as they are heated by the land.” _I love that scent, can’t you smell that? Shut up. Oh Maker, and Zevran’s too. That is pushing any man’s self-control. I said... Well, your arm’s around her. I’m holding the cloak so it is not blown back by the wind. Uh huh...sure._

Moira huddled in companionably, holding her own mug in both hands, sipping from it as she stood with him. “I remember, from one of the children’s lessons. How ‘large solids’ hold heat and then shed it. But I never thought about it applying to the water.”

“It is like any rock or brick heated by the fire, when placed at the foot of the bed it warms the sheets and blankets,” _Oh this is smooth, you are speaking of beds. It’s just a handy example; I didn’t mean anything,_ “and anything else it touches. The land does the same. Orlais can get quite warm in the summer, more so than other places along the sea. Species of fish and fruit trees survive there that they say only exist in much warmer climes.” 

“Like all those trees and bushes in the green house garden? I like that there’s those little fountains and streams in there now. Zevran said that they’re common in Antiva,” then she laughed. “Sometimes I think he’s hoping that if he changes enough things, then squints, he can fool himself that he’s there. He can be such a strange man sometimes. Then again, I think that’s men in general, yourself included.”

 _Don’t ask._ “How so?” _Really? I said don’t ask. Are you rumbling? Don’t do that either. But she smells nice. Shut up and stop making that sound. No, not quieter. Stop. No, don’t sigh either._

Moira leaned against him, ear to his chest, “Oh men are just different creatures from women, that’s all I meant.”

 _You are going to completely fail at behaving yourself and you’re still rumbling. So? She doesn’t seem to mind. And I told you she smells very nice._ “Yes, and we find you confusing as well, which was why I was hoping for enlightenment.” 

“Well I’d imagine so - even I find women a tad odd!” laughing lightly. 

Without thinking, “Zevran says I am a hound, rubs my head I’m certain just to hear a contented growl.” _Wait! would you stop and think for a minute!_

A very delicate snort, “As though you do not stroke your hand over his spine to hear him purr. I’m wise to your ways, both of you. And it’s positively sweet. I think it’s good for you both, and it makes me happy to see you both able to be content with small things like that. I know that if I could have Edric back for five minutes, all I would want is for his hand pressed to just over my navel as he always did. Those little things speak louder than words and do more than a whole library of those books of yours, packed front to back with prose ever could.”

“I don’t know, sometimes words are what is needed, often it is just the voice itself.” Curious, “So as you have identified the dog and the cat, what is the rest of our merry band?”

“Len is the teddy bear of course, always good for a squishy hug and a miniature growl-giggle, that he picked up from you, ser. Elissa is our little fleet footed hare, she’s been corrupted by you both, honestly, did you know she carries _lock-picks_ with her now? In her _hair_ no less. Not that I’m complaining, I’m sure they have their uses, but still.” Moira’s head rubbed against his chest as she looked up at him, smiling so he knew that there was no actual displeasure in that ‘blame.’ “Eleanor is our little fox, keenly going from one subject to the next, she’s so smart it’s just a little intimidating. My seven year old daughter reads better than I.” She shrugged slightly, “But seeing as I only picked it up because of the children’s lessons, that’s not very surprising, now is it? Ulfric is our sheep, sweet and quiet all the time. I would be worried more about his not speaking much if I wasn’t aware that boys usually progress much slower than girls in those things... Sarah is the placid and steady cow, and no, I don’t mean that as an insult. Nana Agnes is everyone’s grandmother, spoiling one and all, but I don’t know what animal that would qualify her as. Myself... I suppose I’m a mama bear half the time, or a doe the rest...”

Laughing, “I watched you defending your cubs and your home. And faithful hound or not, I thought twice before stepping between you and our ferocious cat. I was certain I would be torn to shreds and split between the two of you at the only thing that you could agree on at that point, partaking in a mostly peaceful meal.”

“Oh, dear me, _no_ ,” Moira turned an arm wrapping around his waist to hug him. “No. It was just, I... We spent what seemed like eternity in the Chantry. Locked inside, elbow to elbow. I remember having a knife under my skirts.” She paused, pressing her face into his chest. “In case...in case those...those things came. In case they got inside. I would spare my girls. And with...with what was happening, it was those nights, all over again. And all I could see was Zevran trying to tell me my thinking was wrong, just like some of the other mothers said, they were horrified when I said I would...would do what I had to. It wasn’t particularly rational of me and to have you feel that I would be party to tearing you apart - no, no, no. Don’t even jest about such things.”

Keeping the cloak tight about her meant that he was holding Moira to him. _Would you stop smelling her hair?_ “Several things and I don’t know what order...” Haltingly, “I was there and your thinking in the Chantry was right. The alternative was much worse...stuff of nightmares I never wish to see again. To save anyone from that fate, regardless of the permanency of the method, should be done. Do not doubt that or hesitate. As to the memory of these things, they don’t politely send a letter and fit themselves neatly into scheduled plans. Small things can bring them about, just as others bring pleasant memories of home and hearth. The little healer tried to teach me something about saving ‘jewels of memory.’ I wasn’t listening then and hope to ask for another lesson,” he admitted rather uncomfortably. Perhaps because what she was trying to show would have helped over the past few years. “As to the ‘jest’, I was not. I need both of you to work together and when in a crisis, if there is a rare moment of entrenched disagreement, I am a willing sacrifice if it leads to cooperative peace.” _Oh, I think you’ve made a mess of that. But it’s true._ Sighing, at some point he had rested his cheek against the top of her head. _Pay more attention. Oh shut up, I didn’t ask you._

Moira only nodded, the arm that was pinned between them with the mug guiding it up to sip every few moments as she didn’t let go with the other. It was peaceful, that much he could admit, that much he could accept. He had hugged her and held her that day they fought, knew the fear and the thing he, they, had learned in Amaranthine. It wasn’t guilt that led to reaching out to comfort, rather it was understanding. _So why are you here now? Stop asking questions. I like this. No, no you don’t. You love this...you know you’re in trouble. Sigh._

How he managed to extricate himself exactly still eluded him, but he did get her shooed back to the cabin, escorting her so she wouldn’t be cold from the cutting wind. Then he had to return to the prow once more because he _really_ needed the air at that point. _This is payback, I know it. I must’ve done something to irritate the Maker recently to be punished like that. Like this. Why does she have to be so blastedly pleasant? And smell so good? Why does she have to be so thoughtful? Because she’s your friend, the mother of your children for all intents and purposes, one that actually cares about them, one that would do whatever it took to keep them safe, one that would give as much as you would for their happiness and well-being. Do stop making sense, please? No, sorry, that is not the order of the day. Like Ignacio said so long ago - ‘sometimes I have to be real honest.’ Well, could you stop that? Haven’t I had enough ‘honesty’ for today? Hardly._

Shifting uncomfortably, shrugging the cloak open to allow the sharp wind current to strike him and hopefully jar him back to reality, Ferox groaned mentally. _She had his smell all over her. And her hair was oiled, the same stuff he puts in your hair. Oh, sod it. He sent her. Sigh. Well that’s one test you probably really messed up, huh? Stuff it. Too bad Anora’s not anything like her. Oh, low blow - that’s rude. But true. Very. Then I wouldn’t even be in this predicament, now would I? Maker, I really should go to bed now. Oh yes, to your lover, who just sent his woman to you for purposes unknown, who you now smell like, fancy that. Don’t whimper, that’s not manly - unless Zevran’s doing one of those things with his tongue, because no one can handle that. I hate you. Much obliged, always glad to help._

With a groan, he scrubbed a hand, which also smelled of Moira, over his face and trudged to his and Zevran’s cabin. _Oh, don’t be excited on my account, just walk on down to the chopping block, it’s alright, it’ll only hurt a moment. Yes, but then my eyes’ll keep blinking when the head’s severed from the body. Hmn, true, that is a dreadful sight. If I slept on deck, do you think he’d notice? That pile of rope looked comfortable. If you slept on deck, do you think he wouldn’t come up here and hog tie you, then do something inexplicably embarrassing? Your point is nearly valid. How far away do you estimate the nearest shore? Not close enough, the sea is still cold and hypothermia would be a bad thing. As bad as a mad Zevran? Probably not. Well, it appears you do have options then._ Except then he was sure that somehow Zevran would get a dingy lowered and would be searching the water for him. And then he would get scolded along with added humiliation and Moira would probably help. _Okay, that argument? It’s a valid one._ With dragging steps, wishing he had learned how to make a horse walk backwards, or at least taught himself to occasionally run away from duty and obligation, Ferox opened the door and took off his spray dampened cloak hanging it on the hooks close to the door.

Zevran was sprawled in a customarily improbable position, a book in hand, reading. “Mmn, customary evening brooding done for the time being, yes? Good, now you can come get comfortable and allow me to brighten the little storm clouds away, _amora_. After I finish this page, it is getting to the interesting part.”

 _Inhaled, chewed up, and spit out...yep, a dead man,_ pulling off his boots. _Take your punishment, just don’t cry. Shut up!_ Flopping on the bunk, closing his eyes, he really did not want to see this coming.

With a snap several minutes later, the book closed and was set on the bolted down end table. Then a hand snuck itself up under his tunic, a head came to rest on his shoulder, and a sigh was released. Which wasn’t so bad, but Ferox wasn’t fooled - Zevran was sniffing him. And if Ferox could smell Moira’s soft perfume mixed with Zevran’s all over himself, then Zevran _certainly_ could as well. _Kill me quickly._

“Tchk, such an expression, _querido_. Is something wrong?” long fingers stroked idly over his stomach and an aquiline nose pressed into the side of his neck before lips kissed the vein there. 

Pained, “I don’t know,” words drug from him.

The hand on his abdomen slid away to cup his cheek, turning his face and he could feel the eyes on him, feel the concern in the link. Ferox waited for the customary riffling through his recent thoughts, but none came. He wasn’t sure if that was worse. _He knows._ It was the only logical answer - why search for an answer when it was already known? _If you get to choose your last words, what will they be?_ “What are you reading?” _What? Oh...Zevran’s last words not your own. Okay, I can live with that...err bad choice of words._

Ferox wasn’t expecting that burning honey liquor laugh. Or the full mouth on his. _Oh, right, this is when the knife gets plunged somewhere at some point._ But both hands were on him, running over Ferox’s face, shoulders and urging him to undress, while those lips moved firmly, warmth in the amulet, distracting Ferox from everything else. _Yup, there’s the whimper. Don’t worry you can’t help that one - he’s doing - Sweet Maker!_ Ferox forgot that he was supposed to be waiting for a stab in the back or having his heart ripped from his chest or one of those other myriad ways his inventive assassin lover could no doubt kill him. _Heart might just beat itself out of my chest though..._ It never failed, that simultaneous joining of mind and body, unifying them beyond simple sharing of thought or pleasure, it always, always, _always_ left Ferox swimming, struggling to move with and against the current. Clutching at the bed-sheet and at Zevran’s blond locks, the slow swaying torturous as it struck and ground, then slid against that spot in time to his ragged breathing. 

Lost in it, Ferox barely noticed the change in position, until the hot breath on the back of his neck became words, words that were timed with each lunge, lips ghosting over the skin there, “She does smell good, nearly as good as you do, _amora_.”

And it was accompanied by a memory based sensory wash of Moira and then the scent of her arousal, then her completion. Shuddering, Ferox groaned, biting his knuckle to keep from thinking or speaking, which would have likely been near impossible with the rolling of Zevran’s hips against him anyway. _Trap! Big one. Right there. Trap. Trap! Don’t touch that._

The angle changed and a hand wrapped around his hardness, stroking in a cross rhythm to the pace taking him with aching slowness, even as he heard Zevran’s breathing turning into half-groans of encouragement. If possible his cruelly thorough and distracting assassin’s voice and accent thickened as it went lower, sultry. Enticing him to respond to the next statement, “The taste on your tongue, it is even better as she melts, hmn?”

 _No, no, no. Do not whimper._ Of course he couldn’t help it as taste came with scent, all while the ‘grounding’ sensation of Zevran filling him up was there. In his ear Zevran moaned before that tongue slid around the single earring and Ferox felt the release twitching through the Antivan. He ran into the one giant erratic rock in his path, one dropped by a melting glacier and left behind, his own personal stumbling stone with his name written in big bold block letters on the base, “Why?”

Another laugh, this time so close he could feel it, the rocking continuing, the stroking limitless. More words, no accusation but utter surety, “You want to hear her, take her until she pants your name in the side of your neck, _amante_.”

Unable to hold in the panicked whine, even as he bucked into the surging, Ferox desperately shook his head. Linked, even he knew better than to deny, to lie. _Trap._ Only safety was in silence, but that would not stay so for long. Others more resolved than he cracked easily. 

“All you have to do is say, ‘yes,’” crooned, clever fingers and diligent hand and insistent thrusting.

“Zevran, please...” words lost for an instant, he was not certain what would leave his mouth, “don’t...” _Admit it and move onto the next life._ “Shouldn’t want that...her.” _No tower. Water’s deep. It’ll have to do._

The pace slowed to a soothing crawl, hands moving away so they could run over his sides. “My foolish love,” said with as much care as Ferox ever heard from Zevran, which was a great deal. _’There is no ‘should’ or ‘should not,’ **querido**.’_

And then Zevran was slipping away from him, the full blast of reassurance stemming the tide of panic. _’Zevran?’ Oh you answered the question. Told you to pay attention._

 _’Shh, I will be back,’_ warmth enveloped him like a thick blanket, leaving Ferox nearly paralyzed. 

_Still certain that whimpering is bad? No, no it’s not. Help yourself. Have some for me, while you’re at it,_ trying to sit up. _Okay that didn’t work. Neither will flailing about on the floor, provided you could actually roll over. Back to the whimpering then? Don’t let me stop you. This could just be the preamble to smothering. Oh please, going down in armour is so much more fun. Fun? Well, I was thinking of Zevran’s fun not yours. Probably some nice big heavy guard armour down in the hold. Would make a lovely splash and think of all of fish you’d see. **Shut up**!_

The door opened then locked, “Yes, well, you know how he is, hmn? Of course how long did it take _you_ to admit it, _preciosa_?”

“Oh don’t be mean,” a playful huff followed by Zevran’s deep chuckle. “Are you sure he’s alright with this?”

“Mph, I had him begging, look at him, he is laying there wallowing now. He said that he ‘should not’, as though it were some crime, tchk. Fereldens, so finicky!” no malice as Ferox turned his head and let himself peek from under his forearm at the two as they teased back and forth. 

_’Your attention if you please, **querido**? Ah, I have it, good. Yes, yes, I see you looking, it is a nice sight is it not?’_ said as Zevran stood behind Moira who was blushing but looking at Ferox, fingers dancing over her tunic covered sides, tugging the fabric this way and that. Momentary outlines were brought into sharp focus before being smoothed away as Zevran’s face dipped down to the side of Moira’s neck, inhaling audibly while he held Ferox’s gaze. _’I spent over thirty years shared and sharing with Rinna and Taliesin, what did you think I had with them, hmn? One or the other? Or both, but they had nothing to do with each other? Oh yes, one was more important, but that does not mean I had nothing for the other. Or that they did not share themselves with each other.’_ Images were shown to him of the mechanics necessary, so the first two options given surprised him, _’I can stay or I can go or I can join in, hmn?’_

Chagrined at his previous thoughts, _However, I wish to point out that the armour wouldn’t have been an option, as Zevran would have wanted to know it was done. Although death is still possible. It’s always possible, but that’s been true since we met. ‘Don’t leave me. Stay, show me, please.’ You can stop talking. Thank you. I told you to trust. No you didn’t. Shut up. Well, I’ve told you before at least once, at some point, can’t remember when, but I did - so there. Don’t make me hurt you. Too late, it happens enough. Oh hey, wait, they’re doing things, perhaps attention really shouldn’t wander...bad habit that is._

 _’Perhaps showing her a bit of enthusiasm rather than appearing that you are about to walk the gallows is in order, hmn, **mi hermoso corizon**?’_ gently chiding as long dark curls were pushed aside so that Zevran’s full lips could press up and down along the side of Moira’s neck. _’She is already worried that you are doing this out of some form of obligation, or because I have forced you to it because of my own ‘peculiar’ tastes and to appease her curiosity.’_

Narrowly avoiding a sigh, grateful that the blanket he was swathed in, that had prevented him from jumping ship, had fallen away sometime during his own argument. Sitting and swinging his feet to the floor, Ferox cleared his throat so he would not croak, “Moira, please,” and held out a hand to her. He could not taste intention and could not know for himself unless he asked. 

In Zevran’s arms she jumped slightly, clearly nervous, but he could still see she was eager. _How long had she actually wanted this? Not a clue - and I’m not asking!_ But Zevran gave her a reassuring stroke over her arms that sent her to stand in front of Ferox and quickly to take his hand between hers in the long familiar gesture. _When had it become familiar? Don’t know, years. Amaranthine? No - before that._ It was odd, he had never noticed how it took both her hands to cover just one of his, but there was strength in those hands too, not just the softness, because there were certainly callouses. 

Stepping carefully on a trapped path, unable to see where they lay as this was unknown territory, “I only want what will make you happy. No, or yes, I will not be angry. I need to hear from you, if this is what you want. There is choice here, having been without it enough times, I know its value.”

“I’ve shared my body with you for years, it...” Moira took a deep breath, squeezing his hand with hers. “It only seems proper for me to be curious about you as well.” If her pale skin could turn any pinker she would be a watermelon, but he could see she was determined. “Once we became a family, it...I. Had thoughts. But you’re Zevran’s. He teased me once about being...being ‘antsy’ at one point and I said that I really shouldn’t think that way about you. That didn’t turn out very well. Um, it was very embarrassing the things he told me, I didn’t even know they were possible, and I’m still not entirely sure half the things he described are remotely feasible with simple human anatomy. But even if some of them aren’t, the rest sure sounds...interesting.” Colour high in her cheeks, “Oh, oh I’m not saying this right...”

The bed creaked slightly as Zevran hopped onto it, arms looping loosely around both of them, “I believe that was around the first Saturnalia.”

 _’Rather long range plans,’_ holding onto the purring cat in his mind. Tugging Moira closer, “I have had many of the same thoughts, ‘shouldn’t’ being foremost. However, other than ‘interesting’ and ‘antsy’, you haven’t said this is what you actually want. You’ve heard that I will abide by your choice, but I need to hear what that choice is or go find some air.”

_’And you wonder why she would want you? Tchk, you sell yourself so short.’_

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be here,” that was said firmly and the blush was still in place but it was fading. “I have always had the opportunity to say ‘no’, but I don’t, because I don’t want to say no. I want to say yes. So...so I am.”

Laughter, _’Seeing much Eleanor and Elissa in her answer. Len will have to be very careful.’_ Formally, Ferox recognized her answer, “Then your desires are mine. I accept you as you accept me.” It was still a way out, but choice mattered, always mattered. “I do have one request though. I really would like to smell your hair. You about drove me off the ship today.” Crinkles appearing about his brown eyes.

He should have expected the half tackle, the girls got it from somewhere after all, but he had his arms full of Moira and amused chuckling from nearby as she lay her head on his shoulder. Zevran and Moira were nearly of a height, but in Ferox’s arms she was much smaller in comparison, not that he minded at all. “He did my hair with some oil because the salt water was making it stringy.”

 _’Well, it was...’_ more amusement. A contented purr, “Mmm you both make a pretty picture, hmn?’”

“Was that his excuse? That’s nothing like the one I got. We should compare notes to keep our rogue,” one hand reaching for Zevran while the other arm held Moira, “on the straight and narrow.”

Light and airy laughter, “I prefer him crooked.”

“Tchk - you both are horrible, taking pot shots at this old man,” Zevran lifted hose and Ferox’s entwined hand to kiss it. 

Burying his face in Moira’s hair and inhaling the scent which he had longed to do since leaving the Peak, since the fragrance had first tempted him, Ferox rumbled happily. ‘Earle’ said, “A crooked ol’man ina crooked ol’howse with’a crooked ol’cat...” Laughing and squeezing Zevran’s hand, “I suppose it does make me look good, comparatively.” _This is a long way from the bottom of the sea. Thank you very much for the use of your observational skills as I hadn’t noticed that already. Well, to be fair, I couldn’t be sure, as you can be a bit thick-skulled. Damn it, I keep telling you it was the ogre who cracked it. Yes, and Flemeth said she fixed it... Well I don’t trust her. Yes, but you’re distracting me._

There were a few stutters to their start as only one out of the three of them was actually _familiar_ with what having a third member would entail. Not only that, but Ferox could tell Zevran was hanging back, allowing him to explore with the security of his presence. What he found interesting, was that Moira kept her eyes above his waist a good long while, focusing on the breadth of his shoulders with the passes of her hands while he touched her hair and back. These were almost familiar territories, but exciting somehow. He had never had a woman in his arms be soft for him and Moira was all things soft and nurturing. 

The lovely scent of Zevran and Moira was here, not just in his mind, not just leftover, left behind, something for him to roll in or taste later, it was now. The rumbling in his chest continued as she touched his face and he smiled up at her, doing the same, even tracing ears and the lines of her neck. Ferox knew all of these things by sight only, her form only by small touches of hand or a kiss to the cheek, a hug, unable for the sake of propriety to take the time to look closer. Keeping himself disadvantaged, for some time not wishing to push her past where she was comfortable, when she was not certain, he finally asked, a finger brushing over her cheeks, “May I kiss you?”

She bounced slightly her focus clearly having been so locked in that she had appeared to forget. Her hands framed his face as she leaned in, meeting him halfway, with a smile. Moira’s lips were plush and slick, the flesh of her face of a far finer grain than a man’s and the tongue that slid against his even felt different. Ferox had never noticed that sort of detail before in his limited experience, as he hadn’t thought of it or actually _welcomed_ a woman before. 

_’I believe that qualifies as a ‘yes’ **querido** ,’_ husky voiced humour. 

_’You do know I love you, right? Because I’m jumping, well, more like falling, into this great big monster sized pit that screams ‘trap’, with arrows and signs that clearly say ‘Beware of Trap’, because you’re telling me it’s going to be okay.’_

There was shifting on the bed, Zevran’s warm chest pressing to his back, providing support in more than the physical. Those deft hands slid down his arms to touch Moira, while Zevran’s lips pressed behind his ear. _’How could I not know you love me when you show me in so many ways, hmn? I love you as well, **amora**. Rest assured that nothing can change that, yes?’_

 _So much to take on faith alone. And you already failed that today. I know, leave me alone._ Just like the memory of scent, the actual taste of her was more concentrated than the shared memory and experience itself. Wanting to pull her closer to, delve into the sweetness of her kisses, his willpower not to do what he wanted was a point of pride and Ferox reminded himself to let _more_ be her choice. 

There was a breathy sigh against his mouth, Moira squirming, the borrowed leggings discarded as she fell back against the mattress as she shoved the dark russet brown wool from her legs. Leaning down, Ferox tugged off the low boots she had slipped on and tossed them into the pile near the door, then slipped the hem of the leggings past where they had caught on her heel. He’d laugh, but that, that would be wrong as her legs kicked playfully, showing flashes of a dark thatch and pale thighs, then bounced back up to pull at her tunic, licking her lips eagerly.

Habitually, he folded the leggings, _Oh, Maker, just kick me. I can’t not do this._ Feeling the humour behind him. _Little do you know that I’m restraining myself from folding my clothes, which are tossed around here, Maker only knows where._ Spotting a pair of socks stuffed under a pillow, Ferox made a face before matching and rolling them. _Compulsive? Shut up._ Apologetically, taking Moira’s tunic from her, he folded hers too, “Don’t ask...although, Zevran’s probably already shared,” quirking a lip.

“Ohh...the famous puttering in action!” both hands went to her mouth, not really covering the smile as she was on the mattress, on her knees, bare and watching him.

Zevran elegantly rolled onto his side, head propped up on a hand, “And you did not believe me, tchk.”

“Shush, you,” Moira leaned over to kiss Zevran, who tipped his head back, accepting it warmly.

 _’Mmn, yes, I can taste your mouth in hers,’_ it purred in the halls of Ferox’s mind.

“You have no idea how hard it it not to put everything to rights,” truth rumbled, but told as a possible joke. _’And your taunting me with images and tastes is probably the only reason I’m not scrounging under the bunk for the other clothes to fold,’_ finding the cat and running fingers through its fur. _’Cruel, to keep me from my puttering’,_ Ferox teased as he turned to watch. Something suddenly occurred to him, _Huh. In designing the cabins, he planned for rather large bunks. Long ranged plans, indeed._

One of Zevran’s eyes was open, the sliver of gold visible through the dark fall of Moira’s hair that was pushed aside by a bronze hand, watching and according invitation in one. _Dear Maker, Desire demons should take lessons from you._

The smile was obvious, _’I heard that. So you think, mmn?’_ His assassin parted from Moira, “I believe our dear Ferox has finished with his quite necessary tasks.”

Her eyes were unfocused, blinking several times as they swung back to Ferox, teeth dragging against her bottom lip. As the dark blue cleared, the single finger she pressed to her mouth, stroking it back and forth made Ferox’s stomach clench for some inexplicable reason. Moira rocked forward on her knees to clasp his knees, head tipped back to look at him as the ebony fall of hair spilled around the alabaster rounded shoulders, one tantalizing curl framing a sepia nipple.

Leaning to kiss her again, beginning where he left off, and to see if he could taste Zevran, Ferox regained his rumble. Kisses trailed along Moira’s jaw to the hollow beneath an ear, tasting with a flick of a tongue the peppered sweet flavour of skin at the pulse point. Unable to resist, his hand ran through her hair down her spine, resting at the small of her back before stroking underneath the curls, back up to her shoulders again. Down her neck, tasting kisses were laid to the hollow of her throat. Again the pleased rumble deepened at the flavour and scent that had first caught his attention as arms slid around his shoulders.

He hadn’t expected her to crawl into his lap or to press her body to him, Ferox had thought there would be, perhaps not more patience, but that she would require more of him to get to a point where she was comfortable. Breasts mashed against his chest, the sensation at once familiar and utterly foreign. Moira was rubbing against him, her mouth exploring his neck and chest just as his were doing the same to her. For a brief instant he was overwhelmed when crisp hairs came in contact with the underside of his cock, trapping it between his stomach and her pubic bone, soft thighs wrapping around his waist. But then Zevran was there, on his knees, stroking their backs, kissing open places, murmuring encouragements in Ferelden, praising their beauty, the rightness of the actions, echoing their want with his own and his words.

Unbidden the rumble stuttered and resumed its prior life as Moira sighed, grinding against him, a soft sound that became a moan when he leaned her back to fasten his lips around a wrinkled and pebbling nipple. _’Don’t say you told me so, but you are right,’_ remembering Zevran’s need for breasts. Tongue rolling over the tip with a continued growling rumble. 

_’Hmn, they are soft and inviting. A source of the holy feminine or some such, yes?’_ was the only statement while fingers combed through his hair, finally taking the last of the braid down. 

The comforting touch combined with the newness, reminded Ferox of safety. Cupping the other breast, his thumb brushed over the darkened areola as he continued tasting. After a moment, he switched, growling and wrapping an arm around Moira so he could lay her back, needing to cover her with himself. He got lost in exploring the soft curves and lines, listening to Moira’s whimpers, groaning at her own explorations of him when Zevran pulled him away enough for her to have a chance to do so. Leaning against his assassin as Moira alternated between kissing and licking his scars, finding the particularly nasty one that could have killed him, _Nearly did,_ that Zevran had delivered during the vicious fight when he had first encountered the Crow, that was on the inside of his thigh. _Whatever that really looks like, it’s shape is what a ‘Z’ should look like._

Then she was sucking on him and that too was different. Added in were her hands joined by Zevran’s; hers on Ferox’s legs and hips, Zevran’s in Ferox’s hair and stroking his chest. Shuddering, Ferox reached back to clutch at Zevran’s head, his face turning to pant in the side of sun-baked neck, hips rising unabashedly from the bed as Moira hungrily moaned and tasted him. _Ruler of the Desire demons..._ As he neared the inevitable fall, Zevran’s hand went down to grasp him firmly, allowing him his plummet from a great height, but without the necessary end.

His groan was muffled by Zevran’s mouth while a hand pressed to Moira’s cheek, urging her to stop before Ferox lost his mind. _Too late._ Supported as he recovered in a position that should have been awkward, Ferox watched as his lover curled and twisted around him to spread Moira’s thighs and thoroughly taste her, head tilted to let him watch as dark pink tongue slithered and slipped against Moira’s dusky and flushed sex. Unable to stop the whine from breaking loose, Ferox summoned up the energy to join his mouth to tasting the musky sweetness, face bumping with Zevran’s that shared brief and lazy kisses while Moira keened, hips twisting on the mattress, the muscles in the curve of her soft stomach tensing as her back arched.

Growling as the taste of her permeated his senses, the sound of her, the scent of her, all mixing with himself and with Zevran, Ferox struggled to hold back from what his body was crying out for. Moira on the other hand had different thoughts, pressing him to roll over as she straddled his waist, dragging and rubbing her soaking sex against his shaft before taking him into her sheath. With a hoarse cry, Ferox’s hands locked around her hips, his own rising up to meet her rocking. 

Strong and dexterous fingers joined the dance as Zevran pushed Ferox’s legs far enough apart to accommodate the elf, ones slipping to where Moira was joined to him, causing her to fall forward, grinding against the dual sensations, while it was all Ferox could do to hang on and watch and feel. Then the other set of digits were inside him making anything other than sensation impossible to pay any attention to. _Demon, definitely a demon. No, no. Ruler, ruler - remember? No._ Then Ferox was being filled even as he filled Moira, pinning him and trapped between the pleasures. _Lord High Supreme Ruler? No, no, Emperor._ Moira keened into the side of his neck, all of her muscles trembling around and against him, milking his member as she orgasmed. _If demons have a god, Zevran’s definitely it. Oh, that makes sense. Yes, yes it does._

Over Moira’s shoulder, Ferox could see Zevran’s look of intense concentration, the sweat beading on his brow, the hungry baring of teeth with each lunge, even as Ferox fought to keep from crying out, from helplessly echoing Moira, whose hips his assassin had a firm grip on, making her rock in the same rhythm he used. _Tower. Stuck in the Tower, that’s the only explanation. Only place where I met demons, no, yes, first place. Yep, that’s what this entire last decade has been. Sloth messed up, so the really dangerous one took over, that’s definitely the only logical answer. Logic? At a time like this?_ He was fairly sure he was losing the battle for self control, but Ferox couldn’t be entirely certain that the harsh cry was himself. _I’m just stuck in a pile of ooze on some hard stone floor, aren’t I? Least my back is straight._

When had Moira slipped away? He couldn’t recall. _Okay, I’m pretty sure I’m dying, as there is something sucking me dry. No, that’s just Moira. You sure? Because I’m totally not certain. Then double check. I have no idea how to do that. OPEN YOUR EYES. Oh, that would be rather simple, I think I can do that yes - ‘SWEET MAKER.’_ Hungry laughter accompanied a very determined and purposeful set of thrusts, while Zevran’s hand plunged itself in Moira’s hair, urging her to take more of Ferox’s manhood into her suckling mouth, swallowing around the thickness. _Oh Maker, that looks good, that looks really, really good. Feels even better, oh Maker don’t ever stop. Can I think of words other than ‘good’? No, that means thinking, which you can’t do right now._

A broken moan left Zevran collapsing against him, hips stuttering to a halt finally. _Oh Maker, my heart didn’t explode? Don’t be too sure about that._ Zevran wiped a hand over his mouth before grabbing for Moira’s hips, dragging her closer to lap at her, bathing her sex with his tongue, the pleasure of combined essences flowing between him and Ferox even as mutually worn and exertion stressed muscles protested. 

When the mind reconnected to muscles and the ability to control them in useful ways, other than twitching which for a while appeared to be their full time job, Ferox shifted to Moira tasting the hollow of her throat, the saltiness of her skin lovely with the pepper sweet scent. Kissing her mouth, tasting the sweetness of stimulation in her flavour and of each of them there, her hitched breath caught in his mouth, a pleased rumble rolled in his chest. This was so much better than cold leftover seconds.

Turning his head, Ferox looked into the lazy feral eyes of his beautiful sun god. Trailing kisses down Moira’s breastbone, down her stomach and around her navel, he lifted his head to kiss Zevran. Sharing the mix of essences, the link thick with it, they both rumbled. Laying down pulling Zevran along with him, arms full of them both, Ferox was happy. _Just happy? There’s probably a better word, but that takes thinking and I’m all out of that. Good._

Settling in, the air quickly chilling damp bodies, Ferox and Moira curled around Zevran. Ferox’s head was tucked against Zevran’s chest needing the steadying heartbeat while Moira was snuggled to the elf’s back, no doubt listening to the same. Their legs were one big tangle and Ferox was holding Moira’s hand, his arm draped over Zevran. _A pile of mabari puppies tired after a long romp. She’s a bear and he’s a cat. Hush._ Putting his few thoughts in order, _‘Zevran, for the record and before I ruin everything by waking up grumpy because my back is all twisted or there’s people in my space or the sheets are tied around me, I love this.’_


	24. Biological Time Bomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always - we appreciate the time you take to read this, and hope you have even a fraction of the fun reading it that we had writing it!

[Dulsanaya]

A quiet day, unlike the week before at the Bone Pit. First there had been deepstalkers, then dragons, a fire last month, and last week a tunnel-collapse. Hawke was beginning to tire of cleaning the place out, moving rubble just to keep the place operational. Even though workers were returning to Ferelden, there was still an endless supply of the untrained. Some pointed out that perhaps a place named the Bone Pit wasn’t where someone should invest their extra cash. At least it was ‘safer’ than it had been before Hawke’s investment. There was a good supply of rare metals, mushrooms, and even some lyrium pools. 

Still why anyone wanted to go there was a question that puzzled Dulsanaya. Adding the new tunnel to the map of the Bone Pit’s caverns in her book after pulling it out of her satchel, something new came into range. Pausing in her drawing, not seeing what was in front of her, she tasted this new thing, many things actually, all slightly different with a similar undertone, familiar, yet not an everyday flavour. Tearing through memories, she found it and announced, _’Company in two days, if the winds remain steady, **emma’mi**.’_

Zevran twirled Vigilance to free her of blood, the pile of deepstalkers toed aside. _’What sort of company?’_

_’The summer cat and his blizzard, as expected.’_

The tall Crow sheathed his blade, squatting as his ears twitched, listening, _’Very well.’_

 _’Hopefully that one can whisper better.’_ Remembering the headache, _all_ of their headaches.

Mental and flesh hand came to rest at the small of her back. _’He has had a few years of practice, since they are coming, that means Trouble survived. Which indicates that my duplicate has learned to curb his...enthusiasm.’_

A shrug, as the cat had not yet made contact, although given his range it was likely possible that he could. _’From what this one can tell, there are differences in Gaeaf. However, **na’asha** would need to see closer to be certain...he is almost slushy. If this is true, he will need a new name, and Trouble is already taken...by a mabari.’_

 _’We will see,’_ a mental shrug. _’For now we should finish this and I will see about more beans and such. Last time he nearly cleaned us out.’_ His lips quirked, _’And I still prefer to call the shem, Trouble.’_

Emerald eyes laughed up at him, ignoring the fact that it was _he_ who had given nearly all his supply to the other, _’If his winter brought this one a present, then it will be worth a few beans. The cat was very hungry for home. Even a simple memory of tastes and sounds and colours was treasured.’_

Beside her Zevran again shrugged, _’That is something I understand very well, **em’lath’sa**. Come, I hear no more pests and it looks as though your drawing is done.’_

A light mental touch, reaching out to him, to them both as she remembered how easily the cat had heard through Gaeaf, leaving behind the flavour of vanilla, pineapple and mint, a greeting and an indication that they were drawing closer. 

....  
[Ferox]

Ferox lifted his eyes from a book, yet another one on farming techniques that he had found one on of their stops, _’Did you feel that?’_

Zevran was playing with Len, who kept running around chasing, the tassel ended rope that his lover was dragging on the ground, _’Hmm, I could reach her, but I do not wish to give you a headache of that magnitude, **amora**. Suffice to say we have been noticed and given welcome, yes?’_

Wincing at just the thought of Zevran trying to reach that far, _’Thank you for thinking of that. I believe I’ll pass.’_ Looking over at Len, “Are you training another dog?”

Len dove and managed to catch the rope, giggling, “Up! Papi - Papi - Up!”

Zevran executed a complex looping of rope around Len’s middle, muscles flexing in his arms, causing Len to lift off from the floor and bounce up and down. “A human yo-yo. Hmmn, is that fun, _mijo_?”

“Yes! Swing, Papi, swing! Wanna fwy!” a giggling and happy demand.

“Tchk, no, we are not on deck, there is no room, _mijo_ , it is not safe,” the Antivan nonetheless still yank-bounced Len into the air, catching their squealing son.

Len squirmed, hugging Zevran then spying Ferox looking at him, waved, then blew a kiss, “Daddy! Love yuh! Fwy me?”

Making a funny face back, “Ha ha, that’s Papi’s job, no foolin’ me, tricky boy.” _Besides that, ropes and I don’t get along._

“Oh,” the expression was so sad, little brows quirking up over his nose, the rosebud of his mouth making an ‘o’. “Oh, noooes...”

 _’He’s yours alright,’_ Ferox grinned at the pair of them as Zevran kissed Len’s temple.

 _’Ours, ours,’_ smiling as he looked over the curly dark haired head. ‘Whispering’ to Len, “Papi will take you up for flying later. You are my favourite boy after all.”

“Fabe-oh-rut, fabe-oh-rut, Papi,” Len glued himself to Zevran tightly, patting the Antivan’s shoulder.

“Can I have some sugar?” Zevran asked, puckering his lips.

Vigorous nodding and a quick kiss, “Mwah!”

“Should we give Daddy some sugar, hmmn? We would not want him to feel left out, now would we?” 

“No out! Daddy get shoogur,” Len squirmed desperately trying to reach for Ferox. “Gib Daddy shoogur, Len gib.”

Reading time over apparently, setting aside the thick tome, Ferox pushed himself out of the bunk to get his promised sugar and give some of his own. Pressing his face to Len’s belly, “Is there sugar here? Om om...nooo. No sugar here.” Len howled, wriggling his toddler-chubby tummy as he huffed and growled his laughter while Zevran held him ‘prisoner’, the now neat rows of tiny white teeth where once there had been breaks in them, showing like miniature white monoliths.

“How about over here?” Ferox ‘tried’ under an armpit, tickling Len instead.

“Daddy! Daddy!” calling out with unabashed joy, like the time they took the boy to play outside in a spring rain, jumping and splashing around. 

“I’m not finding any....oh! I remember, it’s under here!” Rubbing his scruffy chin on Len’s neck. “This is my favourite spot of all,” and proceed to pretend to ‘eat’. “Yum-yum, baby neck sugar! Mmm, mmm. Good stuff.”

“Got me, got me!” arms wrapped around his head, little legs kicking as the bottom squirmed in Zevran’s hold, who was laughing as well, sending his approval and warmth to him.

“Uh oh! No more neck sugar. But Papi has neck sugar, quick get’im!”

Len turned in Zevran’s arms to go on the attack with Ferox, who wrapped his arms around both of the men in his life. His lover and son laughed, both sounds like condensed sunlight bursting in the enclosed space of their cabin. Of course all of that ‘sugar’ left Len tuckered out, which was no doubt part of Zevran’s ‘human yo-yo’ plan anyway, and quite ready for a nap. The little boy curled around a pillow, thumb in mouth with a blanket tucked up around him, while Zevran reclined, a hand under the blanket, rubbing the rising and falling side, a slim novel in one hand.

Moving a pillow or two, Ferox spooned behind the elf, a kiss pressed to the back of his neck, “So what _are_ you reading? You didn’t answer before.”

“A positively florid Antivan story,” came the explanation. “At Sigrun’s request I have done some translating of popular fictions that are found on nearly any street corner paper seller’s cart. They have turned out to be _quite_ popular amongst the dwarva and amongst the literate women of the noble class. Hmmn, Armand pretends his Ferelden is poor, but that is quite clearly an act, yes?” Zevran turned to rub the side of his head against Ferox’s face lightly. “‘Anna of the gold hair struggled fetchingly in the bonds that Flemeth had tied her in. Ser Marcus nearly challenged the hag as Anna cried out, the laces of her bodice splitting when the foul witch lashed her with magic, but he was ultimately helpless...’ You see, it is rather boring. Or I could skip ahead to the juicy parts involving the ‘pleasure canal’ and ‘root of his mighty sword’ sections if you like _querido_?”

Choking on a few snorting laughs, “No, thank you. I was going to say if it’s flowery, then it’s right up your alley, but I’ve just changed my mind on that too. It’s ridiculous, like your imaginary cactus.”

Zevran yawned, “It is not directly translated, otherwise it would be the ‘curled oyster shell with the precious pearl’ and the ‘tail of the bull’ to ‘make beasts with two backs or four legs.’ And it is the ridiculousness of it that is so entertaining, _amora_.”

“Now, if you read it that way, it would be comic and everyone within range of hearing would be in danger of falling under a spell of laughing themselves to death. Why try to make romance out of comedy when the humour already exists?” asked as another rumbling laugh shook his chest.

“Well, it is entertaining for myself as I understand the connotations in multiple languages, or yourself, but women find it enticing in whichever language used,” the book was waved lightly. “They desire these trifles, or many of them do, not all, but many, yes? Some of the milder ones even Elissa reads, about princes and princesses, banns and suchlike, heroes and heroines. I think that women are very different from me in what they find romantic, _mi hermoso corizon._ This is just one of them, hmn?”

“If you say so, however I think you could write a better one...much better.” Laying back, Ferox searched for the page he had been reading, _Ahh, here, grains in combination with legumes._ Stopping as he just realized something, “What does Armand have to do with it?”

A faint smirk, “I was wondering if you would notice that, yes? He has taken to translating more of them than I have the time to do, and has been making a tidy profit, _amora_. From time to time he does ask me connotative questions, though truly I believe it is more to keep up appearances, as he has lived in Ferelden for a score of years, which is far longer than I have. But his comings and goings occasionally are of far greater import, yet that is not what we wish for others looking to be aware of.”

“True.” _Makes perfect sense._ Recalling the pile of books on Anora’s nightstand, Ferox muttered, “I’ll kill him.”

“Whatever for? He is quite useful,” his lover protested with a hum, a look sent his way, a rather put out one, too. “I will have to lodge a complaint over such a threat.”

Casting a mild glance, belying his earlier words, Ferox closed his own book on his index finger to hold his place, “Is lodging a complaint a euphemism like ‘stinky’ Antivan leather?” 

Zevran tut-tutted, “That is not the only place my mind resides, _amante._ No, I wish to know what it is that he has done to merit your ire.”

“As I am well aware.” Rolling back to his side to nip then kiss Zevran’s neck, “I was merely growling because samples of said reading material were left on the Harpy’s nightstand, of course.”

His assassin set the book aside, turning to face him with a pleased little hum, “Ah, yes, the materials ‘you’ gifted her with for her entertainment. And to keep her busy, hmn?”

“If I could go back in time, I would have requested that such gifts should have been delivered after we left... In case you were wondering about that ‘quickie’ you had in the closet,” delivered in a growling rumble.

Zevran kissed him with a smile, _’Then it appears I owe you an apology, **corizon**.’_

Snorting, “I think you have done enough already, I have found more sore stomach muscles that I thought I had originally at the start of this voyage. I don’t think I could take more without a healer or a very talented masseur.

Chuckling another kiss was delivered, _’The latter is readily available, the former in a day or two, hmn?’_

_’I am glad you are here and of your varied attempts to keep me in good humour by exhaustion.’ ___

__Arms slid around his shoulders, _’But of course, **amora** , if it works on Len, it also works on you. And I am aware of how being ‘idle’ bothers you.’__ _

__Raising an eyebrow, before pressing another nipped kiss to Zevran’s throat, _’First a mabari, now a three-year old? Harrumph.’_ _ _

__Lips pressed to his temple, _’Layers upon layers, one can be, and usually is, many things at once.’__ _

__Rumbling, _’Not many more days of indolence, thankfully. Although I will look back on this time very fondly once we step onto land. That reminds me, we should find that Emporium in Kirkwall. The Wardens were taken with the sparring room and the ranges.’ _____

_____’Some of the descriptions I have heard, make me slightly uncomfortable, **amora**. I cannot put my finger upon why they do, I just know that they do...’_ _ _ _ _

____“Uncomfortable? The healer recommended it as well...apparently she enjoys the sparring rooms as well and said that numerous items were for sale in the store proper. Although I don’t particularly understand that pair, I can’t see that one allowing her to go somewhere harmful.” Ferox looked over at Len who, in his sleep, was rubbing his face on the sheets and snuffling before settling back down. Returning his gaze back to Zevran, he hooked the elf’s leg, and ‘captured’ it between his own. “Uncomfortable how?”_ _ _ _

____Languidly stretching into his hold, Zevran sighed, “I have done some thinking, yes? Upon the gates. Something that was mentioned to me by the little one. She said that she met that duplicate at the Emporium. Yet when I asked him what gate _he_ came through... His memory it sounded...incomplete.” A finger was pressed to Ferox’s lips halting anything he would say. “Not as though he were hiding that information, but it was as though he _could not recall_ everything that he should have been able to. When taken with where he said they met...and the haziness of his memories in those areas and the inquiries I have made about the Emporium... I am uneasy, though as I said, I cannot say why. It is a puzzle, much like our Orlesian ‘guests’ that have ‘introduced’ themselves to us on occasion, hmn? We know some of the items, but cannot devote the time or resources to finding out and understanding all of the puzzle, _querido_.”_ _ _ _

____“Then it sounds like a place that should be investigated, perhaps jointly with them. Other eyes may see what theirs do not. Although, if he’s having a problem with remembering something...well perhaps the healer is helping already?”_ _ _ _

____“Likely, and he said nearly as much in his typically veiled manner,” Zevran shrugged it off for the moment. “In matters of danger or discomfort, I would trust his senses over hers, frankly. She is not what she seems and in many ways is still a child. Cautious she may be, but her agenda is far reaching, that much is clear, and such...details...might elude her due to her own experiences and eccentricities.”_ _ _ _

____“And here I was going to boil it down to she’s a trusting type and he isn’t.” At all. In any sense. “But then, perhaps being able to look inside everyone makes it easier to trust,” echoing the shrug. “However, the healer said she was a broken Warden; is that what she meant? That odd thing she did, laying out glass beads, charms, and silver bells and said that was how she remembered...” Switching to the more nuanced and private communication internally, _’When I asked how one can remember that way, she chided me, saying that I slept with Morrigan so I ‘didn’t feel it as much.’ Said that when ‘Archdemons die, it doesn’t leave a Warden whole; it damages much.’ Then she reminded me that in other stories in Kirkwall in which other Wardens did not survive the dragon’s death. If nobody gave Morrigan what she wanted and nobody died...that means she made that strike and somehow lived. If I ‘didn’t feel it as much,’ and it certainly felt like death at the time...I don’t want to know what feeling all of it was like.’ _____ _ _

______Fingers stroked his temples, _’Then leave it for now, hmn? You did not have to go through it, you are safe. But I am still curious about what it is she does to your Taint to push it back.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’It’s not something I plan on thinking about,’_ Ferox enjoyed the soothing nonetheless. _’In the tavern, I watched her almost absently touch the Wardens, nobody else. After she did whatever it was to me, I wondered if she was doing the same to them, only just a little at a time every time she touched them. What made me think of it, was seeing the same look in her eyes, unfocused and looking as if she had tasted something unpleasant. The only thing that tasted bad, that I could find, was the Taint, and you get used to it.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Ah. It always puts me in mind of blood pudding and artichokes that have gone off.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______A chuckle, “Thanks.” _’Are ‘artichokes’ imaginary too?’__ _ _ _ _ _

______“I mean the Taint, it is one of those smells you learn to block out, hmn? You smell...” a demonstration of nose into the hollow of his throat, purring, “delicious, _amante_.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Rumbling, “I smell like the man who rolled all over me this morning like a cat with an itch it could not reach. Even the girls said I smelled like you this morning and asked if I had started wearing your perfume.” Sighing as if much put upon, “Soon no one will be able to tell us apart, until one of us starts talking or growling.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Zevran snickered, “Hmmn, no, you smell like us.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“If you mean the royal ‘us’,” brown eyes crinkled as Ferox grinned, “then I believe you are correct, as I have not heard it said that you smell like me.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The smile turned into a smirk, “You have not heard what Moira has said several times...”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No I haven’t, but I’m waiting with a worm on my tongue.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Tchk, and you say my turns of phrase are bizarre...” muttered. “Well, there may have been a complaint or two about me cleaning myself a little too well of ‘evidence’.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Having had the same thoughts himself, “And what was decided, my diligent rogue?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well do you recall the ‘pre-fortification’ fornication prior to your visits?” Zevran winked. “Not entirely for myself or your benefit.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Certainly gives a new meaning to ‘share the love’. I think I prefer the other night for that kind of sharing.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Not that I am complaining, but I was surprised it happened, _amora_.” One of those sneaky hands found its way under Ferox’s tunic, pressing against muscle. “Not that you and she were able to be together, but my joining in... I had not intended on interrupting. Ah, but it is not the sort of fare one has daily. However, as often as either of you like, whatever you like, is up to you both. I am merely happy that harmony has been fully established and that you are content as you make me, _querido_.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Then I have been over-indulged on sweets, as I am, and have been, perfectly happy here with you, wanting little else. Frankly, that evening I had wondered if I could swim to shore before losing bits of me to the frozen waters, bits that I am somewhat attached to, rather than have you remove them for me. I was certain you would be furious.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______In his arms the usual perpetual motion of burrowing closer stopped. “ _Perdone?_ I must have misheard you, Ferox, as it sounded as though you were implying I might...harm you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“And at the time, I believed that reaction to be justified.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Of all the infantile - does _nothing_ I do get through? Must _everything_ hold strings or costs or hold the threat of violence or leaving or...or...” his assassin was shaking his head, clearly hurt. “Why? By what logic would I hurt you? Why? Why, _amora_? Make me understand this inconceivable thing. It would do far more than break me to hurt you, did you not realize that? Can you not realize it? Is there _nothing_ -?” Zevran’s voice cracked. “And over something so _trivial_?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Defensively justifying, “It isn’t stupid or foolish. The Harpy was won by a construct of my creation, and so you ended up _having_ to share me with her. I couldn’t, didn’t want to think I had been so twisted to do it again, this time to Moira who didn’t deserve such a disservice. It wouldn’t have been right. That creature I had been, one who used people, isn’t something I wanted to trust or depend on.” Pained, “If I _had_ done this, if it were true, I wasn’t going to dodge what I thought I rightfully deserved at your hand.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______He watched Zevran shake his head minutely, “Even if I had been angry, you honestly considered that I would...would do you harm.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______A deep sigh. _So you attributed the fear I could not hide to another cause then? Trepidation at admitting such a thing, perhaps? True, but it was much more than ‘simple words’._ “Submission to justice. I didn’t think that underhanded actions merited anything less,” avoiding the question._ _ _ _ _ _

______The muscles in the long throat worked up and down visibly, struggling as eyes blinked rapidly, voice not much above a whisper, “You truly thought I would do you harm... I...I require air,” his assassin muttered, pushing away from Ferox and the bed, then stumbled away, the door not quite closing and it was clear there was some struggle to make the latch cooperate._ _ _ _ _ _

______A brief wish that Len was not napping with them, _That’s a nice trap on your leg. Thank you, made it myself. Teeth are pointier than I remember however. Yes, I see that; they are biting quite firmly into the back of your knee. Oh, and is that poison I’m beginning to feel? How’d you guess? More ornate than your usual pungi stick traps. Well, I had time, unable to leave the ship and all, it can get quite dull. Probably should have stuck to your book. Thank you so very much for that insight; I would have never thought of it all by myself. Just trying to help. Shut up.__ _ _ _ _ _

______XXX_ _ _ _ _ _

______Later at dinner, Zevran ate, but he looked wan, and when Moira lay a hand against his cheek, he turned away from the contact. Eleanor picked up on the tension and asked him what was wrong, receiving only a ‘I am not feeling well, _mija_ , go on, go play,’ while Ferox watched. Not taking a brush off or no for an answer, and avoiding sighing by some miracle, Ferox hugged him. _ _ _ _ _ _

_______You really stepped in it. Yes, it is rather dark down here and I think I broke something in the fall. Think it’s something vital? I hope not._ In his grasp, his lover shivered from head to toe, leaning in, a muffled sound he realized was a hiccup came along with the arms wrapping tightly about him. _’I am a fool.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Nothing was said, Ferox suspected Zevran probably couldn’t summon up words, but the elf hung on to him, face buried in the side of his neck. After several long moments, _’Rinna died for supposed betrayal. Tali died for my betrayal. I cannot...betrayal of any sort, perceived or real, is never worth harming a loved one. I cannot...I cannot...please **amora**.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______He’s already said that he would do this thing. Snort. Not for that reason. True, forget I said anything then. So...going for a swim was the right answer? Oh, shut up. ‘Then do not and your very sorry and foolish shem will continue working on trust and not harming you so.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______....  
[Dulsanaya]_ _ _ _ _ _

______Scents smothered so that they could not be tasted, they watched from the rooftops above the docks the ship bearing Ferelden’s colours did not appear to be one of that country’s make. Not that they had a large shipbuilding facility in either of the observers’ memory. Certainly little ships, fishing vessels, but nothing bigger than their own little craft, were constructed in Ferelden. They had all of the resources, but not the skilled and knowledgeable labour._ _ _ _ _ _

______Cross-legged, chin resting in the palm of her hand, Dulsanaya squinted as if trying to focus the ship, something was out of kilter and she could not see it right. _‘What is it, **emma’mi**? This is one of your specialities.’_ A mental gesture to the vessel, _’Is it fat?’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Zevran leaned forward, shading his eyes momentarily, _’Someone with some maritime knowledge designed it, but she wallows; her belly is too fat, her sails are not cut to carry her as swift as she **might** be able to move. It is a start, better than most anything a Ferelden would call a ‘ship’, but the quality is...lacking the necessary grace.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______As the ropes were thrown and tied off, the porters began hauling boxes, crates, and other items up to the Hightown Estate that had been set aside as a the Ferelden Embassy and was staffed at all times, not just when diplomats or Gaeaf were in Kirkwall. Mentally, her foot jiggled impatiently, although she tried to take in the sun as if it was the only thing that mattered. Knew the link had already tattled on her, but as she pointed out, she was not on the docks bouncing on her toes._ _ _ _ _ _

_______‘Oh look, there is this **da’asha’s** present!’_ she ‘cried out’ happily as a trio of children, all dark haired, came into view. Two of the girls were holding hands, the older one holding the younger one back, just as the woman with a mass of dark hair held a very bouncy boy on her hip. Haf’cath and Gaeaf were right behind them. _’The Mamae is pretty. Although this one was not shown the face, Gaeaf said that Moira was the Mamae of two **da’asha’len**. But **na’asha** does not recognize her from any memory of her own though. Do you know her?’_ [little girl/woman, little girls, your girl/woman.]_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’No, I do not. And yes, she is very pretty for a **shemlen, em’lath’sa**. They do look like a pleasant family unit, the girls and the boy, the mother and Trouble, a handsome group. Quite sweet,’_ grey ash was flicked from one of his perpetual blunts. _’Things appear in order.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Letting ‘Trouble’ go for once, she was curious about something else, _’You left out two, why?’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’I meant visually, that the quintet look related, nothing more **em’lath’sa**. Sunshine is his usual overly exuberant self if the bounce in his step is anything to go by. However, that mabari is not the hound brought with Trouble originally.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’That one was not well when he came the first time and very old. Older than most mabari that travel with the Wardens. He did not come the second time, remember?’_ A thought of her own mabari companion still in Ferelden flickered in her mind, before she refocused on the scene below. Mange had been left behind to guard another, perhaps these were the ones that Horsie had been guarding. _ _ _ _ _ _

______A shrug, _’It still bore pointing out.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Shifting on the tiles to face him, a light finger dragged down a marking on his cheek, stealing some of the altered state, _’ **Emma’mi** , you had not said what the name of the mabari was with your group.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Surprise,’_ said with a quirked brow, but she didn’t understand why his lips were crooked on one side in a soft smirk. _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Surprise?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’No - Ser Prize. A play on words, **em’lath’sa**. One of the few clues to **mi bonita’s** age.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Curiously, _’How is it a clue?’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’It is childish, innocent, playful. Things that she did not willingly show as you do. She has no understanding of these matters, nor has she ever had them.’_ Zevran stretched, gaze sweeping the harbour and what could be seen of the city’s streets. _’Yet her instinctive name for a pet was of such a nature.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Mabari weren’t pets, but that was not what he meant nor the point, that was easily separated, but the playful name was similar to another, _‘Did you know the name of Gaeaf’s **falon-din**?’_ [dead friend]_ _ _ _ _ _

______A hand was held up as he shrugged, _’No. It was unimportant at the time. I was otherwise occupied in ensuring that the Alienage and its occupants were secure and unthreatened.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______And the Vhenadahl, she remembers this frightful thing. But later during the healings, it was not that Gaeaf actually called the hound by name, rather it was the mabari who shared. _’He carried a name given by an **imekaari**. It was Horsie.’_ [child]_ _ _ _ _ _

______One of those low burning chuckles issued, _’No wonder he did not call the hound by name. Trouble would not admit to having been a **da’len** at that time. He would have others believe he was born full grown with a sword on his shoulder and massive armour weighing him down.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Eyes dancing, she ‘said’ as sorrowfully as she could manage, _’His poor Mamae.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Yes, the poor woman. Ah, but now you see then when I say that Ser Prize was a clue. A ‘clever’ and playful young adult would have used a name of a more...deviant play on words rather than such a young and innocent one.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’So the Warden or the mabari said that he was named by her? What would someone suppose about this one if she had actually named her mabari, Mange? That would be very puzzling, **emma’mi**.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______She leaned into the touch of his hand as it cupped her cheek, _’Life is puzzling.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Eyelids fluttered at the touch, but she would not be distracted from her question, _’Can we go to their garden now?’_ Much like a child who had already asked a hundred times, ‘Are we there yet?’_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Of course, **em’lath’sa**. They should have at the very least reached it by now.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Rubbing her cheek into the palm, she kissed it before getting to her feet to scamper across rooftops. She was very anxious to see the ones Gaeaf had pictured, ones he was fond of, those who meant family to him. However, she especially wanted to see his _da’len_ , to see how he had turned out. Much of her research into a new Joining recipe would depend on the young _da’sa_ , not to mention the other studies she began after leaving Denerim._ _ _ _ _ _

______Feet light and staying away from those she called Lyrium Drinkers [Templars], the two elves made their way across town the routes well known and quicker than traveling on the street below. _‘Would you like to guess who will see us first, if we stay very quiet? If you win you can give **na’asha** a kiss.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’The dog,’_ and she had to giggle at his deadpan delivery._ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Not one of the birds?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______They landed with nary a sound, _’One of the children is most likely if not the other.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Protesting, _’You can only pick one, **emmi’mi** , else it will be,’_ copying his tone, _’ somebody at the house.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______The brush of lips and nose behind her ear was playful even as he hung upside-down to check windows. _’It is a good way to not be wrong.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Silently giggling, _’You just like giving kisses. But this one thinks the mabari is the likely choice, too, even with the flock making their own look-see’s. The **da’len’en** would not be be allowed to run without the **mawr ty** being checked first.’_ [large house]_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Let us hope it is the children or an adult first, I do not like harming animals unnecessarily,’_ Zevran slid down the side of the house to flip before landing and jogging forward a few steps._ _ _ _ _ _

______Feet swung over to touch the balcony railing, she balanced for a moment then holding onto the railing, dropped towards the ground and was caught up in Zevran’s arms. Giving him a kiss and quick squeeze, she took his hand, skipping with her excitement and pulled him towards the back garden. She hoped that the children would be there shortly, she really wanted to meet them all, not just the one that may hold the key to the Joining._ _ _ _ _ _

______....  
[Ferox]_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Zevran, I haven’t been able to taste her. Without giving a headache, is the healer or the other in town? The note said she’d be here.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______His lover reached through him gently, only a thin web of thought cast out, _’Ah! Yes. And nearby as well, I cannot speak with her without taking more from you, but here, **querido** ,’_ a direction and imprint of flavour. _’Vague coordinates, they are either here or they are nearly to the estate.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Masking a Warden’s Taint? How? I mean,’_ sighing. _’I suppose I’ll be putting it on the list of more questions to ask.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor was playing a patting hand game with Zevran and Len, a sing-song quality to the chanting and slapping of palms to each other, _’I thought you had realized that she is virtually un-Tainted? It is not masked so much as being purged, hmn? Her body must struggle to maintain it when one takes into account her considerable healing talents, **amora**.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’But then that leads back to how she could kill and survive the Archdemon, or talk to Wardens, or...this is making my head hurt.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Len pushed himself up from the floor having ‘won’ the game to tackle Eleanor with a face rubbing hug as the girl squealed and Zevran leaned out to catch her spilling backwards. “Ah-ah, careful of your sister, _mijo_.” _’That has no bearing on us I believe, so let that slip if it hurts your head so much, hmmn?’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Old man, you know me better than that. It appears however that the place is clean.’_ Noting Armand’s obvious return, “Shall we settle in, ladies and gentlemen? And then some exercise,” the last said with a growl, “outside where screaming and shouting is permitted.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor and Len’s heads swiveled to look at him innocently, with his son’s cheek resting on Eleanor’s shoulder, both making very large eyes at him. “We’re being good. Aren’t we Len-Len?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Gud, huh-huh, Dady, we bees gud,” Len nodded sagely._ _ _ _ _ _

______“I know you are.” Ferox grinned, “Now, first one to the fountain in the garden, out those doors -” pointing the way, “wins.” Then he growled like a mabari ready to chase them._ _ _ _ _ _

______That had the two up and darting outside, Ferox and Lightning - who was woofing enthusiastically - chasing after them, while Zevran, Elissa and Moira followed at a more sedate pace. The courtyard was at the center of the square building, the planting and trellised vines having been placed so that one couldn’t see across the garden to the other side, which made the space appear larger. From the balconies above, however, one could see the illusion for what it was._ _ _ _ _ _

______At the fountain, “Papi! Papi...? _Que tal?_ ” [what’s up?]_ _ _ _ _ _

______“That’s- Len-Len,” Eleanor was hauling Len back from the cross legged vision of the duplicate sitting at the fountain. “That’s not Papi.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Light,” Ferox warned, hearing the danger in Eleanor’s voice and knowing what protective creatures the hounds were when defending their pups. “Quiet and don’t bite,” making the last turn into the center where Eleanor was struggling with Len._ _ _ _ _ _

______“ _Hamin, da’asha’len,_ I will not hurt either you or your little friend,” the other didn’t move at all other than to roll his palms up on his knees, showing that they were empty. “Still your bladed tongue, _da’gata_ , your family is right there behind you.” [peace, little girl child. little cat (not kitten, just small cat)]_ _ _ _ _ _

______Len managed to squirm loose to bounce over to the twisted mirror, grabbing a hand and staring up at him. “ _No mi Papi?_ ” [not my papi?]_ _ _ _ _ _

______“No, I am not your Papi, I am his brother. Your uncle,” the duplicate explained gently, using what Ferox was much relieved as a suitable explanation._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Eleanor, all is well.” Relief that she was not alone with the odd version shown in the set of her shoulders, “You did the right thing.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor looked back and forth from Ferox to the duplicate then took it as permission, along with how Len’s floppy waves were being ruffled by the copy’s hand, to hop up beside him. “You’re my uncle too?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Yes, I suppose I am. You can call me... _Dassan_ ,” the smile looked odd, there was none of the customary menace to it or the sardonic twist of expression, one arm looping around Len to scoop him into his lap who was busy being fascinated by the long braids that hung from temples. _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Hah! Little arrow? Tchk, he is quick at least,’_ Zevran came to stand beside Ferox. _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Good thing, because we hadn’t decided on what to call him. However that means you have a sibling. I’d offer congratulations...’ but, better you than me,_ an arm slipping around Zevran’s waist._ _ _ _ _ _

______He grunted, leaning into him, _’Is my mind becoming addled with old age, or is he actually good with them?’_ Amusement, _’Ah! I knew someone could at least talk him into having pretty bows put in his hair like a mabari...’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Bubbling delight was shared all around as Dulsanaya stepped from another shaded pathway to the center, mental hands brushed Ferox’s back from across the courtyard, _’This one likes that picture. Hopefully he can find **da’len’en** of his own.’_ In a more open sending, _‘ **Emma’mi** , it appears I owe the kiss or do you owe me, I forget which.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’It is all the same, either way I win,’_ Ferox thought he almost heard that, perhaps she was sharing, or that was the sense of meaning he picked up from the duplicate’s glance in the small healer’s direction._ _ _ _ _ _

_______’There is no Taint in the **da’len** , this is good. But that means he cannot hear this **asha** without touch.’_ Eyes flicked over the company, a change in ‘voice’ as she found her Warden self, one used to giving instructions, _’The older girl will be a full candidate with her capabilities to fight and defend, Commander. It is too soon to tell if the other **asha’len** will be a fighter as well. Guard the girls closely, as they are tasty to ones underfoot. They should not be able taste the **da’asha’len’en** for a few more years. The **da’len** is an obvious choice as well given his blood from both parents.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Ferox shuddered, at the reminder of the Mothers in the Deep Roads, grateful that she did not give an accompanying visual. Mentally, he swore. He had not wanted this for any of them. Len, it was only possible, he had thought. Ferox had forgotten that in stories where Loghain had undergone the Joining, the teryn had survived. This blood he passed to Anora and subsequently to Len, and would again pass on to the hoped for sibling. His instructions and reassurance to Moira had been eerily accurate._ _ _ _ _ _

_______’This is the mother. The warning to protect is the same,’_ as Moira was pulling out a basket of cookies and a flask of juice to share out amongst them. _’ **Ar’abelas** , but it is good to know so you can prepare, Gaeaf. That is not a cup any of them need drink from. Should that time come, there may be other choices.’_ The healer didn’t move from her shady spot as emerald eyes watched the little boy. Except for those she was talking to, only the mabari had acknowledged her presence. [I am sorry]_ _ _ _ _ _

______Len insisted on sharing his cookie, “Not Papi, Unka, share.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The duplicate took a bite, winking as he did so, “Mmn, that is very tasty, _gracias, da’len_.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______In that action alone the resemblance was beyond eerie. _I don’t want to know. I don’t want to think about what caused this difference. But you can’t look away and can’t stop wondering either. If only to prevent something similar, no, no I can’t. This is a fine family gathering. Those two aren’t family. Might as well be, calling himself uncle and she’s practically Len’s godmother. I really hate it when you get these thoughts.__ _ _ _ _ _

______His lover picked up Eleanor, smoothing some of the loose hair from her face, “Ah, _mija_ , you can stop staring at my brother in that way. He will not hurt Len or any of us, hmn?” ‘Whispering’ conspiratorially, “Between you and I, _mija_ his bark is more fearsome than his bite. Think of him as a very large mabari.” _ _ _ _ _ _

______Eleanor protested, hands planted on Zevran’s shoulders as she leaned back to look him in the eye, “But mabari are fluffy.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The duplicate laughed as he patted Len’s tummy, “Yes, they are. And I am not very fluffy, eh, _da’gata_?” _ _ _ _ _ _

______“Tchk, just do not stand up, or they will attack you believing you are some obstacle course to play upon,” his assassin rolled those sun-gold orbs._ _ _ _ _ _

______Remembering that his hand was still on Light’s head, Ferox rubbed an ear between thumb and finger before releasing her so she could get in her scent collection. “Such a patient girl, thank you.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The activity reminded him of books of drawings sold to tourists in Val Royeaux. Visitors used them to check off the places they had been, whether they had stood at the giant statue of Andraste in the great square, been to the Grand Chantry, walked in the outer palace gardens, had a glass of wine at some famous winery and bought at least one or five overpriced items from one of the stalls ringing the Imperial Plaza. Really it was nothing but advertising presented in an entertaining way. Fierce competition between the tourists overheard at the **boulangeries** [bakeries] and cafes of who had been where, or the rare thing that had been checked off in their books made the locals laugh at the money in their pockets and longtime residents shook their heads at the fleecing visitors took. Called Memory Books or something like that, take them home and remember your trip was the shouted calls from the merchants who sold them down at the dock. Throughout the city they were sold in case someone ‘missed their chance.’_ _ _ _ _ _

______Light added to her compilation of scents these two new ones, categorizing them according to whatever thoughts mabari had, safe, not safe, family, friend, not friend...an amulet would - _might_ \- give insight into that thinking. _’Warden, does your mabari wear an amulet?’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Amusement in the link, _’Why would he want to?’_ The healer’s attention was on Light’s brown eyes as she held out her hands to be sniffed. _’This one can talk to him when he is close. ‘Sides that,’_ nearly squealing through the amulet as the hound sniffed behind her ears, _’he is not here and this one has not asked him.’_ Collapsing and curling into ball, hands over her ears, giggling as Light checked out various _vallaslin_ leaves, apparently quite taken by a new one unfurling behind one ear and another behind a knee. _‘Ysgafnhad [Lightning], this **asha** has no more acceptable places to sniff! Yes, this one knows it is your purpose and speciality. Oh, now you just want the jerky in this **da’asha’s** satchel.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Light woofed, giving a long lick to the back of her knee._ _ _ _ _ _

______With another squeal, the girl rolled so she could sit and reach a hand into the ever present satchel. Finding the promised snack, she held it out, brown cheeks pink with the laughter and joy. Of course Light delicately took it from her hand and gobbled it all up, then rested her massive head on the healer’s lap, plopping down and ‘claiming’ her. Moira followed the sounds of laughter along with Elissa to offer some of the goodies brought with them, trusting Light, Ferox and Zevran’s judgement._ _ _ _ _ _

______Slim brown fingers found the itchy spot behind the mabari’s ear and the hound’s leg began to thump. An ear tilted recognizing the approach and the healer glanced at Moira and Elissa and grinned up at them. Patting the ground, she invited the pair to sit in the grass with her. Elissa sat next to Lightning, talking about the mabari was always a safe topic when other curiosities beckoned. Ferox relaxed, found his own place to sit, and listened in, letting the nice weather do its work on him._ _ _ _ _ _

______....  
[Dulsanaya]_ _ _ _ _ _

______“This is Lightning,” the girl pet the hound’s side the hand brushing from neck to haunch as Zevran would do to Len. “She likes you. Have you met before?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The silver head shook no and watching the long petting strokes, she smiled and began to copy the motions as if unfamiliar with mabari. Brushing the girl’s hand, the elf asked in her low soft mental voice, _’What is your name?’_ a sending open to those able to listen._ _ _ _ _ _

______The expected widening of eyes and pausing of all activity occurred. A startled rabbit on the beach. A sun-browned hand covered the girl’s, _’No worries, **da’len**. This one does not speak like most.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______A nod as the information was taken in and accepted. It was always easier to approach the young first. They more easily accepted the world with a sense of wonder._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Elissa,” answering the earlier question. “Why?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’An accident. This one forgot to be careful. Her mabari pushed her out of the way before more damage could be done.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Thoughtfully, “It broke, and the healers couldn’t fix it?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Something very much like that.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______“So how do you talk like this?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______The elf girl tugged her necklace out of her armour and watched the girl remember where she saw something very much like that before. Eyes first landed on Zevran then to Ferox. Others, their faces flickering in the link, faces of the Vigil, ones who were held safe, away from this dangerous place. The amulet apparently identified one as being part of an accepted family circle as the young girl knew so many who wore one. _’This **asha** can talk to anyone who wears one of these. It took longer to learn how to talk to those who do not wear one.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______“Papa has a whole bunch of them, I could go ask for one,” Elissa offered. Looking over at her mother who was used to long outwardly silent conversations and also recognized the amulet, “I think he has enough for us all to wear one so you can talk to us easier.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Shaking her head, no. _’This **asha** knows those amulets as she made them. They are the wrong kind, only one person could hear you using those. Also, they should not be worn for a long time - they are too powerful for you and harm could be caused.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Moira reached out to lay her hand atop the healer’s and her daughter’s, “Well then, there’s nothing wrong with you reaching out to us if that’s what you need.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Ahh, here is the Mamae.’_ Bubbles of laughter tickled her toes, _’This **asha** forgot to say, she is Dulsanaya, but children call her Duls, it is easier, yes?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______“If that’s what you like to be called, but Dulsanaya isn’t hard to say,” said with a smile and while the name was rolled with a Ferelden accent it was still more than passable. “I’m Moira, and you’ve met Elissa. Eleanor is over there with Len, whom I understand I’m to thank you for helping be born. Would you like some cookies or juice? I brought plenty.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Please and thank you.’_ Releasing Elissa from the link. _’This one helps many Wardens. In this case, the **da’len** brought a healing as well as himself. As you are the Mamae of these **da’len’en** , you do know he has come for another?’_ Curiosity, there were already so many. Would this Mamae take on another?_ _ _ _ _ _

______“Elissa would you go see if anyone wants lunch for me?” gently dismissing the girl who darted for a quick kiss to her mother’s cheek before going to see to her task. “If I think the words, you’ll hear them right? Or do I need to touch an amulet for that?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Turning her wrist, a second amulet was revealed. _’Your thoughts alone are too soft, but you can touch this one to be louder so this **asha** can hear you.’_ A shrug. _’Sometimes secrets are told when she works in the clinic, it is useful.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______The young mother took her hand in both of hers, nose wriggling as she ordered her thoughts. _’Okay, just stop me if I’m too ‘quiet’. Zevran and I are trying also, he said because he is an elf that it will take longer and would be difficult to get me with child. One of my only regrets with Len was that I could not be the one to feed him. Sarah is wonderful, but she is more of a...an older sibling to them. When Zev told me that Ferox was going to attempt to have another child, it set me to thinking. I love children and Edric and I had always intended on having one more. Zevran is such a good father that I wanted to share that with him too. He isn’t Edric and I’m certainly not Ferox, neither of us is looking to replace anyone, but I’m a bit scared that if we told Ferox, that man would get some fool thought in his head that it was Zevran’s idea to seek to get me with child just to make sure I could produce milk.’_ Moira squinted in the direction of her family members. _’Honestly men are such strange creatures. How ever do they survive without us?’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Laughter in the link, shared only between them, _‘He would or come up with something worse that could not be imagined.’ _____ _ _ _ _

_________’Well I think after a last one that I’ll be through, after all, I’ll have six children in many ways. My two girls, my two boys, and then whatever I bring into the world and whatever Her Majesty brings into the world,’_ sadness wove with the last bit, the heartbreak that a mother, even a royal one, would want nothing to do with their child, bleeding over. _’Why have babies if you don’t even want them at all? Surely there was others who could be elected by the Landsmeet when Anora passes. But at least Ferox and Zevran work very hard to make sure Len doesn’t suffer for lack of love, and I try my darnedest to give him a mother’s love as best I can.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’A secret? This one did not give her ‘own’ Anora children. The king would have been a good father, but he would not have been ‘allowed’ to do that...so this one did not help ‘her’ Queen. Here, the gift of Len wasn’t for Anora, it was for the Warden and to the one who loves him.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________She nodded, _’I know, but it still takes two to make a child. Or, I suppose in Len’s case, four to make one. Still, it’s a lot of work to carry a baby. Did you know she didn’t even want to hold him when he was born? How horrible. That moment made the entire pain and discomfort recede for me.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’This one knows the Queen’s father. He was away much of her life and she did not form attachments as other children do. Her mother died when she was little, and so she was left alone for great lengths of time. She does love, but does not know how to show it and is afraid of it...much like the Warden was. As he had known it before he froze, it was easier to bring him back to the memory. It does not make it right to the one she will not hold, but knowing this makes it easier for some of us to understand why she is broken. It may be possible to heal it, but it would take someone only devoted to her and would be a work that would last a lifetime.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Moira sighed, _’It may be understandable, but she is an adult with the responsibility of being a parent as well as a monarch... Not that she does much of the latter either. Oop!’_ A hand clapped over her mouth, blue eyes going wide. _’I’m so sorry that was a very uncharitable thought... My these things are dangerous!’_ giggling at the last._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Pretend sorrow that had humour just under the surface, _’This one thinks you were too quiet. You might have to ‘say’ that again.’_ Another grin, _’Have you used an amulet with the cat before?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’No, but sometimes when...um...’_ she flushed crimson. _’Sometimes when the three of us are sharing, if um...the amulet he wears touches me I can...feel a bit of what they do.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’That would explain the looks both of them keep sending this way. Both of them carry thoughts of concern and love for you. This one is not a child, she is a healer and does not need to be protected from such ‘private matters’. Do not be embarrassed, **asha**. This one could already taste their scents on you. Other noses are not so discerning. But, that is not your concern...you desire a **da’len** with the cat.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’He is worried because it will...well. He said that there was some research done officially by a scholar in Antiva, but also that it was observed by the horse peoples, that for an elven male to human female couple, it would be difficult to become pregnant. The odds are not in our favour, but he has probably been trying to think of a way to broach it with Ferox. If he doesn’t, then I will. In the end I’m not certain it matters which of their seed catches, just that it is a part of us,’_ said with a decisive nod._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Do not worry on this thing. What you have asked is a small matter easily done once the Warden is tackled and his fears are thrown in the bushes.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Moira laughed lightly, _’He is rather tackle-able.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A returned grin, _’He does seem much better.’_ Softer, _’Has not growled once, not even when this one gave instructions he did not want to hear.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’He might be too tired to...’_ lashes fluttered with a laugh. _’I think that’s Zevran’s plan, keep Ferox too worn out to be fussy. Just hands him Len or gets the girls to ‘keep him company’ or hauls him off himself...’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’It works for a while, but that one is a thinker and the mind will grow tired of what he will assume are ‘diversions.’ He will need the ‘truth’...but this one should talk to the cat first and will need to see the **da’len** closer too. Hopefully the weather will stay pleasant...so this is not made harder.’_ Blinking away the list of to-do’s, _’Many things to juggle, yes? This one will keep your words safe and do what she can to bring this thing about.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________....  
[Ferox]_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Ferox watched the women talking, the conversation blocked as if nothing was happening while the duplicate was playing with Len and Eleanor. _This is a dream, right? More of that never having left the Fade perhaps? Was this even a good idea? I don’t know. You hate that, not knowing. Happens often, one might think you would have gotten used to it by now. Liar. I have two very strange creatures in my garden playing with my children and my hound. One is unchanged and the other is acting almost like a person. Her, I can see playing ball and dolls with children in the Alienage; him...up ‘til today, I would have said no. But he’s braiding Eleanor’s hair and Len is bouncing up and down in his lap. Okay, there are things in this world that are far too strange. My brain hurts. At least no one has broken out the bows. Dear Maker no - the world would come to an end. Forget needing air, I’d have to hide in the cellar to laugh. With those wind-sails of theirs they’d probably hear you. Hey now, I like those sails - well, Zevran’s that is. The other one can keep those kites far away from me and perhaps go fly off somewhere with them.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Len was plucking at the twisted one’s hands, which were spread all the way for his examination. “Owwy?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No, _da’len._ See? They are fine,” the extra joints rippled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Ohhh!” mouth pursing and then Ferox watched as his son tried to spread his fingers and make them do that. With the added benefit of an extra hand tugging at fingertips._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’And what do you make of all this?’_ Ferox squeezed Zevran’s waist to gain his attention._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His lover leaned back from the chessboard he was setting up with Elissa to lay a head on his shoulder, an utterly ‘serious’ expression on his face. _’Depending on his age, I would say he is starting to have biological urges that demand he become a parent. Likely he has even created a nest, it is possible there are even baby toys. I wonder if he has taken up knitting considering those extra knuckles?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’What? I mean, I meant... Nevermind, I don’t think I even recall what I meant. Baby toys? Seriously?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Well he does make very fetching mobiles and pacifiers, horses and other types of toys, no doubt he also makes cribs...’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Ducks...she had a carved duck in the window of the clinic. But why a nest? Unless you are making a play on words? Crows and all.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Zevran shrugged, making the second move against Elissa. _’No, it is...a mother hen. Women, they nest when they are ready to mate. Once they are settled and content and feel safe enough, they decide it is time to expand. They make a nest. He is - do you know what I find odd about you sometimes, **querido**?’_ The voice and expression turning sly and teasing, _’The fact that I, someone who is not a native speaker to Ferelden, has to explain common connotations of your own language to you.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Maybe I just like hearing your voice. Besides that, I was the youngest and tended to be outside working or hunting. I didn’t listen to the gossiping of women.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The look he was shot was ‘irritable’, _’I worked very hard in my day. It was very painful to listen to women and men complain about things whilst lavishing me with constant attention.’_ A hand was waved, _’Besides, you would understand nesting if you paid more attention to Moira and the nursery’s surrounding rooms. Now that is a woman ready to pop out more babies.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Wake up, this is your brain telling you that this is a trap. Several of them and one is on some sort of a fuse...which one? How the frell do I know? I’m you. Don’t back up and retreat though, there’s one back there too, sets ‘um all off, pretty sure. Damn. ‘Hoeing a field doesn’t lead to much conversation and sheep are fairly boring despite what Ethel and Shorn have to say about grass, grain, and bugs.’ Okay that’s one...which one next? ‘I thought that the nursery looked comfortable and reviewed the expenditures with Eleanor and even donated some ‘finds’ that would not fit in the budget.’ Okay, the stupid man noticed how pretty the woman’s hair/dress/eyes looked and paid the required complement...oh, Moira....damn. What? Oh Maker. Wait, wait - I got this, I got it. She’s getting ready for Anora’s baby. Right. Right._ Just as he was about to relax, _Oh frell! He said that Moira was ready to ‘pop out more babies’. Shit-shit-shit-shit. I don’t want to ask. You know if you don’t, your calf muscle is in for another trip to the healer. Son of a motherless goat. Stay calm and breathe. ‘So what are your thoughts on Moira, then?’ That was good, thoughtful, caring, and even asked for the plan. Think it’ll work? It’ll take a miracle._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Elissa was managing to get Zevran rather ‘good’, and Ferox suspected that it wasn’t because he was going easy on her, but possibly might be due to the split in attention. _’I have many thoughts on her. Particularly of you in her, or us both in her. But I do not think that was the thoughts you mean. Which thoughts do you mean, hmn?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Keep breathing and don’t think of that here. Okay breathing, check. Thoughts about Moira, oh that’s just not fair. How about a refresher on that breathing? Gonna have to stick with that one then. ‘I mean you usually don’t bring something up without having at least already determined a direction to row in.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Well, I was thinking perhaps you could facilitate that desire, as the amount of meat and sleep I would require for it to be remotely successful would be difficult. By the same token, I thought that perhaps you and I both could make the attempts, rather pleasurably, as the idea then would be that any resulting child would be all of ours, **amora**.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________One word. You know it don’t you? Just one word? Yes. Alistair. We have a winner. You have already risked this. I know. I wasn’t thinking then. Thinking now? Damn. But Zevran is **asking**. Damn. I suppose it’s a backup plan. I need a drink. You never need a drink. Well I do now. Think. Umm, this is a trap? Well duh, this entire room is a trap. Oh yes, look at that, the ceiling and the floor will both come crashing down. One problem, we’re outside. Technicalities. Sooooooooo? Back up slowly? Uh, no already spotted that one, remember? Damn. Okay, okay, I got something! The only way I’m having a child is after this healing, right? Right, that’s the plan. Okay, so I really haven’t risked having an Alistair. Yet. Ohhhhhh. But afterwards. Damn. Wait! What if the healer helps Zevran too? Although she was exhausted after finishing last time and she said this one would be harder...Taint more advanced or something._ Side glance at the duplicate sitting at the fountain, _Great, another deal. I don’t like that plan. Then you come up with something! I’m thinking. You are frelled and you know it. You’ll have to do it or make another deal with that demon. Isn’t there an option C?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Zevran shifted to lean against him fully, _’You are extremely quiet, **amora**. If it makes you uncomfortable, then do not worry. To me it does not matter whose seed takes, only that someone’s does. She wants another child of her own and to be able to do for the sibling what she was unable to do for Len no matter how her bosom ached.’_ His lover’s head rolled, lolling back to look at him, _’I love you and she cares deeply for us all, neither of us would ask of you something you were unwilling or uncomfortable doing.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________That’s not fair either... What? I missed that because he was doing that sun god look. That’s what I meant. He really doesn’t want to finish that game. No, I’m pretty sure that’s the whole idea. You hauling him off in front of the duplicate and everyone, would have him smirking or laughing. Well you better say something. ‘I’m thinking.’ Educational. Oh shut up, you weren’t helping any. Well, ask the obvious then. Find out if it’s possible. ‘Have you asked if the healer can assist?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’She likely could, but it might take up her resources, and you are the one who must get Anora with child. Do not worry, **amante**. I will merely make sure that there is enough extra meat on the voyage and while I am here. However, you will have to likely take more time with the children as I will basically have three things to do for each day. Eat, sleep, and have sex - at my age my seed is not as strong as when I was in my twenties and thirties, yes? But far from unheard of if I take these precautions, **amora,** ’_ burrowing back and focusing more intently on the game._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’I said I was thinking. I haven’t decided.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________His assassin sighed mentally even as he barely won the game, _’You went tense, **querido** , as though preparing for some attack, mmn? Hush, you do not have to worry over it at all, eh? Either way whatever child Moira has is likely to have dark hair, fair to dark skin and anything from green to blue to brown to grey eyes, eh? Her hair and myself or your skin and eyes are stronger features, likely to overwhelm her pale and blue. Honestly, it is perfectly manageable so long as I take care of my diet to show my body that there are enough resources to support another life.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Something’s not right. Why is this a rushed decision? Why make up your mind now...or is it because he asked and you took too long, is this where I turn to argue for what he wanted? Oh Maker my head hurts. Well if you growl and snap that’s not going to help. I know. And hauling him out of here to yell isn’t going to help either. Damn, I was going for that one. I know._ Whining, _**But he asked** and it wasn’t a ‘do you like sugar in your coffee?’ It meant something to him! So then figure it out._ Calmly, hoping to buy time as he argued with himself, _‘I said, I’m still thinking.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Zevran shrugged one of Ferox’s arms around him, weaving their fingers together. _’ **Amora** , it makes you uncomfortable, sends you into turmoil that bleeds over like an arterial wound. I would do anything to take such unease from you.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Then why ask here surrounded by everyone?’ How much bleed over? Smile nicely at the biggest green eyes this side of...wherever she’s from. You, boy, are frelled._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Because I did not expect it to make you armour up as though we were about to fight an Archdemon, and when I said it, it was because the statement had bearing on the conversation on hand, **querido,** ’_ Zevran squeezed his hand warmly. _’I did not think it would make you so unhappy.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Much churning, _’How long until a child between you and Moira comes to term, conception to birth?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Anicada took fourteen months, I took twenty. But Fewrlin has some elfblood in there somewhere as the Dalish frequently do have congress with the **Ga’hals** , or, well more frequently than they would with any non-Dalish, even with city elves, hmn?’_ said with a shrug. _’Perhaps ten months, or as many as fifteen. It truly depends on what might be in the woodpile so to speak.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’So even if you started on this acquisition, even if you were successful today, it is possible that nursing the sibling is several months past their birth?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’We have been trying, I have increased my food intake and the amount of rest,’_ squeezing his hand. _’Also, it took quite a few months for you to get Anora pregnant, and yes, I was keeping track. A magic wand is not waved and it automatically takes, unless there is a very, very skilled healer who is willing to work with blood magic to one degree or another to ensure such an instantaneous result.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Come on there is something here. Timing...Moira gives birth earlier...it’s still possible. And that would stagger the burden the healer has to carry. Still means making another deal. You did it the first time for him, why not a second? A deal yes, making an Alistair? My father would kill me. Umm, not to bring down the mood or anything, but he’s dead. Yeah, but Fergus isn’t. ‘Zevran, I have a problem, yes I know, a little late to consider it, but it’s still a problem. I wouldn’t want to help create someone that could be considered a backup plan. If we delay here, the healer can assist...stagger the work.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’We can discuss it further later tonight, **amora** ,’_ his lover’s tone was soft. _’Now is not the time for either of us to get worked up, **mi hermoso corizon.** ’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Sighing, Ferox got to his feet, “As you wish,” and left the courtyard. _Why are you miserable over this? Other than making the obvious bargain? Yes, other than the obvious. Because of exclusion after inclusion? Well, yes. But mostly because I said that I won’t give something to a person who requests very little, one I would give anything to. Well then how about that drink?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________XXX_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________When he woke up there was a drunk healer sprawled next to him on the stone floor singing a children’s song in his head and judging by the volume, in every Warden’s amulet within range. _’ **Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai, Je te plumerai la tête, Je te plumerai la tête, Et la tête, Et la tête, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o-oh. Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai, Je te plumerai le bec, Je te plumerai le bec, Et le bec, Et le bec, Et la tête, Et la tête, Alouette, Alouette, O-o-o-oh.** ’_ When he didn’t move, there was another, _’ **A mi burro, a mi burro, Le duele la cabeza, Y el médico le ha dado, Una gorrita gruesa, Una gorrita gruesa, Mi burro enfermo está, Mi burro enfermo está. A mi burro, a mi burro, Le duelen las orejas, Y el médico le ha dado,  
Un jarro de cerveza, Un jarro de cerveza, Mi burro enfermo está, Mi burro enfermo está.**’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________I’m in the Fade or just dead. You’re too loud. She’s too loud._ “You are too loud.” _Didn’t I just say that? Yes, yes you did.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’ **Abelas** ,’_ to everyone in range. Narrowing the link, _’This one forgot.’_ Pausing to roll over to try to look him in the eye, _‘Haf-cath is sad again. You are too grumpy, Gaeaf. Maybe your name stays that way, yes?’_ [Sorry.]_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You could just call me Ferox,” ignoring the rest hoping that she would forget._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Nope, it does not work that way.’_ Hands firmly on her unanswered question, _’Why is Haf-cath sad?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Growling, “He’s the one who’s sad, go ask him.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Already did, but he was deflecting and eating and then somebody was singing songs in the amulet, so this one came to find you. What is a ‘ring around a rosie’?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________What? Ring around a...oh._ “It’s an old song about burning bodies after a plague. The red ring was the sign on the skin that someone was sick. Posies were flowers held in the hand to breathe through...sniff, to stop from getting sick, but it didn’t work.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’’Ashes, ashes we all fall down,’ they were dead?’_ A scrunched nose. _’That’s not a very nice song.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Pushing himself to a sit while holding his head, “Neither is plucking feathers from a bird and I don’t know what the burrito one is about.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Snickering, _’Burro...a donkey. He is sick and goes to the healer. Why is Haf-cath sad?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Growling, “Will you go away, if I tell you?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Nope, she can’t walk straight. This **da’sa** will heal your headache though.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Haf-...err Zevran wants Moira to have a baby.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’And?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“And he wants me to help.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’And?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“And it’s a bad idea. Now will you please, fix this?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Nope, this one not done with questions. Why does he need you...oh. That is harder than just using you.’_ She rolled to her back to examine the ceiling. _’Why won’t you do this thing?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Because someone like, oh I don’t know,” Ferox searched for a name the Warden would know, “Arl Eamon would think that Moira’s child was mine.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’You don’t want to have a **da’len** with her? She is a good Mamae.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Give her whatever she wants. This headache is going to kill me. You. Us._ “No, it’s not that, it’s the thinking that it’s mine that causes trouble later on. Not exactly like Alistair, but similar.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Ummm, what if the **da’len** didn’t look like you?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“There’s no guarantee of that and I won’t risk it,”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Okay, a minute.’_ Flailing she turned back over and pushed herself up to sit facing him. _’Whoa! Did you get that from Oghen? ‘Cause, it is...it is strong, Gaeaf.’_ Remembering where she was, _’Ummm, **da’len**. Oh yes, your mamae and her mamae and papae were blonde. What if the child had that? The brown is loud and shouts more. But if hair can be ‘fixed’, why not eyes? Even if **’cath** was the papi, the mamae’s black is louder and the **da’len** would still look like you...perhaps with ears, but maybe not. Little things are easy to change right when the baby is made, Gaeaf. This would make sure that your rumours do not run about.’_ Pointing at the alcohol, _’You need to drink more of that.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Without thinking, he picked up the bottle, still mostly full and looked at it for a moment wondering why it was in his hand. “No, I don’t want any more.” Putting the cork in the bottle, he set it down, “If this could be changed, doesn’t all that work make you tired? You said that this time would be harder than the first time.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Nodding, _’Most Wardens have a little pushed back every day and most of them do not want **da’len’en**. All of the body takes damage and has to be repaired and any new bits that the body makes later have to be ‘clean too’ otherwise you couldn’t get home in time, you would have to bring the grumpy Queen here and then...well, she would be very grumpy and you could not get close enough.’_ Where was she? Oh yes, extra energy. _’If this one turned on those things for you and found matching things in the Mamae to turn on, then the baby looks like the cat and no hurt feelings from nasty people.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“So, what’s the trade? What will he ask for?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________’Your trade with him was done last time, all e’s with accents and cute little hats on the i’s. This exchange is with this **asha** and she will not trade with you, Gaeaf; she will trade with Haf’cath.’_ Reaching out to touch him, the fog of the headache lifted as did the last of the drunkenness. The healer’s voice was blurry again, _‘Go tell him you are sorry.’_ The song about the burrito resumed but faded the more stairs he climbed._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	25. Quest for Life and Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck, I suck, I knowwwww! But I come bearing three chapters beta'd from ages ago to spam tonight. And apparently March 22-28 has been declared a 'Zev appreciation week' by a few friends whom complained that there wasn't enough Zev stuff...

When he got to his and Zevran’s room, Ferox poked his head in and realized nearly too late that his lover had been asleep, and he ducked back out quickly. Mainly because there was a vibrating dagger lodged in the doorframe and groggy growls. Ferox quieted those quickly by brushing his mind against Zevran’s who sheepishly apologized with a mental touch. Removing the weapon from the wood, he entered and pulled off his boots, unused to his sun’s reaction, then again, it wasn’t normal for the elf to be asleep so early. 

Rolling onto the bed, he found a comfortable position before Zevran wrapped himself around him. “What is that smell? It’s not one I recognize immediately, but for some reason, I think I’ve smelled it before?” 

“Cannabis, _querido_. You have smoked it before and it is what is contained within...Dassan’s...’cigars’, hmmn?” A yawn and Zevran burrowed closer. “It will help me sleep enough without undue side-effects other than hunger, which is actually a benefit for me at this time, yes?” 

A grunt of agreement. “Something strange just happened, I think.”

“Hmmn?”

“I was drunk, then I wasn’t really, but the headache was, Maker, that was painful. And then I had a strange conversation about changing small things to stop rumours.”

Zevran sighed, “It does not matter what ‘changes’ anyone makes. There will be rumours. Did you know that I had to fall over laughing when someone suggested that our good Howe was Elissa’s father? Or that you were Eleanor’s? Tchk. Never mind the exact chronology of events, in the face of such things, logic is meaningless. They dissipated after awhile, but such things come and go in cycles, wasting everyone’s time, _amora_.”

“So I shouldn’t help?” _I’m confused now._

“With what?” his lover sat up and lit a candle and grabbed a bag of what was apparently jerky, munching on it.

“The healer said that I could help and she would fix it so Moira’s child didn’t look like me.”

His assassin blinked slowly, eyes faintly bloodshot, “Our. _Our._ Our child. Mine. Yours. Hers. _Amora_ , all I was suggesting was that the three of us put in the effort. Between you and I, your seed would be the most vigorous, so it would be more likely to catch. Nothing more. I did not mean to send you into paroxysms of discontent.” 

“Ours.” _Fine._ “I’m just trying to keep everything, everyone, straight. I was not particularly myself during the ‘conversation’ with her and you aren’t yourself either right now.”

A sigh, “There is nothing to keep straight. There is only so much planning that can be done in life. There is only so much you can do, and then you have to learn to let it go and do what makes you happy, regardless of worries.” Zevran held up a hand forestalling any growling or protest. “No matter how you stack things, life will go about its own way. People will have differing opinions and experiences and prejudices and abilities. They will say and do what they will, you can only change their minds so much. Do I want to have you join in the attempts? Yes, yes I do, very much so, _amora_. But do I wish for you to suffer over who will say what, see what, do what? No, not at all. Not one bit. There is not a single thing that can be done or said to comfort you in this, you will simply look for all the bad outcomes you can find, no matter how realistic or unrealistic, nearby or remote, and remain locked on those. Whatever you wish of this situation is what you can have, _querido._ You are my heart, it is for you I do what I do, but I am still a single person and not a god, I cannot banish rumours, I cannot change the world. We can only facilitate and do our best to lessen risks of varying natures, but in the end, we also cannot force such changes. That leaves us with the option then of simply letting it go and doing those things that make us happy, or not letting go depending on the person and their disposition.”

 _I think I got lost in that...if there’s nothing to keep straight then I’m in over my head. Oh? This doesn’t look like a trap. The best traps don’t. True, but...he asked. Would you stop that, it doesn’t help me think._ Awash with words said in his favourite voice, Ferox tightened his arms around Zevran. “I love you. Go to sleep.” 

“Mph, just going to finish this,” chewing while muffling a yawn with the back of a hand. “Dassan’s ganja is quite strong... He must be growing his own, as...at dinner he gave me some dressing with it. With oil. Yes. Very herbal, quite tasty, and then we smoked some with cups of hot cocoa. I believe I have eaten half my weight this evening, I am going to pop. But I am so hungry.” 

“Would you like something from the kitchen?”

Sleepy and contented growling, “No. I know my stomach is full - here, if you poke it, it is hard, I have eaten so much - but my mind says that I am not. No, no, I think I will go to sleep now. But this jerky is very tasty, you should try some.”

A snorted laugh, “Let me guess, he made that too?” Remembering the jerky in the healer’s satchel, “Anything mind altering in there too?”

“No, just very good.” Another piece was torn off and slowly sucked on instead of scarfed. “Honey, good wood chips for smoke, a little bit of spices...possibly some Seheron fermented bean sauce or something similar. And it is very good.”

“If I recall, he wanted meat on your bones, I assume the duplicate is pleased then.” _But still stuffing you silly and making you hungrier. Was it a message to settle down and have children, instead of a criticism as I thought? Is that why you found it so funny and I didn’t? And here I wanted to throw myself in that dragon’s mouth to make him take it back. Good thing we were already at sea. Yeah, good thing that, it would have been a rather ugly end._

The pouch was set aside and Zevran took long pulls from a flask, then that too was put away, and his lover rolled over to face him with honey and juice scented breath. “Moderately. Though he did say something about the fact that you do not have the ‘proper gear’ for me to make you pregnant if that was what I was trying for. Also that we should be careful, as little Dulsanaya has been puzzling over how to make such a thing possible and that it has been all she talked about for the last few years. I am not entirely sure that he was teasing.”

“What?!” The palm of his hand smacked audibly into an eye socket as Ferox rubbed vigorously. “She didn’t say anything about that. At least, I don’t think so, I hope not...oh Maker. I don’t want to know, and if that’s her plan, the answer is ‘no’. She wants to talk to you, something about a trade, and if that idea comes up, the answer is absolutely, one hundred percent, without a doubt, **no**. Understand?”

Zevran chuckled then rubbed Ferox’s stomach, “You do not think you would be enchanting, waddling around? Tchk.”

Snarling, “Ever see a rabid wolf?”

“Yes, we killed a great many of them. Tchk, _amora_ , now _I_ was the one teasing you there...” said with a nuzzle. “However, it would be one way to quell some rumours - ah, ah, do not worry, I am terrible, I know.”

“I am not going to pounce on you no matter how you flirt tonight because you would only snore,” still growling but no longer snarling.

Zevran snorted even as he cuddled closer, “I do not snore. You are only hearing your own racket. Nor am I inebriated enough for such a thing to happen. We are in a place that is not smelling entirely of us, therefore my body believes it to not be as safe...mmnnmm? So, no chance of snoring at all. However falling asleep directly afterwards? Well that is a male problem anyway.”

“Which one of your parents blessed you with such an erudite and persuasive tongue? You could charm the Divine herself out of the golden statue of Andraste at the Grand Chantry, I’m convinced of it.”

“Eh? Not my type, the old power hungry biddy can keep those robes on and the hem well down and away from me. None of them have a thing on you, _amora_ ,” Zevran sighed as he somehow plastered himself to Ferox, completely earnest, eyes large and drowsily well focused on him.

“Incorrigible and very convincing. You already know I have no armour to protect me or willpower to stand against you when you are armed with the combination of your voice, need, and near magical ability to persuade.” To say nothing of those great shining eyes.

A yawn and sleepy kiss, _’Flatterer. Not that I mind, **querido**. But I truly am tired and I must rest as much as I can.’_

“Then come bury your nose in my scent to settle you to sleep. I will not go anywhere until morning.”

....  
[Dulsanaya]

 

The morning rising came late as all were tired from the travel and activity of yesterday. Breakfast preparations were underway before any of the Fereldens ventured downstairs. Dulsanaya and Zevran were in the courtyard at the center of the garden at the sunny end as she had already burned energy that morning. Sharing a nectarine, _’You know it will be difficult for the Mamae to have what she wants from the **’cath**. Possible, given enough time, but she wants more than just that, she wants to be a mamae to the Queen’s **da’len**.’_

_’Either way she would be a mother to that child, no matter how you look at it. What it comes down to is how soon the females become pregnant. Zevran has a good start, but he should have found the ability to eat and sleep more sooner. He is not as fertile as he could or should be, I can tell, he does not have the scent of it.’_

Leaning over to lick a bit of juice from his chin and following the trail to his mouth for a kiss, there was no other reason to eat stone fruit as far as she was concerned, at least for the moment. _’That method is too slow, **na’asha** has ways to hurry it along. He is burning energy with those amulets. Forgotten the cost of the contact. There is hunger for food, for energy, there and has been for sometime.’_

Zevran shrugged as he kissed her, _’We tend to sublimate discomfort in favour of efficiency. It is only natural. Besides, if it shortens his lifespan in the process to more closely align with Trouble’s, he will be content.’_

Having been about to purr and compliment him on his flavours, she jerked in her thoughts not having entertained that idea. _’No. That is wrong. He will be needed elsewhere afterwards.’_

 _’And he will be in pain, **em’lath’sa** for every moment he is without that one, it is all over him like a pall. He will feel no joy, he will be only pain, until he finally stops. But he is not one to throw his life away either, no matter his own agony. Let him rest.’_

Somewhat desperately as her heart hurt, _’But what of the **da’len’en**?’_

 _’Do you think he will not remain as long as he can for their sake?’_ a grunt and mild scoff. _’He will stay out of love and duty, but will still be miserable. Do not pretend that you do not see that. Thirty, forty, fifty years from now, let him be an old man. His use of and reliance upon the amulets will only ensure that it will be a few decades rather than many decades ‘til the time he can join Trouble in whatever passes for an afterlife.’_

A sudden rising of anxiety, disquiet, and worry, spurred her words, _’If Gaeaf had known, he would not have melted to let the cat in. This one does not like giving up, and why is there just the one for the cat? Why not find another for him to become attached to? Is there just one for each of them, for you?’_

The calloused palm cupped her cheek came as Zevran rose quickly. _**Em’lath’sa** , it is not that we are incapable of attachment to others. It is that no other could fill the void. Think on it a moment, most of us lost how much? To lose it all over again? And again? And again? Not because love is not worth having, but sometimes, one is just too **tired**. There is nothing wrong with it, but there is no replacing those who have fallen. You do not replace Lahar, she does not replace you. Neither of you replace Rinna. Each is unique. However, sometimes it is simply **time** to let go. My duplicate, he... Trouble holds the entirety of everything that causes him to live and breathe. The **da’len’en** will give him purpose, yes. They will even make things easier. But there are instances when it is simply time. Things end. People end. True, if he lived for two, three hundred years somehow after Trouble’s passing it would be likely that he found someone else...but the question is - does he **want** someone else?’_ His grip turned stronger, _’And more importantly for you, as that is what you are seeing, does yours want any other?’_

Stubbornly, finding that much inside herself, even though much of her wished to wail it, _’This one has said before, he is not hers. There are no words, no deeds to that, no marks have been given or received.’_

Lips pressed to her forehead, _’No matter how you deny this thing, it does not mean it is not true. He is yours, you are his. Marks are passing, words are passing. The deeds he already does and has done, are not. Deny as you will, **em’lath’sa** , it does not change the facts of reality. The sky is blue, grass is generally green, and that he is yours and you are his. Others may come and go to tide one over, but make no mistake, he wants no other. I see enough of your dreams and memories that I know this.’_

Shaking her head, _’The trays are whole and the memories are complete. There is nothing, **emma’mi**. And even if it were true, this **da’sa** would be the one left alone. Others can only be repaired for so long.’_

 _’I know, I am only saying that if the roles were reversed. To try and help you understand why this is not wrong.’_ Zevran glanced towards the main building. _’Wrong is a thing of perception. But to this duplicate it would be a greater injustice to not allow him the choice of whether to burn his energy up or not. Or to inform Trouble of what you know, as he will only do harm in trying to prevent it. That one, he is no fool, do not doubt he is aware there is a cost of years to what he does. And still he wears the strong one, the weak one and the original. He knows and he embraces it with open arms. On the day he frees Trouble from the chains of a broken and twisting soul, he will die. To make his consciousness go on longer and animate a body that is nothing but a prison, is cruel.’_

 _Oh gods_. Tears blinked, whispering, _’Then link them fully so there is no time between their ends. When one is done so is the other.’_ Oh gods.

_’No. I do not think that is the answer either. But ask him if that is what he wishes.’_

Breaking away, _’You know why he will not seek the Deep Roads. This one suggests that it not be used for any female, **emma’mi**. Plan another end.’_

 _’For myself? Ah I have my own plans in mind for that, I am not the sort to throw myself at creatures that are fond of eating me,’_ catching her once more to hold her close. _’Nothing gruesome, I assure you.’_

Distressed, anguish, and upset threaten to spill out on the many links she kept hold of, _‘ **Na’asha** cannot stay here today. Perhaps they would like to come play on the beach with us? They have plenty of birds to keep watch.’_

Zevran squeezed her, enveloping her in himself, _’That is a fine idea, **em’lath’sa**.’_ He laid his cheek atop her crown, _’You are loved. You are wanted. You are safe. Be at peace.’_

For now, in this moment, this was true. Haf’cath had asked what she would do when all of them were all gone, when the last _ir'enansal_ slipped from her grasp. Some were already gone, if the stories were true; already those that survived were falling. To even have suggested an end for one, to make it easier for him, sliced deep where healing couldn’t reach. Pushing the weight aside so she wouldn’t be drowned by it, entangled and ensnared by the sorrow it carried. _‘ **Ma'arlath, emma’mi**. Don’t leave **na’asha** today.’_ Blinking, the table in her mind was cleared of the memory and the tiles in a mosaic that waited to be examined, holding things she didn’t want to see, and so were put away. 

Restoring her calm bit by bit, _’Let us go start the kitchen elves on a picnic lunch then. Shall we take **your boat** -’_ the words emphasized to tease as it was an old argument, _’to an island or just a walk down to the beach?’_

 _’Ours, **em’lath’sa**.’_ Zevran crossed his arms, head cocked as they walked into the kitchen, _’It might be entertaining for an evening camp and full day at the island. And Trouble could be useful with that little cottage. I say put them to work, in a friendly way. I know that look and there are ‘favours’ afoot. May as well make them a little useful. Besides, I will likely have to hand over some more of our supplies to ensure that they are feeding those children decently. And the other really should for the sake of species survival, get an elf pregnant. So, food, he needs a lot of it.’_

Snorting. _’This one is the only elf and she is not available.’_

Scoffing, _’If he touches you I will take his finger off at the neck and he knows it. No, but I am sure there are likely to be many elven women in Ferelden that would be more than happy to take a few tumbles with him.’_ “They will be needing food for the Prince Consort and his entourage, as well as Healer Dulsanaya and myself for two days. And something for a picnic for lunch. Breakfast needs to be hearty, and,” reaching out to halt one of the kitchen staff as they all went into a flurry, “make sure there is triple the amount of meat for the other Zevran’s portion. Less grains for his meal, more fruit, more meat, more vegetables.”

“Yes, ser,” and they all began rushing to follow the requests.

Zevran looped an arm around her waist, _’And before you ask, no, I do not intend on doing the same. **Da’len’en** are pleasant, so long as I can send them home.’_

A flicker of thought gone before it arrived. Lightly, _’Keep eating your deathroot and perhaps you will have your way.’_

 _’It tastes good though,’_ an amused justification. _’And it helps my immunity to poison.’_

XXX

Dropping camping supplies into the hold to be put away, food to the galley, all hands were coordinated and made useful. Barrels of fresh water, not enough for the entire company, but enough to last a short time, were rolled on board. Ferox nearly asked why they weren’t bringing more, but then remembered the stone that cleaned water originated here.

The children were laying on the bed looking up at the painted constellations on the ceiling and walls, most of the ones in the northern sky they had never heard of. Some of them even the Antivans would not have observed from their own memory of the night sky above Antiva City - at least according to Dulsanaya. The point at which the observer stood was even farther north. Even in the daylight, stars tucked into corners glowed slightly, having been painted using the juices of phosphorescent mushrooms. The stars which caught sunlight, glittered as if embedded with precious metals or crushed stones.

The walls were brightly painted, appearing to be a sky caught at sunrise or sunset with wild streaks of oranges, purples, roses, and pinks that up until the painting was viewed, one would have believed that only nature could make those colours match and blend together. The walls faded into the blue of the ceiling. Each of the thick porthole windows had an iron basket under them attached to the wall in which a wooden buckets were set, and each one was full of herbs or other edible plants. The floor was polished to a high sheen that amplified the little bit of light that entered through the windows. All in all it was a homey house on the water that put Ferox in mind of the groundskeeper’s cottage at Castle Highever.

Len had the index fingers of each hand in his mouth at the corners, brows quirked up as he stared at the ceiling with Eleanor pointing to the few that she knew. Elissa was describing pictures out of the scattering of stars and Len was alternately asking toddler-questions or looking around, but mostly content to remain where he was with his big sisters. 

Ferox finished setting the last poles of the canvas contraption his lover and the duplicate insisted was a tent in the hold securely. The two Crows weighed anchor, the late morning tide and strong wind causing the sleek green vessel to slowly edge away from the outermost quay without the assistance of rowboats, majestically moving free. Watching the identical serenely focused expressions as they put their knowledge to work, Ferox forced himself to really look at them. There were differences in how they moved, his lover was easy and carefree, and only years of knowing him showed Ferox the faint hitch in step here and there from old injuries, almost a feline dance. The other put him in mind of a fast snake, or even a dragon, each motion clearly planned, but so fast and unexpected that Ferox had a hard time following. 

Zevran had taken up the duplicate’s ‘name’ and used it easily as they called back information from different areas of the ship in their shared language, voices echoes and nearly the same but different. ‘Dassan’, that twisted mirror, had a constant low burr in his voice, gravelly, and even when he raised his voice louder, it was sonorously soft like a hissed warning. While his Zevran, crowed joyfully, a brightness of motion and word and voice that bespoke of lighter things and sunshine. 

His lover was hanging upside down from a railing, curiously examining the ship, and as it surged up from a small wave, _’There are eyes on the prow! Hah! He has very much had a hand in this lovely lady’s creation.’_

_’Eyes on the prow?’_ Making a face, Ferox tried to twist himself into a position to see what his assassin was seeing.

A bronzed finger pointed, _’In Antiva we paint eyes on our prows, below the waterline, to watch for obstacles beneath the waves. He has painted three sets. There is the ones up here in place of a figurehead, dragon eyes, yes? Look at the slits instead of round pupils, the way the colours radiate outwards. But below, there is a set of eyes as well, watching the starboard. It is likely that if I went over to the port side there would be eyes there, yes? Whoever built her knew their business, this creature is beautiful, **amora**.’_

The palace guards had been left at the embassy and only four Crows were in attendance. They seemed nonplussed by the ‘twins’. Armand had seen the other before, as had the other three Crows in attendance, but none of them had ever witnessed them working together, side by side. They had all taken to calling the twisted one ‘Dassan’, which was difficult for Ferox, but he managed as best he could. He just couldn’t _think_ of him as ‘Dassan’. What Ferox had to wonder though, was what the other Crows made of the duplicate, if they looked at him and saw what could have been done to them, the sort of Crows they _could_ have been, but for the grace of an uncaring Maker. 

The children were in the hold looking out the windows at the water or still at the painted sky, but Moira and Light were there and they were safe, that much was certain. 

The healer popped out of the cabin and, ducking her head under his arm, wrapped herself around the duplicate, her ear against his chest. Ferox watched as she again touched the other as if checking in. Even when they were loading the hold, she would drag a hand over the duplicate’s back or brush a hand as she passed by. It reminded him of when Zevran had ‘itches’ and needed constant contact. The overwhelming neediness and petting occurred much less frequently since obtaining the amulets, and even less after the night of Spring with the lotus - a flower he still possessed, pressed and then in a glass case beside his bed - but it still occurred. Usually after it he had given a sparring demonstration or Earle had a rather amusing story to tell or song to sing. However those ‘reassurances’ were mostly Zevran finding the fastest way out of his and Ferox’s clothes as soon as they were behind closed doors. This was different because although she checked with the other, she was surreptitiously watching his Zevran. Dulsanaya hadn’t said anything to him, not that she was ignoring him, but there was apparently no information that needed to be shared. 

_Perhaps she is looking at other options for a father? If Zevran had progressed on whatever this ‘preparation’ is, maybe she would use him instead. That would be a relief. Take care of that guilt you’re carrying ‘round. It’s not guilt, it’s a sick feeling in my gut thank you very much. Sounds like guilt to me. Shut up. Just trying to be helpful... Sure, sure you are._

XXX

[Zevran]

The two large yurts had been set up, a process that Zevran was familiar with, and much faster at doing than his duplicate. _Probably because the Dalish do not use them, relying on their **aravel’en** and small tents. Tchk, odd then that he made them, is it not?_ But the canvas contraptions reminded him of the Drylands, Weyrs, and Green Dales, old habits had come to the fore and they had those set up in almost the same amount of time the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ would. 

Zevran reclined in the sun in nothing but a pair of leggings Moira had hemmed so that they stopped at mid thigh. Ferox and Dassan - _Mph, he came up with that so fast, it makes me wonder if that was an old name, yes? Quite likely-_ were working on the lodge beyond the treeline while the Crows, children, and Moira played in the surf. While Zevran hadn’t had his fill of those activities, he also hadn’t been in a place that was warm enough to just lounge around in nearly nothing just to feel the sun on his skin, in a very long time. It had been years since he was dark brown as a walnut, not that he wanted to be that dark again, but it would be nice if he shed some of the pastiness that came from living in Ferelden. Also there was the minor fact that he had to conserve as much energy as he could in the hopes he would become fertile.

Not only that, he was waiting for the little healer. Her eyes had been on him constantly and he could feel her sadness. _For what reason are you sad little one, hmm? No matter, when you are ready you will come and we will talk, yes?_ musing as his ears took in the sounds of work and play and surf while he waited patiently. Eventually she did come, her long damp hair plastered to her virtual nudity, the thin cotton shift, through which her lush green vines shown through, the fabric only there out of a sense of propriety in all likelihood, as, like him, she was obviously the type to run about nude on the beach in any other circumstance. But with children, strange men, and a Ferelden woman, it was ‘best’ to have at least something on.

Shifting Zevran lay his head in her lap. _’Hello **da’len**.’_

Absently, her soft fingertips tracing the small lines at the corner of his eyes, _’ **Ma dar da’len, Haf’cath**.’ [You are the child, Summer Cat]_

_Smiling at her insistence, _’Perhaps in chronology, but not in development. Those of us who live faster lives, needs must mature at different rates.’_ Closing his eyes, _’But let us not argue semantics, **mushu** , that is not why you are here. What might I do for you?’__

__’This **asha** has questions as to what you want, what you need.’_ _

__’My needs and wants are ultimately very simple, no? I have those things, and those that I do not, will come with diligent work,’_ crossing his hands over his stomach. _’But I will answer whatever questions you have, to the best of my ability.’__

__’So you say, but not everything comes with patient work, sometimes other ways must be taken. The mother wishes to carry your child and Gaeaf wishes that the child not be his by nature, although he will not deny them and would care for them like the **da’asha’en**. They would both prefer it is yours.’_ _

_Flicking his fingers dismissively, _’I have already deduced that. Why do you think I am here, laying around like a beached dolphin when I would rather be active? Neither of them understand, and that is just how it is. I will not complain.’__

__’You are impatient as well and know that you are not spending enough time resting and that this could take some time. The work calls to you as does playing in water with the family you care for. The little you do is not the problem, these,’_ touching each amulet from strongest to weakest causing each one to sing in his mind, _’these are the problem. Taint is bad for Wardens, it is bad for you. It is as if you had not started resting, they eat bits of you just like it does to the drinkers.’ ____

___Pursing his lips, Zevran rolled his head to one side, his cheek pressing to her knee. _’I am quite well aware of what it is doing to me. And I am glad for it.’__ _ _

____’That is another argument you will have with this **asha** \- later.  Now we speak of a **da’len** for the Mamae.’_ _ _ _

____’What will happen will happen. If I am unable, then that is how it is. I will not stop using the amulets,’_ Zevran was adamant but kept his tone as gentle as he could. He knew she only wanted to help. _’I cannot. I dare not. So I will not.’__ _ _

____’This one is not here to sway you and may be able to offer assistance on that point, but that is not the first concern...with those,’_ another mental hum of vibrating Archdemon blood, _‘ You are unable to provide what is needed. To have Gaeaf give this hurts him, even if this **da’sa** makes changes.’__ _ _

___He sighed, _’He does not have to give anything. The point is moot. No matter what happens there would be rumours. It is naive to think otherwise. Even if one child had ears as large as mine and the other did not, there would be gossips tittering to each other one thing or another. And it does not matter. They are all fools, even my loves are fools. Children and foolish and naive and stubborn and blind. It is their way, but I love them anyway, so I will try. Ferox need do nothing, I have already told him that his help is not necessary. If Moira and I are unable to conceive, then so be it.’__ _ _

____’You are not listening either, **Zev’er’an** ,’_ using his name for the first time, and it quite irritated him, sending his hackles up. _’Yet this **asha** loves each of you. You will not have a child this way, stop trying. No rest, no food, no nothing you do will fix this. The energy you save is burned away and the blood destroys that which contributes.’_ _ _ _

___He suspected the amulets would do that, but it was a question of giving Moira what she desired, or outliving his grandchildren. The decision was simple, but he would at least try. Zevran wasn’t entirely sure he wished for Dulsanaya’s assistance, it may very well undo his overall goal to have a more human lifespan and decline, which would only set him back at the beginning._ _ _

____’This one has said to Gaeaf that she will help. What needs to be restored is what dies first, as they are delicate. If you wish the damage to remain elsewhere, even though the thought is wrong for this one, she will not heal the rest without permission.’_ A palm with five fingers spread pressed to his chest, _’This one promises this thing, nothing to be healed but what is required for a **da’len**.’__ _ _

___Grimacing at the pain he usually hid from all others, Zevran pressed his hand over hers. _’You do not have to, **mushu**. No matter what action is taken, no one will be entirely safe or satisfied. But I thank you either way. I understand that holding back would be hard for you for reasons other than power-source. It is why I have not asked. As I once said before, eventually there will be none of us left, and I know that hurts you. I very much understand how you feel about it, as my own heart aches for similar reasons. To ask you to heal me ‘just enough’ is, to you, tantamount to letting someone leap from a building to plummet to their death. What is worse, is knowing that that person was someone you care for, no? That is why I leave the decision up to you whether to heal me ‘just enough’ or not at all.’__ _ _

___Distress and sorrow swamped the link, _’This one has suggested worse, in your case, **da’len**. It is possible to link the amulets closer, so that when Gaeaf is done, so are you. **Emma’mi** suggested this **asha** tell you of this thing to see if it is wanted...desired.’__ _ _

___Zevran understood what it cost her to have thought of such a thing. It was also something he wanted, wished for, knew in the years to come he would berate himself for what he was about to say. Knew that he would awaken in mornings in an empty bed and would stare, searching, flailing, grasping through the amulet for someone who was not there. Knew he would spend hours or days or weeks at a time hating himself, hating Ferox, hating even their children for making him stay, but also knowing that it was his task and burden to bear, and that, ultimately, it was one he felt joy for, no matter how the grief would destroy him in the end. But that did not mean he would make it easy for those burdens to last longer than absolutely necessary, in ninety years at most he should be dead so long as he kept up his exposure, when before his usage of the amulets it would have been far longer if what he suspected were true, and by what the little healer did and did not say and imply._ _ _

____’Just because I pray for or wish for something with all my being, does not mean that I can take it or accept it when it is offered. I made a promise, I have made many promises, all of which must be kept, no matter my personal cost or happiness. For those reasons, I cannot accept what you offer, as grateful as I am that you would have been willing to do such a thing.’_ Zevran knew that the cost to her was the very same sort of cost and agony he would go through when it was time to free Ferox of the mortal coil, and it was done out of care and love, as the actions were one and the same._ _ _

____’This one had thought to make another amulet, and did so before she saw what damage the others had caused, it was to have been a gift. It would cause more harm, as this **asha** believes it could easily reach through the layers, it is free from fetters and would call out to this one.’_ Dulsanaya’s fingers had moved to move over his face, as though memorizing the slight differences between himself and any other she knew, _’At first, after seeing the damage caused, this one was going to destroy this thing, but if you are set on decreasing the time without Gaeaf, it would...help.’_ The healer sent warmth through the link, _’When they are gone, there will be no one to hear or return your voice, and the damage will be much less...the blood does not like to work if no one is there. This **asha** will be here long after the Wardens are gone. Do you want that amulet?’__ _ _

____’What layers would it send through?’_ Zevran asked, wanting all the information, though his instincts were screaming for him to beg her to hand it over._ _ _

____’My Antiva is not yours just as my Alistair is not his...these are differences...layers? This is not her speciality, **emma’cath**.’_ _ _ _

___Puzzled, Zevran opened his eyes to watch her, _’Then why make the amulet? What was it to be used for? What was the intent and what could I use it for otherwise?’__ _ _

____’It was made before the damage was observed. It was not made to harm, but if the others caused such damage, then this amulet would cause worse.’_ Dulsanaya indicated that she was intentionally not revealing all he wanted to know as she explained, some knowledge was protected, _’This one talked with Master Ilen and discussed crafting magics as well as reviewed her own memories of the making of the original **vallaslin** , long games with Sandal, and reading things one should not discuss, not even here in this way. It was determined that perhaps something like this one’s **vallaslin** , made similar to a rune could power such a thing, instead of using those who would one day go missing.’_ Cautiously, _’This **da’sa** had simply thought that you would like company in the long days. As to its other uses, this one does not know, her speciality is of the body and blood, it would be your speciality if you made it so. This **asha** has not come across one such as yourself before. Your strength of mind and abilities are unique.’_ _ _ _

____’Company would be welcome, yes,’_ mulling it over. _’Not that I would likely be very good company, but would be glad of it in any event for whatever time was remaining. In that case, yes, and I will explore its usages, perhaps the information gathered would be of use to you and other Wardens in the long run as well.’__ _ _

___Mentally he felt her shift, finding the same voice he heard used earlier to call Ferox’s attention to danger, to make the instructions clear, and to find the proper words, _’Do not use this amulet until Gaeaf is gone. It is doubtful it would work with the active amulets you would have at that time. This one is very different from them and would burn the Wardens with its power and the strength of your mind. When you are ready to put it on, remove the other active amulets first. Do not put them back on without taking off this new amulet first. By the time you need this one, the other amulets would have done all the damage they can to you...equilibrium having been reached.’ _____ _

_____Gratitude washed over him and he held it to her. _’There are many things I do not actively think on. That you and I both cannot bear to think on. Thank you for doing so anyway.’__ _ _ _ _

_____The sadness had not lessened, he could feel it with the contact, but all that could be done, all options available or known, had been presented. She shifted again away from clarity as though it was difficult to hold onto or took too much effort to keep. _’Using this day, it would be good to repair what is necessary. Privacy could be had and this **da’len** made tonight, if you and the Mamae wish it. Sooner is better given the time to grow, yes?’__ _ _ _ _

_____Squeezing her hand, _’It is too bad he does not desire to take part in the creation, but now is as good a time as any, yes?’_ Rising he dusted sand from himself and gave her a hand up so that he could pull her into a tight hug, trying to impart some of himself as thanks and more than thanks. _We are more alike than others,_ but he kept that thought quiet._ _ _ _ _

_____Almost happiness in the link pressed to him as she hugged back just as tightly, sending gladness that hard things were been addressed and decided even if at the same time the outcome was frightening and dreaded. _’Haf’cath, this one thinks Gaeaf could be led to be there, if you asked this thing, as it is the thought of supposed harm of ‘helping’ that causes him to shy away.’__ _ _ _ _

______’That man is born to worry. So troublesome sometimes, hmn? I already told him that it would not matter. In truth it does not. People will say things, there will be ‘harm’ no matter what, as people are strange and prone to gossip, male and female alike. What he fears is one-sided. But this is a well beaten horse of an argument, no?’_ Her chin tucked easily over his shoulder if he leaned down enough, which was odd, as he was no longer used to being taller than anyone other than his children these days. _’I have already asked enough of him either way. It would be unfair to make another request that would push him selfishly from his area of comfort.’__ _ _ _ _

______’This one talked with him...well, and sang songs...’_ giggling._ _ _ _ _

_____Laughing, _’Yes, I could hear you through him. And Dassan was complaining as well, which is why we wound up so high, as he would not scold you, yes? Some complaint about him talking and lecturing too often might have been mentioned...’__ _ _ _ _

_____There were more giggles, pinched up brown cheeks rubbing against his collarbone, _’ **Emma’mi** was very tasty and shared his fog, this **da’asha** had to be carried home.’_ A sigh as she breathed in his scent, a light thought comparing and contrasting the three she knew, and he wondered briefly at the sad fact that _shemlen_ senses were not as strong as _elvhen_ , leaving them viewing such actions as odd more often than not. The scent of the one here he knew, but the flavour of an excellent cognac and hot afternoon sunshine, he did not. _’But all of you talk and wash this one with words and she cannot breathe, drowning in them.’__ _ _ _ _

______’When one has a head full of many, many thoughts at once, there must be a release of them somehow, somewhere, like a teakettle, else our heads might explode. Which would be somewhat messy, and leave us not very useful to anyone, yes?’_ _ _ _ _ _

______’This one tries to float and not be caught under the waterfall. But then she is said to not to be listening,’_ a smile caught in the corner of her mouth._ _ _ _ _

_____Chuckling, _’Until a later date when you parrot it back, the way Ani used to do to me? Leaving a man to say in vast surprise, ‘What? You were actually listening?’ And now Eleanor and Elissa are doing the same...’__ _ _ _ _

______’Who is Ani? The weight on the name has importance like the **da’asha’len**.’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Ordering his thoughts with practiced ease, he showed her his daughter, the line of jaw and nose that were his, the cheekbones and build much like her mother, and subsequently her grandmother. The way the emerald green had turned to an odd gold tinted lime with the shared bloodlines. The way she sat her horse and her ability to shoot from a moving horse with alacrity, execute complex maneuvers as easily as breathing. Showing off a gap-toothed smile and holding up her first lost baby tooth to her ‘uncle’, the fact that she didn’t know he was her sire, the way the clan tattoos marked her chin, cheeks and brow, making her strong features stronger. How she was a beautifully handsome woman and his pride at her quick wits. He also showed his sadness at not having been more present, but also his knowledge that she was best off where she was, being her own person._ _ _ _ _

______’Anicada, her name means ‘in this place there is strength’, just as mine roughly translates to ‘precious.’ Or ‘you are gold’, it depends on connotation, yes?’_ Ruefully, _’Zamitie tends towards the poetic, and people wonder where I get it from.’__ _ _ _ _

_____At the word ‘precious,’ Dulsanaya became utterly still in his embrace as scent and thought, heartbeat and breath were pulled in a hole after her as if she were hiding. Just as suddenly however, at the name ‘Zamitie,’ there was a flurry of activity and sounds of drawers opening and closing, something being frantically searched for, once put away and kept safe but the safe place had been clearly forgotten for a moment. As the other usual sounds had not been restored, the sound of ceramic tiles and stones in wooden trays were all the louder in the link._ _ _ _ _

_____In an inhaled breath she returned, words and images of his mirror’s reaction and damage caused to himself, the questions she had asked, the memory she shared, detailed with scent and flavour of hurt, _’She is the mother. This one’s **ir'enansal** [most precious] has not said a word of this one, but **emma’mi** says to leave it alone. He will not speak of it, will not write to the mother, even if she could help him find a way back to his Warden, and the thought of the mother causes a need to harm himself. And this one poked, hoping to help, and hurt him more,’_ a wailed confession._ _ _ _ _

_____It was easy to identify, to him at least, the why of it and the emotion itself. _’Shame. It is a very debilitating illness, one that is hard to recover from, yes?’_ Squeezing her tighter, Zevran soothingly slid against her mind, melding them together as he would with Len or Ferox to dull the pain. _’He feels it over what he has become, and you feel it over inadvertent harm, yes? Yours you can let go, you are an adult, and can understand what has happened. His likely came from...older things I suspect, and no amount of ‘growing up’ will fix it. He may never let it go, **mushu** , but he has found ways to cope obviously or he would not be as...sane as he is.’_ Going over what Ferox had given as a description for the Zevran that was himself and not himself, once someone’s ‘little arrow’, _’I may need to borrow one of your amulets, as Ferox should not be party to such conversations. Nor should anyone overhear. I could make a try of it myself. However there is something else I could do instead, yes? I will write to her myself, not that she can read - well at least my Zama could not - but she knows many who can. Any of them I imagine would answer, for if we are all named ‘Zevran’, then all of us were precious to her at least once upon a time.’_ Clearing his mental throat, _’Also, I have done some thinking on the puzzle. But first I wish to dig a bit more into Kirkwall itself to see if there is any bearing on what may or may not be the cause of his presence here.’__ _ _ _ _

_____Letting go with one hand, she wiped away tears that brimmed and threatened to spill. _’These would be good things that might help, but she is not certain that talking between selves would help. The reaction was...’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Interrupting her gently, lips touching her damp lids, _’I will not talk. I will show, and I will show things that you do not know. No matter a different upbringing, there are many differences and nuances. If all else fails, I will simply take his pain from him at the conversation and you will wipe the memory of the conversation itself if necessary.’__ _ _ _ _

_____A lurched feeling in the stomach of being dropped then caught suddenly and unexpectedly by a rope mixed and echoed with shame all her own. Whispered softly in the link, _’This one does not do that anymore unless there are no other choices, **emma’cath**. It is wrong and this one knows it.’_ _ _ _ _ _

______’Then I will block the pain and blunt his shame if it comes up, yes? If I can take away aches and pains from a teething baby, then I can certainly sublimate other ones.’_ Adding, _’And I have less qualms about doing it, because this would be doing it to ‘myself’ in essence.’_ _ _ _ _ _

______’This is already your speciality, so this one will help. But, memories are very tasty things that easily lead to taking more until the hunger is not satisfied. She would rather other methods, even though he has already given permission for this one to take if necessary.’_ The links tasted of her sorrow, shame and misery at that memory too. Shaking her head slightly, _’Another day, today is for something else.’_ Another shift as if the conversation was almost physically pushed aside. _’You should find somewhere comfortable where this one can have sun, if it is needed. Then the Mamae should also be prepared so you are insured success.’__ _ _ _ _

_____XXX  
[Ferox]_ _ _ _ _

_____What was all that...hugging about? Ferox tried not to growl when he saw how charming his lover and the little healer looked. _He already has Moira. How many other women does he need? And why isn’t the other one snarling and trying to remove Zevran’s head?_ The duplicate had glanced over once or twice, simply scanning the area, completely at ease with what was a rather...intimate...embrace going on between the two elves. _And what? There’s just some **linen** between them. **Wet** linen for that matter. Wet, **sheer** linen, through which every green leaf can be seen. All it would take is a lift of hem and a push down of waistband, and - No. No. Don’t think about that._ Ferox was trying not to strangle the blade with the thick mud on it as he smoothed it over the hay bale wall. _Do not growl. Damn, I’m growling aren’t I? Yes, yes you are. Frell. Great and **he’s** smirking. Yes, that is certainly a smirk. Blast him. Besides, who is he fooling with a name like ‘little arrow’. Nothing little about him. Little arrow my ass. If he’s **anything** like Zevran then you’re right, there really **isn’t** anything little about him. Oh, that is, that is disgusting, I don’t want to think about that! Well there is one **small** \- You’re smirking too! - yes, yes I am, but as I was saying, there is one **small** consolation. Fine, what is it? Since he’s taller everything is less impressive. Oh. Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. I thought you didn’t want to think about it anyway? Well I don’t, but now I am, and I really would like to change the subject. Right, then perhaps you should just take a peek over there and - **IS HE KISSING HER**?_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Double checking the broken and altered one to see if he was seeing the same thing, and trying to figure out if he could kill the duplicate before he reached Zevran and did his assassin bodily harm, _And why isn’t he **DOING** anything? Why did he just grunt and then give me that look? **AND WHY WON’T HE QUIT SMIRKING**?__ _ _ _ _

_____“The mud will get too dry if you do not smear it on faster,” a macabrely malformed digit pointed at the scraper and the pile of brown mud on it._ _ _ _ _

_____Growling, Ferox quickly slathered the heavy paste on. “I know.”_ _ _ _ _

_____They worked in silence - _Except for your growling. Shut up_ \- for several long moments. _ _ _ _ _

_____“Has anyone ever told you that the expressions you make are humourous?” the other interrupted his brooding. “It is the high point of my afternoon.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Snarling at him, “Glad to be of service.”_ _ _ _ _

_____A chuckle went with the smirk, “Soon they will likely find a secluded spot.” As though to helpfully clarify, “To be alone.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Obviously.” _’Zevran, what the frell is going on?’ _____ _ _ _

_______A distracted thought reached for him, _’Going on where, **querido**?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Possessive growling, _’With you, of course. I know what’s happening here and his smirking is making me itch for a weapon.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’What is happening where? I do not understand **amora** , please explain,’_ far too innocent, far too confused. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Later. I’m busy being mocked again.’ Jerking on the strings again, are we? Shut up and plaster the frelling hay._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’As you wish, **amora**. Dulsanaya and I must find a quiet sunny spot away from the others for the time being.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’ **WHAT**?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______A mental hiss, _’For us to be able to make a child. There is no need to be so loud, **querido**.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Seething, Ferox bit back back the words he really wanted to say and managed instead, _’Oh? Somewhat distracted are we?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Possibly, speaking with her is more difficult, as I do not have an amulet to match hers, **mi hermoso corizon**. It takes more concentration, yes?’_ His lover added, _’Also, you were shouting, which was uncomfortable. Have I done something to displease you?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Don’t mind me, just having fun playing in mud over here with smirk-y-ist elf in all of Kirkwall, make that all of Thedas.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______His lover sighed, _’You do not have to be over there. You could go play with the children and Moira. Or simply lay upon the warm sand like a normal person. I am sure that Armand would be willing to take your place.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Normal? Skipping rocks is normal. And look who was telling me to be normal? Someone whose duplicate is so twisted he’s over here plastering mud on hay bales. Huh? Just pointing that out - who you are around at the moment. I hate you.You only say that when I’m right. Fine - I **despise** you. Oh? Is that the new way of saying you love someone? Could you just take a long walk off of a very high tower? No, because then Zevran would be upset, Len would cry, and nothing would ever be done correctly in Ferelden again. What? You mean the girls wouldn’t be upset? You care? You’re taking lessons from the freak with the frelled up hands, aren’t you? Nope, I’m fully capable of pissing you off all by my lonesome._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________‘Thank you, I’ll take your suggestion.’_ And do what with it? Give it the attention it deserves. Oh, had me worried there for a second that you might have seen reason somewhere. Are you kidding? Sigh - you are such a child. Oh yeah? Well why aren’t I off ‘playing’ with the children? ‘Cause you’d rather play with mud and be around a person who makes the back of your neck stand up! And smirks far too much. That too, couldn’t forget that part. I absolutely hate smirking. Zevran smirks sometimes. Yes, but that’s usually flirty and not smug. Or when he’s just made you - Don’t think about that right now! Well that smirk is usually a bit smug. Yes, but it’s a good smug and comes with a very, very nice thing. You are whimpering. Possibly. Shut up._ _ _ _ _ _ _

______“It usually does not take long, as I am sure you know,” another interruption, a very unwelcome one. “It truly depends on the physiology as I understand it.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Ferox managed a grunted, “As you say.” _Where the frell was that mask? Somewhere on the road. West Hills? You know, that wouldn’t be a long swim from here, only a few dozen days. Amaranthine? The first time? Well, at least I remember when it cracked. It was funny. Very funny that. Piss, right in the eye. That’s about what I feel like at the moment. The eye? You are not helping. Sorry, was just asking._ “Why are we putting mud on hay, exactly?”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“To seal it all up. _Em’lath’sa_ has control over things that were once alive as well as living tissues,” the dark golden blond head turned, a brow arched. “We do not wish a permanent residence, but one that will last for a few years. If someone else finds it after we are gone and wishes to maintain it, that is their prerogative. You are also still growling.”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______He’s right you know. Right about what? The growling. I’ll turn it down. Wait...lowering the tone doesn’t help. Really? Says who? Anyway, why would they build something to only last a few years? She did say she’d be traveling, or thought she would be, remember? So, are they going to sail ‘round the world? Somehow that almost sounds like fun. You have Ferelden to keep up and running, remember. Too bad. Could have a vacation that way...too crowded if we have to take everyone, remember how confined you were on an entire ship, imagine being on that with all of them...just purge that thought then, bad idea._ _ _ _ _ _ _

______“Mph, she is done with him, I was right, it did not take him long. Pity,” the duplicate shrugged, shaking his head as though saying ‘what can I do? I’m just the messenger.’_ _ _ _ _ _

_______Shut up. Bite your tongue. No! You bite it, that hurts. Someday, I’m going to kill him. What, you gonna snap and then he’ll break your neck? Gonna bleed on him to death? Will it work? Probably not, he’s too mean to die. Could ruin his boots though. What boots? He doesn’t **have** those boots. Hah! His Warden hasn’t given him  The Boots! Well, one for me. He does have gloves though, I remember that. Well, you could splash on them. Happy? A little. But I’ll point something out to you - there’s a healer nearby, she would heal you. Yeah, so? Then if you got those gloves bloody, just think how much worse the second death would be. Ouch. You had to go and ruin it. I was happy for a second and then you go do that._ _ _ _ _ _ _

______“I am sure that their child will be despicably adorable,” a pause in the work to light up one of those cannabis cigars. “As I can see from Len, _em’lath’sa_ does good work.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______“As you say.” _What? I didn’t agree. Don’t look at me like that. Len is adorable. No, he’s perfect. Fine - he’s both. That I’ll agree with. Good, I wasn’t asking your opinion because I was stating a fact. Why are you arguing with me? Because I can win. Enjoy it while it lasts.__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Oh, now I need a nap,’_ wafted into his thoughts with a yawn. _’And why are you still over there slathering mud? Did I not tell you to put Armand on that, **amora**? Tchk, you are so difficult sometimes, come here you giant shem buffoon and hold me so I can use your services as a mattress. Also, I would mostly just like to be held anyway, I need you.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______Ferox turned without so much as a by your leave scraped the mud currently in hand back into the bucket and dropped to the ground to talk to the ones on the beach. Long strides quickly took him away from the creature. “Armand, Zevran believes that one of you might enjoy plastering mud with Dassan.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Armand cast a glance at the other three, “Aiesh. _Comprende._ Alois - you and I for now. _Mierda, no soy pagado bastante para._ ” [Shit, I’m so not paid enough for this.]_ _ _ _ _ _

______The duplicate called out, laughing, “ _Trabaja para alubias. Mis alubias. Vamos, trabaja, ahora! Aqui, aqui!_ ” [You work for beans. My beans. Hurry up, work now! Here, here!]_ _ _ _ _ _

______Not understanding all of it, he shook his head muttering, “I really don’t want to know what beans have to do with work. Good luck, gentlemen.” Ferox turned on his heel and followed the trail of the amulet to Zevran. _ _ _ _ _ _

______When he found him, Zevran promptly pressed close, sand that had stuck to his dark back and abdomen grainy and gritty against Ferox’s chest._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Why?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Mmmn, why what, **amora**?’_ sliding in comfortably, finding a nesting spot inside Ferox’s psyche._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Sand. It’s itchy and there’s perfectly nice spots that aren’t sandy.” _Is that a whine? No, just complaining.__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’I was laying in the sand so that I could catch the sun and also watch the children. My apologies, **querido**.’_ Arms loosened from around Ferox’s waist, _’A moment and I will rinse them off, you do not have so much that it cannot be brushed away. I will return shortly, **amora**.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______“No. You are tired and so am I.” Ferox narrowly avoided the growl at his own stupidity and inflexibility. “Come, I’ll brush you off, then we’ll find somewhere comfortable, together.” _Tired of what? Arguing with you. Being provoked and trying not to react. Playing games I don’t know the rules to. You know, the usual Kirkwallian activities that I seem to participate in without knowing exactly what I’m doing or where I’m going. But it’s fun. Fun? For whom? Duh, for them, of course.__ _ _ _ _ _

______His assassin gathered up a blanket and a basket with a jar of the paste that had been slathered on all the fair-skinned people. _Yeah, but what about me? You’re not fair-skinned. But he’s still got that jar. Yeah, well, maybe he’s inviting Moira along or something. Oh. Really? One woman right after another and while I’m there? Possibly. He IS Antivan. Okay now you’re being an ethnocentric pig as well as a possessive ass. So sue me. Well there’s other things in that basket. Oh, right. Snacks and water.__ _ _ _ _ _

______With a flick the blanket was laid out in a fairly sunny spot with just a hint of shade, then weighted at the corners by some of the heavier contents from the basket. _’Come, **amora**__ _ _ _ _ _

________Don’t sigh. Don’t...nevermind_ , “If it will make you happy, I am certain that it will go well with the mud.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______The paste was fragrant and crisply herbal, as well as startlingly cool over his skin as Zevran worked it in. _’You are not very muddy, **querido**. If you must know there is a nice pond not too far from here with a good quantity of heavy clay lining it that Dulsanaya showed me. That might be fun to do later, yes?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Probably why it doesn’t drain into the sand. Catches rain...although seasonal storms would easily wash over the island...ahh, the runestone.” Half thoughts uttered as Ferox put the pieces together. “Makes sense.” He covered a yawn of his own. “Yes, that would be nice and cool later.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’After the children are abed, Moira and I will make the attempt now that Dulsanaya is sure that it is strong enough now,’_ the paste was quickly rubbed on all the showing patches of skin, the last bits brushed over Zevran’s face then the soles of his feet. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“What is?” _Seriously? No...well, yes. Yes, I’m tired of dancing around something I think might be another trap. Besides that, I’m also tired of being in the dark listening to innuendos from the duplicate who was taking great glee in his narration of the whole affair.__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______His lover’s expression was slightly flabbergasted and simultaneously concerned, “From the healing, _querido_. My seed? It should be strong enough now so there is no worry on anyone’s account?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Don’t mind me, I’m just the straight man to the joke. Waiting to find out where the prank is being played. Bite your tongue then and be polite. Don’t growl. This is what you wanted, right? I hope so. ‘Ahh, that makes sense too. So what did she want to trade then?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’She asked for nothing,’_ shrugging. _’The process is experimental as far as I understand, and the experiences gained will assist her research, yes?’_ Zevran tugged off his shortened leggings and rolled over so that the sun could strike his skin in full, _’What she requires will not come due for a long time. The request for and an offer of company at a later date, hmn?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Confusion. “That doesn’t sound right...I mean it doesn’t sound like what was rolled around in that drunken head, except my headache was so loud I was having a hard time listening. She wanted something.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______A bit testily, _’Well if she wished something other than what I have guessed at, then she forgot to say, **querido** , and I am likely to find out when she asks for it, no?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Based on conversations with her, I don’t think she’s the ‘I’ll ask afterwards because you owe me’ type of person either. It’s just odd, that’s all I meant.’_ In the bright light of day, Ferox realized that there was an odd mark on his lover’s now bare posterior that he had always thought was nothing more than a birthmark in the shape of a crescent and a very faded star no larger than his thumb. _Just shut up. Don’t ask. Whatever this path is that you’re on, it’s just bad, nothing is right. Got out of bed on the wrong side? No. Slept funny? No. On the ceiling? That could be it, perspective is a little off. Then just stuff cotton in your ears, shut your eyes, and keep your mouth closed. If anybody asks you a question, for your own safety, think first.__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Beside him, Zevran sighed, _’Please, the entire matter was upsetting enough for me, **amora** , I do not wish to argue over what is done. All I want is your presence.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“I didn’t think...” _That you were arguing? There you go again. I told you to bite your tongue and shut up._ Laying back, an arm over his eyes, Ferox held the brown hand next to him, lacing their fingers. _Fine.__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______His assassin’s voice was soft, _’I thought that was what you wanted. What was done could likely be undone, or I could simply wait awhile and have my seed no longer vigorous enough to get Moira with child. Tell me what I have done to warrant this anger and what I can do to solve it, please **amora**. I do not like it when you are angry with me.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Okay, remember when I said think before answering? Now would be that time. Shut up._ “I am not angry with you. I am angry with myself for the reasons I am always angry with myself - jumping too quickly to conclusions, not trusting, and allowing myself to be yanked this way and that by someone I don’t trust and know better than to even consider it.” Realizing he was doing it again, Ferox took a breath and tried to take the blizzard out, _’And, again, I am snapping without meaning to. However, I would be angry with you if you went through all of this and didn’t make what all of us want,’_ the growling and snapping getting the better of him again._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______The cat inside his mind was curled into a tight ball, staring at him with lambent eyes, the tawny fur pressed flat and close, just as the elf beside him seemed to be trying to sink into the blanket covered sand. _’As you desire.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Strangling the snarl back that tried to work its way up, Ferox sought distraction, _Say something, anything, do something, because none of this is working,_ and touched the mark lightly, _’What is this? I always thought it a birthmark, not a tattoo.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Hmn? What?’_ Zevran twisted and craned his neck around, squinting even though there was no way possible for him to see the small mark. _’What does it look like?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Shrugging, _’A crescent moon and a star.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Head dropping back down, _’Ah. That would be my slave tattoo, received when I was a week old, yes? There once was a ring of stars around the crescent, but time has faded it obviously.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______As well as a few scars in the region, faded and thin with age. _’I thought you said you had a brand?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Crow brand, yes, that I had removed which hurt more than having the brand done in the first place, yes?’_ Explanation came before Ferox could ask, _’Sliced away and healed at the same time, repeatedly, until the skin was mostly smooth, then tattooed over. Again, far more painful than the branding itself. But the removal of the brand was optional after one became a full member, as it is generally unwise to wear something that proclaims loudly that one is a Crow whenever one removes their clothes, yes?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Agreed, even I can see that it’s probably not a good idea. So why put one on in the first place...that’s not what I mean.’_ Sighing and starting over, _’Why brand anyone if they are to be ‘exposed’ for what they are by the mark? Unless the location is changed from person to person, wouldn’t someone look for signs of a mark that’s been removed?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Zevran rolled over, scratching lightly at the juncture of hip and thigh, _’We receive them so that we cannot run away. And modification removal is large business in Antiva, yes? But you must be over the age of majority to have it done unless your owner or guardian deems it necessary for whatever reason.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’And probably not a lot of good reasons...I would guess,’_ hesitatingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Sale, transfer of ownership, transfer of guardianship, removal of scars - there are plenty of good reasons. But unless you are over the age of sixteen, those reasons are necessary to have it done. However, the initial indoctrination usually takes a decade, plus another four to five years for ‘unsavoury rebelliousness’, which is why a Crow has to pass their tests to have it removed, as well as be in good standing for several years, hmn?’_ a wince then the jar was grabbed a bit of the paste slathered over his genitals. _’I hate it when that gets overheated, but it needs a tan as well, I am far too pale all over.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’I have already said that you are perfection. Cannot be improved upon. Period. End of sentence.’_ A bit of teasing finally creeping in, _’Just give up now, it’s too late, there is no further to climb as the peak has been reached.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______A low chuckle, _’I am glad that you feel that way. Have I reminded you lately that I love you? If not, then consider yourself reminded, hmn?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“And if you keep that up, squealing children will be running over here because you will be laughing from whatever those berry things you like so much. And there’s a lot of you on display.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Zevran tutted, “Nothing they have not seen at some point or another. Honestly, beaches that are moderately warm and sunny are for nudity. It is not as though we are being amorous in full view of others.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________No, then I must have been seeing something out of the Fade itself earlier. ‘Define amorous.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Brow quirked, _’Amorous - the state where one is displaying affection or touching of a sexual nature in preparation for, or acts of, sexual congress. Hugging and kissing and cuddling do not count as those are frequently minor affection, or, if born of sexual intent, they are considered commonplace enough so as to not be shocking.’_ Lips pursed, _’Is this another of those instances where you just like me to explain your own language to you just to hear me talk?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Apparently. ’It looks that way, but it was not my intent.’ So the affection shown to the healer was no more than that and the healing a healing. Yes, and that’s why you’re mad at yourself. Just checking, didn’t want to miss anything. Obviously you didn’t want to miss the chance to gloat. Well it was better than saying ‘I told you so’, or at least classier. Gloater. ‘That and Fereldens are prudes, but you knew that.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’It is understandable that clothes are worn so much as it is cold and damp, but truly there is no logical reason to wear them all the time and have such body shame. It is confusing to me, **querido** ,’_ yawning and rolling over to cuddle in. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Because,’_ welcoming the indications of forgiveness, _’as you have been so quick to point out, it’s cold, damp, and there’s no indoor plumbing and hot water for the most part.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’This still does not explain the body shame, which is what baffles me to no end.’_ Shifting as a sun-warmed one curled around his, _’As an example, did you know that Moira thought her feminine parts were abnormal? Discoloured? Oddly shaped? Faugh! I mean, one does not need to run around with everything out for the common view, but truly this entire concept of bodies being ‘wrong’ and ‘malformed’ when they are simply as the Maker, well, made us...tchk.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’Moira is beautiful and I do not remember if I said so or not.’ Another failing of Ferelden or just myself? I’m guessing myself because Father said it frequently._ Snapping and snarling, growling and biting, turned upside down and made fun of forgotten for the moment, Ferox tried to just enjoy where he was at, always something very difficult for him, always wanting to look ahead, to be wary of incoming danger, even if he didn’t know what that danger was._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______XXX  
[Dulsanaya]_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______After the healing, Dulsanaya was tired in soul, as well as being low in energy. The _vallaslin_ vines she wore on her skin were faded. The effort to hold back and not heal the real damage took as much energy as healing what she did. Keeping her steps slow and even, she did not stumble, there was one wrapped around her mind, holding her safe, one who knew what this cost, knew the ache in her heart. Oh gods. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______The worst was over, until she had to give him the terrible gift. It wasn’t meant to be a gift. It was supposed to be a bargain, but after seeing the harm the other amulets caused, she wanted nothing more than to destroy it, not mention it until his clear desire for the end was observed, tasted, and known. She had wanted to call on the Haf’cath after his duties were complete, to give him purpose, to give what was needed so he could continue... Dulsanaya acknowledged some of the desire was selfish, not only so that she might not be alone, but to further her own goals - not just the removal of the nooses around her neck, but also Razikale and Lusacan. The Wardens needed more than just numbers, they needed to be organized, they needed direction._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Wading into the sea, she pulled herself aboard Zevran’s boat, this thing he was turning into a home. It began with requirements, safety, comforts, until one morning she came back from the Qun’ari Compound and drop cloths were on the beautiful wooden floor, everything covered in shades of white and beige. It had looked like ghosts, everything hidden, and she was confused, until Zevran stepped back and showed her all of the jars of colourful paint. The happiness, the joy, words could not fully express, so she had pressed those emotions to him, just as she pressed her head to his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______She had looked up at him, her eyes bright, ‘ _Ma'arlath, emma’mi_.’ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______She loved those eyes of theirs, warm and golden, the spirit bright even in the darkest of them. Yes, even the broken one, who was made brighter than most because of the depth of the darkness that surrounded him. The flavour of sandalwood, _lin_ , magic, pepper, fresh rose and orange blossom water, lavender, sage and basil. She would have taken any who offered to keep her company, but it was that _enansal_ who was not afraid of the dark deeds in herself, so many scents, so many faces, and yet it was this one here with her. Zevran found these moments of joy for her, where all she could do was wash him with this overwhelming love, hardly a word said, just arms around him. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Pulling herself on deck, she separated the sand and salt from her skin before finding a sunny spot to recharge the _vallaslin_ vines in the light. The Mamae would need to be prepared before the light was lost, then tonight, when everything was in one place, she would draw them together, creating the _da’len_ they all desired, not just the Mamae, Haf’cath, and Gaeaf, but the _da’len’en_ , Zevran and herself. Even the flock that circled the cat wanted this, for it was he who gave them a new home in full. Stretching out on the deck, the thin cloth easily allowing light, mental fingers ran over her hair and skin, shh’ing, holding the sorrow back, cupping hands to hold the tears, so she could think of the next step of the dance, to rest and be ready for it. _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________’ **Ma'arlath, emma’mi**. You were right and so was **na’asha**.’ _Oh gods. Her emerald green eyes closed and the tightness in the chest eased as she was held by that mind that understood so much.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________’Love birds. Sometimes I think that might be what we are, **em’lath’sa** ,’_ the usual dark whisky voice coiled around her. _’Have you ever seen what happens to a mated pair when one passes? It is better whatever way it was decided. Which I can tell was one that makes you unhappy and in such turmoil. Ah, **em’da’sa** , I would that I could do something for it.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________’Tell this one that it is not today and it will be carried, endured for now.’ ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________’Then do not worry, it is not today. Neither of us are leaving today, and the other will leave later, but not too soon.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________His place is elsewhere, both were needed by others. Eventually each would return to their proper positions with the ones that called to them. But that time wasn’t today, it had been assured, the tiles of memory safe for the moment, and there was no need to grieve or mourn. Putting the tray of recollections away, it was left behind as it was not for this now._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Tomorrow they will play again on the sand and in the water. A new wreck had been found, left by the winter storms, and it needed exploring to see who comes to their waters, if anything interesting could be found. Dragons are rare, but little things that no one cares for, are commonplace and would make for bright sandcastles and happy children, maybe even a happy bird or two depending on the catch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________The brilliant light reflected off the waves, returning the vines to their lush green within a short time, the mental fatigue lifting as the available energy was plentiful. Days like the present one, she felt she could do nearly anything, could fill any need that was in her speciality. Going in search of the Mamae, to bring that one to readiness as well was swiftly done. Because of the heat of the day, the _da’len’en_ were napping in the shade, sprawled on blankets or ground covers. Quiet was easy, a skill never lost or forgotten, something like the rogues. The differences were easy for her ears to hear, but even Gaeaf, when he was quiet was not exactly silent at all. Head and ears tilting, hearing her own soft steps, she searched the faces of the flock who kept watch. One bird perched there was a man whose father she had known, in another time and place, a layer or two different. Finding the Mamae, the stone and sand shifted with more purpose to announce and not startle, but she would not hum or whistle as the flock did when revealing presence._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Kneeling next to the blanket, watching how the dark haired Mamae was with the _da’len_ , the longing and desire to be a mamae herself was strong. Many things must find their place before a _da’len_ of her own could be even considered however. The fleeting memory of a spark she had hoped for, for a short time, was still there, aching and painful inside. Even knowing that the sacrifice was still one she would make if she had to be there to slay another Archdemon. The _da’len_ , the boy they all called Len, was a sweet to be kept until the discovery of each flavour could be enjoyed on its own. In part, it was because exploring the secrets he contained needed concentration. A Saturnalia gift, desiring to be opened, tempting and tantalizing, Dulsanaya opted to put off examining Len until the very last moment until she could stand it no longer. _Tomorrow_ , she promiseds both herself, and the sleeping boy. Tomorrow the gift will be played with. Yet, even asleep, it called, he called, and her eyes scrunched closed, reminding herself of the day’s intended dance, the steps and stones that must be turned. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Fingering a brown curl while her other hand wrapped around the Mamae’s, _’Mamae, this one is making preparations for the thing you desire. Are you ready for your own?’ _____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________Earnest, deep navy eyes watched her, “What do you need me to do?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________’Relax or take a nap, nothing more. Lying still is all that is required for now. This one will prepare the ground so your body is receptive and does not fight what is needed for the **da’len**.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________She received a bright and gentle smile of thanks, “I’ll relax, possibly nap. There is an aura around sleeping littles that can put me down so quickly...”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________Watching navy blue eyes closing, relaxing, the healer eased the journey to rest, to sleep. Fertility itself wasn’t the problem, the acidity was. She had heard of some northern peoples who used crocodile dung to increase acidity of the womb as a way to prevent seed from taking root. A strange idea and made her wonder who thought of testing it...? It must have been a mage, or a wise woman of some sort, if it was true. Did Fereldens eat cranberries by the handful? What exactly was in their diet that was so acidic? Dulsanaya hadn’t considered that until it became a problem, nor had such a preparation on another been attempted until the Mamae for Haf’cath. Or, more accurately, readying a womb for seed hadn’t been done before **except on herself**. There was much more control over self than over others. Sinking into the healing link, what the Mamae was made up of, became her own. Looking away from the memories, from the thoughts that were not her own; eyes closed, she refused to be rude, no matter how tasty and tempting those memories were. Enough had been shared to know the life the family has is good, a _da’len_ truly was wanted and would be loved. The initial preparation was easy, not like the other on the Summer Cat, where the shaking urge to to reach and heal more, hands trembling, had rocked through her. It had forced Dulsanaya to step away mentally, to refocus on the task before being able to return time and time again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________’ **Emma’mi** , this one is done until tonight. Have you poked everyone and made them squirm, or do you need more time?’_ she reached out to him, teasing._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________’You are leaving yourself open, **em’lath’sa**. As for Trouble, he is unlikely to do what the three of them wish, no matter my goading. And the other, he will not ask, altruistic as he is,’_ was grunted at her. _’It nearly worked, then my duplicate made those ‘look at me I am a tiny little kitten, please snuggle me forthwith’ eyes and Trouble just made himself shut up and seethe.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________’Gaeaf is no challenge and this one has not forgotten. The tray sits waiting, its reminders of wishes clear.’_ Laughter, daring, _’But it only takes a touch to bring desire, shall this one demonstrate? She would hate to have you forget what art she can wield. Everyone but the watchers sleep.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________’Desire is not his issue, it is his ‘self-control’’,_ was snorted at her with good humour masquerading as sour along with a more silent agreement that her touch brought desire - without having to play with the tasty chemicals of the mind or body._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________’Do not be concerned. He will play when barriers are not quite so high, just so long as the core is not reached, much can be done without harm. He is contrary, but not exactly so... Now, will you come play? This one needs a nap.’ ____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’Only you would call a nap ‘play’,’_ which was quickly amended, _’Well, Trouble might.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’Oh ho! You think this one is trouble? **Na’asha** would need to work on her growling, snarling, snapping, and grumpy snarly male face...’_ Thoughtfully, as if considering it, _’That would take much practice and she is still working on the ears...it would delay her progress, but this one supposes it is possible to take a break from that. She was finally moving one, but whatever makes you happy, **emma’mi**.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’He is not my type, you are, **em’lath’sa** ,’_ amused ‘aggravation and patience’ flavouring the words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Curiosity, _’And what,’_ translating the word, _’category, style, or variety is that...? Do just mage types intrigue you? We could test out sneaky rogues instead. This one is not too awful at that.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’My type is like yourself, Rinna or Lahar - female, elven, intelligent,’_ he was on the beach, cooking ‘roast beast’ and various vegetables that were tucked under the coals or resting atop rocks._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________An unusual thought struck her, _’Is he trying to recreate that time, **emma’mi**? He has two again and is more drawn toward one than the other. Do you want two that way?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’Faugh, no! Tali was my friend and lover, Rinna was my friend, lover **and** my love. I do not need a large family to be content, **em’lath’sa**. I have long been relatively solitary.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Coming close enough to lean against his back, arms slipped about his shoulders, her nose pressed to his ear, _’This ‘family’ is small. Not even a mouser aboard your little tree and the hound is far away. You are almost solitary altogether...until you decide to play Uncle, that is. This one refuses to be ‘Aunt.’ As parents are unknown, there are no sisters or brothers that this **da’sa** knows of, nor would she call others so, as might be the custom of others.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The warmth of his broad back pressed closer, _’I have always been that way. Even before my Culminacion, I would spend many hours alone.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________Hooking her chin over his shoulder, she rested and tasted everything in him, listening and savouring, _’You are yourself and no other, **emma’mi**. This one would have it no other way. You have more flavours than any other. It is enough and more besides.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________The assassin’s head turned, tilting enough to brush the back of it over her crown, _’Yes, all three of us that you have met. A veritable deluge. At least none that you know are fops, even if we do pretend sometimes.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________A blink, _’Four.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’Four? Who was the fourth? Myself, the cat, yours, and..?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’And another. We spoke only. He was light, but not a wastrel, belonged to another, and traveled shortly after this one arrived here. She saw that he was discreet, but did not learn much about him. There are more out there. This one also met another elf, one of very dark skin who claimed to live underground.’_ To clarify, _’He was an excellent fighter, but that one was not **enansal**. Why?’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________________A shrug as fingers dug amongst the coals, rolling out some of the potatoes and yams so that he could mash them with coconut milk, _’Just curious. So, thus far they all have similarities, except myself. I am modified, I am not light, my ‘story’ was unfinished, I am not allowed to come and go... Again, what is it about me...? Faugh, never mind, perhaps we should just destroy the **eluvian** and be done with it. Even if it is too simple an answer.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________’There are things that are similar in the corners,’_ twisting and leaning up enough to kiss the crinkles in the corner of an eye, _ ‘but most of you is very different,’_ remembering. Not that she had ‘forgotten’, but her thoughts had been on other things about him. _’This one has said it is not her speciality, but the taste of **lin** is very strong.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Zevran stretched then reclined on the sandy beach, pulling her to lay against him in the day’s late afternoon light, _’Do not worry, it will be solved. I know this, you know this. However, I cannot say that I have been unhappy at all.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________’Perhaps that is why you are here rather than another. You were hardened more than most. Could you imagine Gaeaf’s here after he had formed his attachment to his Warden? The stress would cause fractures and breaks, when he returned home he would not be the same one. Haf’cath’s need for contact would either be constant and overwhelming, causing his Warden to snap and push him away, or the cat would not be able to trust anymore and would not be able to care for his family. This is not true for you and you will survive this with little harm. This choice of the chooser who brought you here was made with wisdom.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________’It was made with intent, not necessarily wisdom, as I do not think the choice of me being here was made for any good - or at least none for others who work towards finding slim pieces of succor.’_ He shrugged, _’I am not sure the destruction of Kirkwall, or at least severing the way the city punches through the layers of realms, was whatever the goal he or she who brought me here had in mind. Truthfully you know my goal is to merely rejoin my Bonded, though sometimes... What colour were her eyes? Did she laugh? Did she giggle? She cries blood, and the only time I have seen her cry, was due to myself. The increasing fog plagues me, the urge to simply settle in and not move, to do no more than bide my time to wait for the moment to strike.’_ A waved hand, _’But we talk on this subject often enough, I wish to pick the other’s brain, see what he has observed. What his unfogged eyes see.’__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Reassurance and love was all she sent, not wishing to alert whoever held the string that pulled and returned him time and time again to within the city’s perimeter with everything that he brought with him. And sometimes it was everyone that he brought with him - like herself, or the horses, if they were within a narrow sphere of influence. The memories he had found, she kept safe. Some of these might prove helpful to Haf’cath, and she should share them. Later, not yet, though._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	26. Where the Heart Resides

[Ferox]  
Evening and bedtime came too quickly for children who wanted to run and play. Even though the hour was late, the sky was still light along the edge of the sea to the west, and there’d be a few hours of stars and darkness before the light would return. After a meal, games of tag in the fading light, then songs and stories ‘round the fire, they were tired again, and, after collecting kisses and hugs, did not complain when bundled off to bed in one of those weird circular tents that Zevran called ‘yurts’.

When they came out after having tucked the children in, Ferox headed back to the fire automatically, not seeing the furtive looks at his back, one which could have made itself known in the amulet, if he had been paying attention. When he looked back over his shoulder, Zevran had taken Moira’s hand and they were entering the other yurt. Sighing, he looked across the fire into green eyes that saw he was off kilter, saw the desire to be with them, and saw that he also believed that he was unnecessary and doubted after all his growling, that he was wanted. 

A sigh in the amulet, as the healer got to her feet and approached to touch his face. _’They want you there. The only one you have been fighting is yourself today. Let the fear go and be with them. The **da’len** from this night will not be from you, there are no worries.’_ When he did not move fast enough to suit her, she pulled him to his feet - stronger than he thought possible - and tugged him along the beach. Looking at the flap of the door, the healer clearly growing impatient with him, it felt as if she was burrowing in his mind using the amulet as she muttered, _‘Gaeaf, you are not listening, not to the cat and not to this one. Hrm, at least you are neat in where you keep everything. Ahh, here, hold this.’_ Ferox found himself in his neat orderly mental space with an armful of cat, not Zevran, but memories of him, the best things and small things he didn’t remember keeping, as if they were highlighted to draw the eye. 

As he looked at these memories, glances, touches, tiny little things all showing love and desire, he still felt off balance. The healer then used their names for the first time in his memory, to try to get his attention _’Ferox, Zev’er’an and Moira want you with them. No harm will be caused if you give them your presence, but you will hurt them if you are not there.’_

He saw the looks between them at his back from Dulsanaya’s perspective. Saw that he was wanted and nodded. _’As you wish.’_

A mental snort followed by hug within and without, _’Not this one. Them, what they wish, Gaeaf. You are a part of them, as they are parts of you, and what they make tonight will bring you joy as well. Do not have this begin with sorrow or anger or fear, you are better than that, yes?’_ He gave another nod as pulled on the ties and opened the flap into the yurt. _’Do not be startled when this one comes to check that the **da’len** is made and is safe. She has already warned the cat.’_

Pushing him inside, she closed the flap and re-tied it behind him. _Umm, could you think during that? ‘Cause I’m pretty certain I wasn’t able to. Was she right? I don’t know, but you’re about to find out._ Stepping towards two of his favourite people who hadn’t even gotten started yet - _What? You think he always works fast? Oh be quiet. Okay - just this once_ \- Ferox hugged them both, their arms round each other forming a circle. 

Sometime much later, vanilla and mint filled Ferox’s mind. The healer entered and knelt next to Zevran, reaching over to Moira, to rest her hand on Moira’s stomach. Humming low, her obvious concentration and a shifting was felt in the link. She laughed and with humour shared a flash of gold eyes and the mischievous grin of a young Zevran playing ball on a sun drenched street. _’Congratulations, Mamae and Papis you have a beautiful **da’len** , an **euraid cath fach**.’_ [golden kitten]

Ferox recalled and shared an image that his lover had given of a sun-bronzed boy leaping about a room with blood red birds, butterflies, fairies and dragons about his head. They were nearly identical. _’Is that what the child will look like?’_

 _’Gaeaf, that is what this one sees. Nothing is certain, but it was such a nice day, this **asha** would hate for it to go waste. Go to sleep now and do not worry about this thing. The children will be up soon and others will play with them while you rest.’_ In the semidarkness, Ferox saw the light tracing of her fingers on Zevran’s face. 

....  
[Dulsanaya]

As predicted, as the sun drew itself out of the sea and the morning warmed slightly, Len and Eleanor were the first up followed shortly by Elissa. _’You are very clever to have put breakfast in the coals to cook overnight, **emma’mi**. This one would think it was because you wanted to sleep in.’_ A sigh, she needed sun again, more energy than she expected to give last night had been required, and left her wondering if the result would ever be viewed by her own eyes. Yet she knew, she already had seen the _da’len_ after a fashion.

Just as she had been in the garden, Eleanor was protective and watchful of Len. Over breakfast, after learning that the adults planned to stay another night, the children discussed what they would play that day, how big to build the sandcastle, whether or not Lightning would dig a moat - an affirmative woof was gained - what they would use to decorate it. Before releasing them to play, each of them received an application of the paste that would protect their tender skins. 

Dulsanaya helped, looking for spots that had been missed, ears, backs of necks, and even ankles. _’You make the bestest sand castles, **emma’mi** , and this one can search for decorations. She remembers some sparklies she left last time that would be pretty.’_

 _’So I have baby duty? And here I thought you were excited to see the little ankle biter,’_ gently chiding. _’Go splash with him, I will keep the girls occupied.’_

 _’But then the present will be opened and there are no more.’_ Truthfully it was difficult not to look hard to learn of the boy in full, to see what worked and what did not. But the day wouldn’t last and there was no truly better moment Following Ysgafnhad [Lightning] who was watching the boy, Dulsanaya neared and picked up a smooth green rock. Rinsing it off in the cool water that had been caught in a dip of sand, she held it out to Len. 

He had picked something as well and she wondered what had caught his eye. Even such a small thing would teach her something of him.

His hands were wrapped around his prize, holding close to his chest as his neck stretched to peer at her offering, his upper lip curling over the bottom while flexing making him have a slight suckling expression that she had learned was one form of his curiosity along with the cat’s scrunched up brows. _’Found-pretty-soft-smooth-odd-white-you-have-gift-hello,’_ Len presented the small sand-dollar with one hand as his other reached immediately for her wrist with Duncan’s amulet, a torrent of image-words rattling off as fast as any child could speak with their voice, but actually clearer than their rushed spoken words could be.

If this was Haf’cath’s speciality, he might be surpassed one day, if the boy ever received an amulet of his own. The boy was familiar with amulets, no doubt from the cat. Thankfully, it had not been used much. For a moment however, she wondered if she had wandered into some room where many _enansal_ were all speaking at once. _‘Hello **da’len**.’_ Admiring the the shape of the shell, she traced the marking that looked like a starfish shape. She pictured one of the creatures scuttling across the sea floor and shared that nothing was inside this one, it was empty and that ‘no one was home’. 

Blue-brown eyes blinked quickly as a smile broke out and he pushed her fingers to close around the shell. _’Hair-white-shell-white-pretty-green eyes-soft smile.’_

Laughter bubbled in the link. _’And Len is ‘broune as a bery’,’_ reflecting back his dark hair, eyelashes, and skin comparing him to a hound’s colouring. The blinks were their own language as well, it was an indication of shifting, or accepting something on its face, occasionally it was denial, but that was more difficult. This one was recognition, thus acceptance. His circle widened to include one more who could hear this way. 

For a moment, she thought of Anders and wondered what he thought, his face flickered in the link - had they talked?

 _’Pretty thing-no touch-bad stuff,’_ indicating that the healer preferred he not muck with the amulet. _’Fizzy tongue,’_ describing how it felt to talk that way, like miniscule bubbles on the tip and back of it, humming and vibrating playfully as they popped.

 _‘A pretty thing,’_ echoing Len’s words, many giggles coming of the observation, as the **da’len** was very perceptive. Amusement usually started at her toes, it was funny that his began on the tongue. Looking down, she noticed that a shell like a peaked straw hat was sliding on a damp rock next to his bare toes and she pointed it out. _‘Somebody’s in that one,’_ picturing its ‘brothers’, snails and slugs, and showing how they moved.

Giggling, Len fell forward onto hands and knees, scuttling along to follow the trail a little. 

The desire to deepen the link would definitely have to wait until he was tired, in the meantime observing his mind and way of thinking was enough. The examples of similarity seemed to be understood enough so that new things were within grasp, the sense of humour could only be sourced from the little family. Although while the Queen didn’t really have one, Gaeaf did. Displays of it were rare...but his story of the sheep did have everyone laughing last night, especially with the children doing the sound effects of the barnyard. He had thawed, but now Gaeaf seemed to bog down in mud. Yesterday was that way. Perhaps today would be better. 

Later, watching a little school of fingerlings who nibbled on their toes, the bouncing back and forth of feeling and colour and thought, she was back in the room full of chattering Zevrans. Occasionally her own thoughts tumbled when there was too much to say and she did not know what came first in order of importance. But the little boy was very busy and very perceptive, and wanted to share everything _now_. Often she had to float so she would not drown in the ocean of thoughts and commotion of sensations. Everything was brilliant and sharp in its flavour and scent, and she wondered if new senses had been developed by the way things were described. She had not wondered what the rocks smelled like and already knew the salty taste of the water, but everything was newly focused and observed for the first time all over again. Even after everything broke, she still knew some things, the colour of the sky, the heat of the sun, but even those basic perceptions were reexamined in light of Len’s mental imagery. Every few moments he would pop over closer to her to take her wrist and show her all the new things he had come across in those brief seconds.

Splashing and playing in the a bit of pooled water that had formed from a deep dip in the sand, Len rolled around happily in his altered little leggings. Nearby the girls and Zevran built castles, Light occasionally woofing and fetching Len if he went to try and go into the main body of water without someone holding his hand, or fetching things back and forth for the girls. As the vines refilled she didn’t feel quite so overwhelmed with everything and was able to float better each time he returned to show her everything the world contained in a moment or two of time from his very young perspective. The more he did it, the longer he would stay in contact, pressing his little body closer, until he was nearly in her lap, a head on her shoulder. Wondering what he would ‘say’ of each one she began to picture each one of his family, starting with Elissa, Eleanor, and Lightning.

 _’Strong-sing-happy-big-play,’_ Elissa rocking with him, singing the way Moira did, but all the songs were made up. He twirled a finger in his hair, the image of her sliding a soft bristled brush through his hair, the other hand running through it after each pass, _’Brush-good-soft-nice-tickly.’_ Eleanor was next, talking to him constantly, telling him all sorts of words, repeating them several times, _’Talk-talk-talk-like Papi-read like Daddy. Smart-knows things-knows everything-steals blanket-cuddles.’_ Lightning was a sprawled mass as he rubbed her stomach or curled up with her or when she would lick his face and hands clean, _’Good smell-coppery-hay-grass-wind-mud-dog. Safe-fun-funny. Big-big-big.’_

Examining these descriptions, finding the images very detailed, the tunes of the made up songs, the smoothing of hair, the rapid fire words - _This **asha** thinks she knows who you copy this way_ \- the images of the mabari made her homesick for Mange for a moment, that smell of ‘dog’, of one who snuggled close, and guarded when eyes and ears could not be everywhere. But the one thing that confused her, that she asked about was, _‘What is ‘steals blanket cuddles?’_

Quick reply along with a gusty sigh, _’Grown ups slow.’_ “Blankie takey. Steals. Cuddles wid’mees.” He shows her two different things that she had obviously mixed up.

Giggles burst free, because she doesn’t ever remember being called a ‘grown up’ before. Identifying where the break in the thoughts were, the separate ideas were more easily understood. She had forgotten to float as the images had come at her and became too concerned and caught up with each one. Next she pictured the Mamae and no one else so she might avoid being swept away when the images came.

 _’Beautiful-love-love-safe-security-soft-soft hugs-soft kisses-soft songs-play soft-comfort-all things comfort-nestling close-hearing heart beat-flowers and tea smell,’_ another sigh accompanied by burrowing closer. _’Mama.’_ A lack of understanding why he couldn’t call Moira that, the way his sisters did, but settling for MoiMoi instead.

That was confusing to such a _da’sa_. Sisters of the heart sharing their Mamae with a _da’len_ whose mother did not, would not, could not, show her love this way. A mother, the Queen, who was broken; a boy giving so much love that she could not share. Arms around the _da’len_ , she sent approval at the name ’MoiMoi’, _’Like saying mine mine...a secret love name.’_ Pointing out that Len was a love name too, she then shared that she gave love names too. Hopefully this indicated to him that real names and titles are powerful, she showed how they could be used to give warnings or draw attention without alerting others. 

Picturing Gaeaf, she wondered what she would see of this father. Gaeaf had melted much, but still, there was a solid core, but it just wasn’t ice, it was a stone tower, a taur, which was pronounced ‘tyrrau’. The tower was not something that could be observed before, because the blizzard covered much, reducing how deeply she had been able to see in.

The wash was of pure sensation and thought, no words could encompass it. Vague memories of being held when very, very tiny, spoken to in a low rolling voice, not understanding the words yet, but knowing that everything was _perfection_. The special way Gaeaf would wash Len’s hair, always stroking the back of his head, beyond gentle. Mixed up with it was a confusing morass of being rubbed with some fragrant oil by Zevran, sandwiched between them for sleep, or curling up at either of their sides or backs, face pressing into a chest to hear the way the voices changed, being nibbled and kissed and tickled and held and chased all over the place, tossed in the air or shaken gently until he giggled. There was no beginning and end for either of them, they were one, they were the same, they were separate and different. 

Few words, other than timber and tone, Gaeaf showed more than he told. Probably why he didn’t speak of his feelings much, stories are safe as the words are already set and do not change. When left to his own speech, he forgot who was friend and foe, since his words tended to be used to protect and hide, to fight and mislead. When speaking with those he cares about, he doesn’t trust his own voice and it was that which made him angry. Gaeaf would growl or snarl when he said things wrong or would say things he didn’t mean at all. Yesterday was one such day where he forgot and got lost in being angry. However, Dulsanaya had been rude and would need to apologize. Even though Gaeaf wanted to be there with Haf’cath and the Mamae, in his frustration he couldn’t bring himself to. Dulsanaya had made his feet move, had dampened the aggravation and doubts, and had not allowed him to say ‘no’. She’d been annoyed that he would not listen and drove him to it anyway - it wasn’t good as there were other ways to have encouraged him to go. The result was right and good, but the method was not.

Blinking, she remembered the _da’len_ , a small brown finger tracing a green vine on her arm and offered a taste of their flavour, elfroot with a touch of lyrium. Showing that they were used to heal and to make better, she found a scrape and repaired his skin, smoothing a finger over it.

“Oh...” Len poked the healed scrape several times then plunked a smooch on her cheek.

 _‘ **Ma serannas, da’len**.’_ Kissing his cheek, she shared the meaning of the words in the link, much like she learned, finding one stone, one word at a time. Lastly, she pictured Haf’cath, knowing that he was intertwined with the other, but perhaps there were individual thoughts of him.

Being tickled and played with were predominant, sprawling over the warm bronze chest receiving long strokes to spine and sides. Being spoken to in many languages, knowing and understanding all those words. Immersed in sunshine and rolled accent - other people sounded strange to Len’s ears in comparison. Burrowing into sheets that were very soft and warmed by both men, finding it easiest to sleep there than anywhere else.

Sending approval and purring of her own, those memories are pleasant even to her own ears. Very attached to the _cath_ , just like Gaeaf, the _da’len_ was like the father this way, similar to herself...although she wondered, as she easily forms attachments to each _enansal_ she has met so far. Is her own more meaningful than the rest? As she said there was nothing between her layer’s _enansal_ , no words exchanged, no mark given or received, no promises made between them, other than the one she has shared with all who needed it. Discovering if that were true or not, would take more thought, examination of trays of memory, it would have to be elsewhere where quiet could be had.

As home has been a recent ongoing lesson for her, she asked of the _da’len’s_ own. Where is it? Why is it home?

An index finger crammed itself in his mouth as he thought. This time it wasn’t a deluge of information, but that did not make it any less weighty. It was a sense of love and belonging, a place to associate with safety, security, love - even when alone, and peacefulness even when storms struck within it. Possession and possessed, belonging and welcome. 

_Arla_ was home. For the boy, home wasn’t a place, it was the ones around him she surmised since he didn’t share images of a specific location. It was the feelings for those here, others too in addition to them, two _asha’en_ [women] and a boy his size. _Arla_ [home], a stone that caught her foot in a field, caught her again. Reflexively she touched the spot where the _lath_ [love] stone broke her fall as well as her skull. Could _arla_ be people loved and not a place? There have been many people embedded in the memories she keeps. Were those ones home and she did not know it? The stones of _reth_ [safety] and _revas_ [freedom] were not far behind in being found that day. At the time, she had not considered that there was a reason behind the order they were found, a pattern to their discovery. It was an old memory much damaged by time and the Archdemon, brittle and crumbling on its edges.

As his eyes blinked longer, she shifted to deepen the link, to look closer. Building knowledge, seeing the results of one with cleansed Warden blood and another with the capacity. Memorizing, forming a mosaiced memory, she will use the gained information in building the sibling. Most of what she hoped for is there, free of the Taint, but available should a Warden be needed someday. Quietly, the gift was examined closely and the plans she began for the sibling were expanded to include the information that she gathered. 

The _enansals_ were correct, birth and parental records should be kept to know who would be the best candidates, so ones who cannot see can have a better idea and less lives will be lost. Although, why make Wardens at all until they were needed? It had always sounded silly. Tradition? Why keep the recipe and requirements a secret? Lives were continually cut short for no reason as there was no active Archdemon to kill. The real Joinings should stop until Wardens were actually needed, but the ones who could be candidates should be gathered and trained so that the skills weren’t forgotten. 

After an hour or two, the eyelids fluttered open. She sent reassurance and thoughts of safety, reminding him gently of where he was, that the girls were close by and that the mabari was there too. In her lap, he wiggled side to side, head rocking on the down beat while his hips went the opposite direction, sucking on his index finger contentedly, watching the waves. 

_’What are you thinking, **da’len**?’_

“Oolfruhk, wanna play,” pointing unerringly towards Ferelden. “He no here. He ober dere.” Picturing the face of the little boy he shared earlier and the running around playing the way that two boys could, rather than how a boy and an older sister and a much older sister could.

 _’We could play tag or hide and go seek, the girls would want play. This one thinks that Dassan would play too and he runs really fast.’_ A step sideways to contact Zevran, _’This boy wants to run and jump and play, **emma’mi**. If the girls started, he would follow...a race or tag...hide and seek?’_

 _’Of course, **em’lath’sa** ,’_ and then Zevran was whistling before racing past, having leapt over the sandcastle the girls and he had been working on. _’Let the girls have the sandcastle, I will play boy games with him.’_

In her lap, Len gave a start, watching, and then was suddenly hoisted in the air and plunked on broad shoulders. Two loose braids were grabbed like reins, Len hooting happily and calling out for more speed. Zevran disappeared with the young one for a good portion of time, running off into the distance, but she felt him leaping over small scrub brush, rocks, a few logs in the small copse of trees, then running back. When he returned he was barely winded, and Len was bouncing up and down on his shoulders, to be promptly thrown into the air with a pleased scream. 

Eleanor cried out, “Not fair - throw me! Throw me!”

Elissa tried to hide her envy by continuing to play with the sandcastle, “I’m too big for that stuff.”

“ _Estas nada, chiquita,_ you are not so big that I cannot toss you as well!” Zevran said as he spun in a circle holding Len by ankle and arm. “ _Chicas_ go next.” [It’s nothing, little girl.]

Len plopped onto the ground wobbling and laughing, nose pink from giggling, to flop beside Light who licked him on the cheek. Zevran powered through the girls, including a piggyback run, as both were just a little too big to go on his shoulders for such a trek. By the time he had gone through all of them, he was eyeing her, and Dulsanaya covered her face, laughing silently, knowing she was next. Her first thought was to run, but the laughing amber eyes knew it and he was ready if she did. Of course he couldn’t throw her as high or run quite as fast with her, but he still was able to do a great deal more than most men would think to do with a near grown woman.

Teasing as her arms clung around his neck, not wanting down yet, _’The bigger boy needed to play too, **emma’mi**? This one supposes it has been a while since he romped.’_

The giggles, laughter, and shouting had woken up the Mamae and the papis; and when they exited their yurt, the happy faces of _da’len’en_ greeted the adults. _’Good, that was the next thing the **da’len** was going to miss...first it was his friend and then it was going to be them.’_

A small ball of energy dashed into Gaeaf’s legs, scrambling to be picked up, which happened in short order. Len delivered a tight hug and happy cries of ‘Daddy’ along with lots of kisses and braid tugging. It was good to see how the ice melted and softened before it could even form, a slight smile on the Warden’s face, with Len on his hip, short legs waving and not anywhere close to being able to wrap around yet.

_’Has this **asha** said thank you? This playing on the beach is good for everyone, even you and grumpy Gaeaf are smiling.’ _Kissing his cheek, _’It is not on your face, **emma’mi** , but it is close enough.’___

__He snorted at her before kissing her thoroughly and setting her feet on the ground. _’Who said I was not smiling?’__ _

___’ **Na’asha** does not think that others count smirking as smiling,’_ gently. _’Sometimes even this one has to check,’_ teasing and thrumming the link as if it were a lute string between them. It was always there and she knew those things, just as he did, if they only look. _ _

__The Mamae gathered up the girls and as Len was passed from one to the other, so were the _da’asha’len’en_. The healer considered again the deed and believed it to be right. Even the Haf’cath would be surprised when it came to pass. A bubble of amusement, the promise would be kept, just not in the way any of the parents expected. _ _

__Serious, _’This one needs you, **emma’mi** , very much. The links have been too full of others playing loudly.’_ In calming Gaeaf, in muting his over-thinking and growling, she had been a recipient of too much sharing through the amulet the night before. _’Perhaps tonight you and **atashi** will dance for **na’asha**?__ _

__Hands found their way to the small of her back, rubbing it firmly, causing her to lean in, _’As I need you. Yes, we will dance.’_ _ _

__Normally she was not territorial, did not reserve or mark someone as her own or establish ‘rights’. Today was different, and although the move was subtle, it was there. It was the way she placed her foot next to Zevran’s instep, as if blocking the way forward, her arms about his waist as she continued to lean into him, weight against his leg. It didn’t matter that no one else there desired him as she did, they were present and therefore a threat for which a display was required. The thoughts of what home was, he was her home, and she had heard enough in her mind last night to almost drive her to rolling over him possessively, marking him with her scent in front of them all. Instead, the movement was restrained and understated as she pressed her mind to his._ _

__That restraint didn’t matter much, as it was met with Zevran’s usual welcome and reciprocation and then some, as though he sensed the underlying sentiments in full. The hand that would curl around her hip dug in just that smallest amount more, his muscles tensed further, drawing her in closer. His eyes slid over her with greater frequency and his lips would find some bit of her more often to touch._ _

__Later that night in a tangled contented heap, _’Welcome home, **em’lath’sa**.’_ _ _

__Satisfaction and pleasure wrapped around them both just as surely as they were twisted around each other. Home had been there all along, unseen even as it was obvious and in plain sight just waiting for her to recognize and acknowledge it. Many things had been broken or simply had gone missing and were no longer there when she woke from the night her own Archdemon was slain. This cornerstone of home and family was one of them. The new tile fit easily into the spot where the old one had been. It may not have looked the same as the old one, nor was it made of the same stuff, but that was unknown or not remembered and it did not matter. The foundation was being relaid and reconstructed; a keystone of knowledge had been returned to her. _Arla_ , a tiny, but vital thing, was returned by a small and unlikely source. It was her first word, the first one that was not required and was not given by those that held her leash._ _

__.....  
[Ferox]_ _

__After breakfast, the children played while the Lightning watched over them and the adults broke camp. Everything loaded and put away on board and, after another exuberant game of tag, the children were tossed aboard into waiting arms. Ferox and Zevran had gone down into the cabin to see what the children were excited over and had spoken of long and loud on the way to the little island, sunset walls and painted stars. The girls were lying back on the bed pointing up at the sky tracing shapes in the air with Len and describing the shapes they saw. Looking up, Ferox knew the view of the sky to half-way mark of the cabin, the stars low on the northern horizon as they were viewed from Kirkwall and ones further west as observed when he was a boy visiting Orlais. Zevran knew ones farther north, as he ought given the location of where he called home. However, that left a good northern quarter of the stars unaccounted for as well as a rather large star at the prow of the ship._ _

___’Seems the shipbuilder was well traveled.’_ _ _

__His assassin was still naming constellations to the children, _’Ah yes, no doubt. But there are many star charts, **amora**. I may not have seen of all these in person that I recall, but there are few I cannot list. Stars travel with the seasons, yes? They are not constant. All that truly changes though, is our perspective of them, no?’__ _

___’True. So what season is it? And, not to point out the obvious, but it would be impossible to see all of this at the same time. I mean those at the stern, the south, can only be observed in the Wilds and some further on I have never seen before. I see nothing past Val Foret to the West or anything, at least down here, further east than the coast of the Brecilian Forest. How far north would you say?’_ _ _

___’Some of the ones match what I know of Par Vollen’s star-charts, but these are not recent, **querido**. Astronomy is a large fixture in history studies as well as geography - our libraries are filled with star-charts, and for a mere five or ten andriis for each season, you can gain those that are current for Antiva. Remember, Antivans are seafarers and the horseclans have few landmarks upon the ground, the sky is our map.’_ _ _

___’The southern sky looks like this now.’_ Shrugging, _’Elissa seems quite taken by them, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up taking another walk to the library together...although we might find something better here, in Kirkwall. Perhaps at that Emporium?’__ _

___’Ah, yes, that is right, I wished to view that place.’_ _ _

__Lifting Len, Ferox lay next to Zevran, the boy sprawling back on his chest and stomach to look up at the ceiling. Words, in his favourite voice, flowed around and over him. “What is that one?” pointing to the largest one, at the most northern point, so he could hear it some more._ _

__Zevran looked at it for a moment, then shifted position several times, “‘The Eye of the Serpent’, I believe. The horseclans call it ‘ _Hals’An Med’Shedu_ ’ - the People’s Place of Light and Spirit. Commonly referred to as the ‘Homestar’. If the spoken lore is to be believed, that is where they came from long ago, long before the Qun’ari ever arrived, before the Blights, and even before the Tevinter Imperium enslaved the elves and destroyed Arlathan.”_ _

__“Where the horses or the people came from...or both?”_ _

__“Both of course, it was said that they once were seafaring themselves, even had written language, though all that survives are some pictographs and a few runes,” as he said that the elf pulled his collar aside enough to show the interweaving tattoo along the underside of his right collarbone. “Some of the tattoos that are most highly prized come from the hands of those who actually know what they tap into the flesh. It is easy enough to find replicas, but often they are meaningless garbles of slashes, dots, and images. Pretty, yet worthless when it comes to purpose other than looks, yes? These are to see far and to remember everything that comes, so that I never lose my way.”_ _

__Ferox grinned, _’And here I thought that those were directions of quite a different sort.’_ “Is it spoken as well? Or just written remainders of a forgotten language?”_ _

__“ _Mas’gani, zamas idni_. The intent of the statement is much different than the literal, literal translations of what I just said, sounds archaic, stilted, and not very understandable.” A smile played about his lips, as the children and Ferox stared at him expectantly. “What I said was, ‘It has been a long time, I will not speak quickly.’”_ _

___’Oh, I see, it’s a reminder. Like when my mother tied a string around my wrist so I would remember to ask before taking.’_ Crinkles about his own eyes, _’Your reminder is ‘slow down.’’__ _

__Zevran’s look feigned a lack of amusement, _’I already had said what it meant! Faugh, do you have rocks in your ears?’__ _

___’No ser, I carry rocks ‘round elsewheres. Wheelbarraw, is real good fer that. Thought we had this discussin’ with tha little un’s las’ week when we was talkin’ ‘bout ‘arvesting.’_ _ _

__He felt the spike that dragged itself up Zevran’s spine, fur ready to stand up and the feline was wriggling as it got ready to pounce, _’Unfair, **amora** , there is only one bed, and it is filled with children...’__ _

___’And something tells me Ser Foul-Temper would not like us making use of his bed.’_ Mentally petting the cat, _’And anyway, how can just two sentences from that ol’rock farmer have you wound up so quick? Not like you’ve been lonely for company.’_ “Girls, I noticed the eagle’s footprint, which points the way south, at the stern. When we dock, remind me and I’ll show you.”_ _

___’It was not just that...besides, **amora** , by now you should know my appetite for you is insatiable.’_ “And then once you have seen the new stars, it will be time for hot cocoa at a cafe.”_ _

___’No, I didn’t know that. But what else was it, so I don’t provoke you without purposely wanting that outcome?’_ _ _

__Zevran squeezed the girls who were each plastered to his side, while leaning over to kiss Ferox’s shoulder, _’No, because then you would have to be elsewhere. Where, I am not sure precisely, as I do not think such a thing could ever exist. If I told you what single thing it was, then you would stop it, and I do not wish you to. I wish you to merely be yourself, **mi hermoso corizon, and that is that.’**__ _

___What? Somewhere else? ’If you are serious, it shall be as you wish, but don’t say I didn’t warn you...mainly because I don’t know what I’ve done or what I’ve agreed to.’_ The ridiculousness of the entire thing made him laugh, which made Len giggle even though there was no reason other than he was laying on his Daddy who was laughing too._ _

__....  
[Zevran]_ _

__Zevran walked beside his much taller counterpart, that he had come to think of as ‘Dassan’ - it was just easier to keep it all straight. _Well, he is not much taller per se, no. But tall enough that I must lean my head back, bah! Unfair. Good thing he slouches, then he may actually be taller, I cannot tell, damn the man._ Mostly he was watching how suddenly the altered Crow went into an odd state of alertness which was then blanketed by what appeared to be a fog. Cutting a glance towards the little healer, he wondered if it was her doing. _Possibly, yes?_ For some reason he didn’t think that was the case though. Something about being in the Emporium caused the other to react so strangely._ _

__A tilt of the ear and Dulsanaya moved ahead of them on what appeared to be wooden walkways, intentionally causing them to bounce, as each plank was linked to the ones next to it. The walkways were like one would find on a wharf, but they were clearly inside a building, or perhaps it was several buildings all linked together. Water splashed down below the raised platforms and looking over the edge, it was easily visible. Docks too, like arms radiated out from the central platform like the arms of a starfish. Two of the arms, one that they were on, and another opposite them touched what appeared to be outside walls. The other three arms were stunted, nearly platforms in their own right. Tables heaped with goods for sale, items leaning against railings, and an odd mirror took up the available space on these shortened arms. A stone golem stood next to where their dock intersected with the main platform and a redheaded urchin on the other side. In the middle of the center deck was an emaciated, badly preserved mummy, a crown falling off his head just as he? - was nearly falling out of his throne._ _

__A booming voice voice came all around them, “Welcome to the Black Emporium! Oh, you have been here before...nevermind. Don’t touch the urchin, girl. Find your own. The book you requested is in the chest, but do look around.”_ _

__The small healer stuck her tongue out with a smile as she skipped straight to the chest at the mummy’s foot. Without hesitation, she opened the lid and pulled out a thick tome wrapped in green fabric._ _

__“What is this place?” muttered Ferox looking up into the darkness where the ceiling vanished in the blackness._ _

__The voice boomed again, “Welcome to the Black Emporium!” Pausing for a round of coughing and hacking the voice before continuing, “Please say hello to Thaddeus Gigantus Crumbum the Third, my favourite golem.”_ _

__“That would be because he is your **only** golem, you rotting corpse,” the duplicate replied sardonically, but Zevran still sensed something ‘off’ with him._ _

__“Ah, so good to see you are still in fine spirits, Zevran. Oh look, there is another one, my, my, my, sugarplum stuffed dancing birds of joy! Two for the price of one - what a sale, what a sale! How rare, new and exciting, let me have a look at you, young man.”_ _

__Sitting on the bottom step of the dais, next to the chest, the healer began to unwrap her book, plainly ignoring the taunting and baiting. Ferox on the other hand, growled. “Last undead we ran across we ‘killed’ them again.”_ _

__Dulsanaya shrugged, examining the bindings, and answered loud enough for Zevran to hear through link with Ferox, _’Already tried that, many different ways.’__ _

__Beside him, Dassan refused to touch anything at all in the Emporium, hands continually straying towards the hilt of Vigilance. Taking his cues from the healer and his fellow Crow, Zevran found the middle ground between ignoring the baiting and being prepared to fight. Even if the latter would be of no use according to Dulsanaya’s statement._ _

__Either way, he had been asked to step forward, so he did, smiling at the mummy, “It appears my fame has travelled far and wide then, yes? You must be the infamous Xenon then that I have heard stories about.”_ _

__“If a witch or two in one’s past is all it takes to make someone interesting, my boy, then what stories we all have tell.” Another coughing fit struck even as the remains of the creature did not move. “I really wish someone would turn the page...” referring to the book in his desiccated hand._ _

__Zevran eyed the ‘man’, the hairs on the back of his neck warning him away. Smothering the urge to send the creature to the Pit, knowing it as useless, he flicked the page, barely touching it with more than a fingernail. “True, true. But few make deals with the Witch of the Tellari swamps. Then again, to be young, is to be foolish, yes?”_ _

__Dry laughter, “Says one who just up and followed another who was doing the bidding of that old bat, Flemeth. Tut tut. He didn’t even have the common sense to ask for something in return.”_ _

__“As I said, to be young,” snorting. “Also, the difference is altruism, something that tends to lack in many, but can be found here and there. He believed that he received what he needed - without bargaining, yes? Remember, Fereldens, they are a peculiar lot. They have no clue how to haggle, yes?”_ _

__Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, but it appeared that the eyes rolled slightly under the cracked lids, perhaps the most exercise Xenon had received in a year. “They come in, how much is this, pay without conversation, refusing a cup of tea or even a chat about the weather, and wander off. No sense of community or thought to the care of their elders.”_ _

__“It is because they do not interact beyond war. Pairs of hunters can go a year or more without seeing another sentient soul other than each other, truthfully, once seeing the nation itself, it is easier to understand how such things are, yes?” Smirking faintly, “The truly insufferable ones are those who attempt to mimic the manners of the courtly or elegant, or even cordial. They mix up their own stiff-necked values with Orlesian haute d’corture and try and appear as warm as an Antivan. It makes them look superbly foolish.”_ _

__“At least you are more entertaining than your counterpart, quick with your tongue, nearly as quick as he is with that scowl and blade. Oh Thaddeus, you should have reminded me sooner... Don’t forget to pop your heads into the sparring rooms. I acquired new dummies that strike back, brand new this week.”_ _

__Ferox was looking at a bookshelf stuffed to overflowing with various books and manuscripts, most of which he probably couldn’t read, given the wide range of languages on the papered spines’ titles. Nearby there were more books in stacks on the floor and baskets of scrolls and other parchments. “Young man, yes, you the growling one. Should you find that damnable ‘Mages Manifesto’ written by that Anderfels fellow, take it with you with my compliments. No sense of propriety that one.”_ _

__As she closed the book, the silver title written in Arcanium winked in the light, Corpus Mutatio [Body Transformations]. Having apparently inspected enough to have verified if it was what she wanted or not, Dulsanaya wrapped it back in the cloth and set it down on the top step. Looking up, a bit of confusion in her expression, the healer checked each face, even Xenon’s, apparently having missed a bit of conversation. Her anxiety faded in a blink or two, it was likely someone had provided the missing information._ _

__Scanning the Emporium, Zevran refrained from pursing his lips. _So how long does the dead man plan to continue on? Hmnn? With that body? No, no I think not._ Withdrawing from the heap of skin and bones politely, he drifted, noting books by famous _pintores_ who had a wealth of medical and magical knowledge at their disposal. _Of course you seek preservation, who would not in such a state? What lengths would you go?_ The answer was simple: To any length, no matter the cost. _ _

__Sliding over to the little healer, Zevran leaned over her shoulder to look at what she was poking at now, the back of her neck was the easiest and most easily hidden area to touch her. _’I have several thoughts that we should discuss later, yes?’__ _

__There was a distinct feeling of something tasting like a freshly mown lawn being put away, as if something had been pulled back before harm was caused. She gave a hum of acknowledgement, followed by a chortle of laughter in the link. Pointing to the ‘Mirror of Transformation,’ Ferox was apparently visible to the mirror and the reflection rotated through various changes from minor ones of hair, eye colour, or clothing to more major ones, such a Ferox turned dwarf or elf._ _

__Schooling her expression before the shem could turn to see what she was laughing at, _‘Are you saying that you are done here, Haf’cath? If so, this one should give Xenon her ‘wish list’. Although, it seems that Gaeaf has found something.’_ Ferox, unaware of what the mirror was reflecting not so far away, had located a scroll case marked ‘Stellare’ and was checking that the large rolled sheets of paper were indeed stellar maps and that none were duplicates. _’Some wishes are easier to fulfill than others.’__ _

___’Of course, though we can stay longer if any of them wish to, I just have a few...thoughts....’_ Clarifying, _’About gates and directions, yes?’__ _

___‘ **Emma’mi** does not wish to stay, even if he does like the sparring weapons and will not say so. If you gather Gaeaf...have him take his prizes with him, this one will only be a moment or three.’_ _ _

__He nodded and did as suggested, even as he pursed his lips when he saw a piece of parchment with runic script, half-elvish, half- _Zamas Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_. _No wonder he feels uncomfortable here. I feel uncomfortable here._ It felt as though Xenon was tracking him with rotting eyes, sliding them up and down and over his frame, laughing silently to his insane self. _ _

__Hopping into the mummy’s lap, Dulsanaya turned the page, but sat for a moment before putting it back in his hand, apparently conveying her list as her fingers ticked off four items. Returning Xenon’s novel to him, she slid from his lap and picked up the fabric wrapped tome she had examined earlier. A coin pouch appeared from her satchel and was set it in the chest. Her purchase was tucked away before she bounced again on the interlaced planks of the docks leading to the door. Catching her arms around Dassan, she looked up at him worriedly, only receiving a shake of head and shrug of a shoulder as they exited the building._ _

__The clinic was one neighbourhood over, where privacy and coffee was always assured. The leaves of the _vhenadahl_ were glossy in its summer foliage. Planters on the high balconies and rooftops, which were exposed to the sunlight, and filled with garden produce. The entire south side of the Alienage, which had been a raised courtyard, was now a garden, packed tightly with green plants. On the north side, most of the neighborhood was shaded by the great tree, but movable planters were rolled to sunny patches and pushed throughout the day to track the available light. It wasn’t as pretty at Denerim’s Alienage, but they hadn’t had to start from scratch either._ _

___’ **Amora** , I have a favour to ask, if you could keep Dassan occupied, I must speak with Dulsanaya,’_ knowing that Ferox would do so, but also wonder why, _’I will explain later, this I swear.’__ _

___’Not to point out that it would have been easier to ‘occupy’ him in the sparring rooms...but there you go.’_ _ _

___’Yes, I know but there he might have hurt you. In case you had not noticed, my beloved shem, he was on edge there the entire time. And a Crow on edge playing with weapons? Not exactly the wisest choice, **querido** ,’_ Zevran refrained from sighing in aggravation, but only because it wasn’t his style. _ _

___’Hrm, tongue or weapons...at least one would end decisively without me growling afterwards. Yes, I am teasing and I saw the grasping towards that beast of a sword. You do not keep me around as your court jester afterall. Go have your chat and I’ll try to keep up over here.’_ _ _

__Rubbing his mind against Ferox’s, _’Do not worry, I will make it up to you. Starting now - ask him about that ganja he grows, it is a nice, safe, and fairly pleasant topic. Smoke or eat whatever he gives you, as he is not likely to do anything drastic. However, you likely will be very hungry, yes?’_ _ _

__Laughing, _’I hear, on good authority, the jerky is ‘very good’.’__ _

___’Good, he might give you a paunch at that rate. Now, I must see to this, **amora**.’_ Giving Ferox’s mind a last rub, which was protesting that he did not wish to be fat, Zevran went out to Dulsanaya who had a little teapot over a trivet as she soaked up more sunlight, the book she had purchased in hand. Making himself comfortable beside her, Zevran poured himself a cup, waiting upon her discretion._ _

__Pulling a thin green ribbon from around her neck, the page was marked and the old book closed. As her hand rested on his leg, a near audible mental step taken, and thoughts shifted, _’Gates and directions.’__ _

___’Does Xenon look at you...?’_ asking her._ _

___’That is neither,’ _another shifting as if searching for information.__ _ _

_____’It is both. I think. There is something... I have seen some things in my time, have been looked at with avarice before. The only time anyone, anyone at all, looked at me the way Xenon looked at myself, and at Dassan, was Avernus.’_ Showing her the image of what had happened with glass beakers, what had been learned that he would never make a good candidate - there wasn’t enough human blood in him for him to possibly survive it. _’Dassan came from the direction of the Dalish clan in the mountains, these things must be related somehow. Along with the fog he goes through when he is in Emporium. How? I cannot say. I do not know. I can only make the conjecture that Xenon has books, many books, on medical, spiritual - and no, I do not mean religious, but on the spirit itself - books by the dozen. Many in languages even I cannot read. And enough in languages I can. All I can certainly say, is that if I were him, I would stop at nothing to release myself from that prison. If it was me in that situation, as myself, I would hope for death. But someone else...? Many would seek...escape by some other means...’__ _ _ _

____An image of an ocean mixed with her amusement. _’The old one tries to look, but this one is...’_ No words, but with a blink of large green eyes and a drawn breath, she became utterly blank as if there was no one inside, nothing but emptiness. In another breath, she was once more present and sent warmth. _’It is easy for no one to be at home.’_ Picturing Avernus, _’It is not the absence of **shemlin** that removes your candidacy to be a Warden, shrieks are born of **elvhen-din** Mothers. This **asha** wonders if instead it is the protections put on you...each of you. Even this one’s own has been warned not to take the cup.’_ _ _ _ _

____Feeling slightly exasperated, Zevran shook his head, _’Protections have little to do with the bloodlines. My Avernus said that there was very little **shemlen** blood, but not only that, the elven blood was...different, yes? Zamitie may be beyond the average pale for most healers and shaman of the outside world, but even she could not do something to change the very nature of our bodies in that fashion. Even so, they would need to be renewed time to time if they were to maintain full efficacy. They do not grant us special powers, all they do is make us  slightly faster, smarter, luckier. They help with intuition, they help with things of such natures as that, **da’sa**. They cannot, and even if they could, they would not, do such a thing. It goes too far outside the natural and spiritual orders that the **Ga’hals Iunimasilsh** travel to do that. No, no - we cannot take the cup because we have no relations to a Mother. At least, not one that is alive, yes? That much is painfully obvious.’__ _ _ _

____Almost muttered, _’One would think that would bring relief.’_ Blinking, she set the book on the ground and turned toward him cross-legged on the bench._ _ _ _

_____’It does, but it also brings a great deal of confusion. Most any who have a long history of living in Antiva would have been related to a Mother, considering how hard the Blights struck us. Multiple times, yes?’_ rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Zevran frowned. _’Why is Dassan here? What is his purpose? Yes? He must ask himself these things, you ask him these things. It would only be logical. But then there are these pieces, these bits of a puzzle, I do not have the answers, but I can make these observations, yes? And everything in me is saying that there is something wrong here beyond the obvious. Then I must think of this - what is different about Dassan and I? What is different about Dassan and other Zevrans who have been here? If one takes away the obvious - that his Warden’s story was unfinished - that leaves something else equally obvious. He is altered.’__ _ _ _

_____’The Blights hit Antiva, but that does not mean that your blood originated there. There are many places which Blights have not struck. As to the differences, that one’s hardening fire was hotter than most and he was kept in it for far longer.’_ _ _ _ _

____Taking a deep breath, he revealed something he had not ever told anyone he knew, let alone the woman who was the mother of his heart, _’I understand that, but Zamitie once said she had seen who she was sure my father was. She did not tell me, but I overheard her talking with the other whores as a boy. Said I was a spitting image of him. The others said that he was a barbarian. For which Zamitie became angry - the **Iunimasilsh** are called barbaric often enough, that she found it too insulting. He was obviously a clan based elf, but who, other than the Dalish, are there? I asked myself this as I studied history, wondering if I could learn  something, yes? There are some accounts from Dalish scouts and hunters of boogeymen that come down from the mountains every now and then. From the Hundred Pillars. Yet it is common knowledge that the Hundred Pillars is a place not fit for man or beast, still twisted, half-Blighted, half-ruined from wild and fel magics. Those were reasons in part of why I sought my mother’s people. Do you know what I found? I found Dalish who wished me to leave quickly, they gave me gifts, but they shunned me. Treated me as a ghost and a devil. A revenant.’__ _ _ _

____Eyes shuttered, _’Did you ever meet this father?’__ _ _ _

____Scoffing, _’Of course not! I looked as best I could with the glimmer of information I had. An elf who looked like me, just like me, who came from a non-Dalish clan. Splendid amount to go on, even after I figured he might come from the Hundred Pillars. After my dealing with my mother’s clan, even speaking to my own grandmother who stared at me like I was some warped creature, I realized I had no need of such ‘family’. That I had plenty of family and kin. But still, still, still what then is different about Dassan and myself? Simply the fact that he is harder? Who has been altered in ways that are not natural for their body? I assure you, it is not I. My Guild would not condone making Crows so easily influenced and changed by blood magic - because you control someone once, it is far easier to do it again. And then any blood mage would be able to be rid of us, or use us against the Guild whenever they chose.’__ _ _ _

____Somewhere in the middle of all of the words, probably around the point of ‘family’, hands covered ears and cross-legged knees raised to press to her chest until she was curled into a ball, the tips of her toes was the only thing which kept the link intact. So much left unsaid, unasked tumbles in the background like the roar of a waterfall, rapids in a wild river high in the mountains occasionally a word or an image came through, the Hundred Pillars, eagles flying on the soaring heat, the Dalish hurting with words, shunning that which they didn’t recognize, one layer versus another, one layer more harsh than others, mages used to control not only Crows, but others, faces flashing, and shame revisited. Finally, caught between two ideas, the words tumbled out nearly on top of one another. _’Do not doubt, you are **enansal**. Did you **ever** see the father, even as a small boy, once, for a moment, when very small?’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Not that I know of. In the brothel, we children tended to be kept separate. Customers could hear us laugh and playing or crying and screaming for whatever reason. As we could hear them, but we were not exposed to such activities, **da’sa**. I snuck around more than others, so I saw and heard far more, yes? I had a toy horse on a rope that was black with white finger prints done on it, with a blond mane. Zamitie said it came from a friend, that was all. At the time I did not suspect anything, but now, with age, I have always wondered if it was made by the man who donated his seed to my creation,’_ the line of thought was uncomfortable, but he forged on with it. _’It went missing around the time Sa’id ibn-Rashid purchased Zamitie’s slave debt. I thought she had taken it, but she had not. Nor when pressed has she ever said anything else on the entire matter. I always thought he must have died, or that he did not know of me, or did not care if he had. It does not matter what I feel or think of him, or he of I, if he is able to think at all. What does matter, is the blood and the differences between myself, the others, and chief-most - Dassan.’__ _ _ _

_____’Sometimes a face matters, as they are unique and can tell a greater tale, but blood can say if we do not listen to the mother._ ’ Uncovering her ears slowly to take his hand. _’That one’s hardening, and this one’s own, started in the brothel, Haf’cath. This one saw an ear being pulled inside and the tears afterwards. **Emma’mi’s** story is worse, do not doubt, there was no separation.’_ Fingers rested on the wrist as if taking the six pulses and the link deepened. The mouth tasted of blood as senses were shared and half was set aside for the mother. Looking again at Zevran’s mother, at Arainai’s blood, some was put back before the rest was ignored. The healer’s voice was very close, the slight distortion gone, _’Taste this that is left behind. It tastes of earth and sky and trees, there is no flavour of cities and many people in one space.’_ Sharing, _’This is the flavour of this **da’sa’s**.’_ The same flavours were present but the difference was as fine, sweetened dark chocolate is to baking chocolate made of little else but the bitter cocoa. _’This one would guess that you are closer to actual **elvhen** than nearly any Dalish. Which is why finding a match is almost impossible.’_ Softly, _’There was no match for this one either.’_ Backing out so that sharing of other things was not automatic, she returned to a light link to communicate. _’That is the difference for the **enansal’en**.’__ _ _ _

_____’For us as a whole, yes. But then what is the difference between the rest of us, and him? You see, that is the problem, no? There must be a connection, I do not know or pretend to know all of it, but those were my thoughts, and I had told him that I would think on these things, make my observations, yes? What you and he do with them I hope brings you some fulfillment of whatever it is that is needed.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Because of the work done, he tastes healing differently, says it hurts and does not let this one block the pain. This is different than others have said. Says he can taste other magics too, and said he has felt the pull of a mirror. One is located here close by, can you taste it? Flavoured in **lin**.’_ _ _ _ _

____Zevran shook his head, _’I would not know what I am looking for. I am no mage, I have no mage senses, only my mental focus could be considered...extrasensory. If I had seen such a mirror, perhaps I would recognize it. All I can say for certain, **da’asha** , is that there is something about Kirkwall that feels very wrong. For me it is worst in the Emporium, but I have not been in the areas just outside of Kirkwall, so I could not say.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Then this one would not recommend visiting the Sabrae Clan at the base of the mountain...or perhaps she would.’_ She gave him the taste of ones who have given up, the hopelessness, and despair heavy in the air. _’This one cannot visit for long and he will not.’__ _ _ _

____Sighing, _’I could do so, but it is likely I would have to have someone introduce me. You and I both know how insular the Dalish are, for good reason, yes, but...’__ _ _ _

_____’Templars or worse will find them, they will not last...they have not moved since this one arrived. As if this Setheneran was a snare for them as well.’_ Wonderingly, _’Is it because they brought back Asha'belannar?’_ Shaking her head she sets this thought aside to be examined later._ _ _ _

_____’Asha’belannar - the woman of many years? Who might that - ah, yes. Flemeth I presume.’_ Mulling it over, _’Possibly she has some purpose for their staying. Perhaps even Dassan’s presence might be entwined with such a matter, hmn?’__ _ _ _

_____’This one has wondered if the Witch of the Wilds and the one of the Swamps are the same or different. Xenon says he does not know and has no books on this.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Generally when one smells smoke there is a fire of some sort - presently or recently, hmn?’_ _ _ _ _

____Nodding, _’The old one is not known to tell the truth and Asha’belannar’s truth is...very shaded and hidden.’_ Glancing across the square, _’Merrill has left her door open again, shall we go look? And you can see this thing that calls him.’__ _ _ _

____Nostrils flaring in thought, “Yes, a visit would be pleasant, no? Shall we bring some sort of...refreshment for this Merrill?”_ _ _ _

____Confusion for a moment, then humour, _’No, Merrill is forgetful. Her door is only open when she is NOT home...she is...’_ He felt a judgement was made, weighing innocent with damaged, before settling on, _’Not herself anymore.’_ _ _ _ _

____“Ah, then let us break and enter, hmn? Without all the breaking and such to go with the entering.”_ _ _ _

____There was a hitch in her motions as if she had nearly done something without thinking and covered by saying, _’If it makes you feel better, her back windows are usually open too.’_ Teasing, _’If skulking is required.’__ _ _ _

____Chuckling as he gave her hand a squeeze, “I only sulk when rock farmers and teasing foxes in the guise of mabari vex me. As for when I skulk, well, I have found that oddly it is less noticeable if one acts as though one were _not_ skulking, hmmmnn?”_ _ _ _

____Nodding, _’This one goes in often, so there are no worries.’_ Reaching under the bench, she picked up her book to return it to her satchel before they crossed the square._ _ _ _

____Merrill’s front room was full of books, some feeling as if they had just come from the Emporium. The bookshelves were full, the tables covered with ones lying open, the pages marked, every reference on mirrors from around Thedas had to be in the room. On the right wall at the back was an opening, no door, to the bedroom. Next to the bed, a narrow mirror, perhaps a foot in width and six feet tall, set in a stand that appeared to be a live sapling. The ‘mirror’ reflected nothing, no image appeared in the glass, the silverness of the cracked pane swirling in a slow, lazy manner. Lying on the floor next to the stand was a tool crafted from a halla horn, stained with blood._ _ _ _

____Falling to squat beside the tool, Zevran didn’t touch it, nearly hissed at its existence and how it had been befouled. “ _This should not be._ I may not have been welcome, I may not embrace my heritage as much as I could, but I do know that this should not be.” Waving his hand to encompass the mirror and the single sided knife, “I do not take issue with blood magic, at least what I understand of its inherent nature, to use lifeforce in place of mana, to use powers within the physical realm rather than accessing the Fade. But this, this is wrong. It is not right.” _ _ _ _

____There was a heavy sigh from beside him. None of this was new or startling information, it was obviously old and ongoing. Weariness was shown of the arguments had, of how there was nothing that could be done to ‘fix’ someone that the little healer had known for what he imagined was a goodly amount of time. It left him with the sense that Dulsanaya was feeling unsettled and lost because of it._ _ _ _

____Shaking himself out of it, Zevran sniffed towards the mirror, not willing, or wanting, to touch it. But it did make his skin itch oddly, almost like his blood wished to crawl out from his skin - both towards and away from the mirror. Frowning, Zevran flexed his fingers for a moment, the need to know what the result of such an experiment would yield driving him to pull one of his needles for poison from the stiff area of his collar. Giving his thumb a measured jab nearly identical to how Zamitie had always pricked herself - right over one of the nice blood vessels that ran around the thumb, he cupped his oposite palm letting it fill in the very center before he stuck his injured digit in his mouth._ _ _ _

____Muttering around his thumb as he moved his cupped hand towards the mirror, in his palm the blood felt like it was trying to do something rather than merely be its usual inert self, “It feels almost like it wishes to flow towards the...” Searching for what he remembered teaching himself of elvish, “ _eluvian,_ but also it seems to recoil when I move my hand closer, hmn? See?”_ _ _ _

____With an audible hum of acknowledgement, she sat on Merrill’s unmade bed to watch. Hands sneaking back up to cover her ears as though it was something she did not wish to hear but knew she must._ _ _ _

____As his hand got closer, he realized the mirror’s surface was beginning to ripple faintly. Jerking away, Zevran turned his back quickly and licked away the blood on his palm, unwilling to leave any residue to drop in the presence of the malignant item. “As I said, that is not right. It is incorrect, yes? It is...it is wrong.” Putting as much space between himself and the _eluvian_ , “I must write to Zamitie, there are many things here she needs to know. If Sa’id were alive, perhaps he would have been better to some degree as he was quite pleased with his blood magic. It was not meant for healing the spirit and body and bringing things into harmony the same way as hers is. He would use it to hold a patient still so that he could do surgery, while Zamitie would do as you do to some degree. Two similar powers, two identical uses, but two very, very different methods of use, hmn?”_ _ _ _

____A side glance which contrarily disputed and agreed at the same time. Green eyes returned to the _eluvian_ , blinking back a tear. Uncovering an ear, she reached out a hand supposedly to check his thumb, but in actuality he knew it was to reestablish contact. _’This **lin** \- it is not this **asha’s** speciality. Blood is part of the body and is in itself in this one’s speciality, but using it as a source of power, this one could not do. At least this is Merrill’s own, no one has been hurt...although that may not be true either...oh gods.’__ _ _ _

____Zevran thought he heard the soft clicking of tiles as thoughts were organized, _‘In other stories, Tamlen and the one who would be Warden stumbled onto an old ruin and met darkspawn. They stood at the foot of a great mirror which Tamlen-_ there was a pause as she turned mournful and Zevran reached out to cup her cheek comfortingly, _’he was always impulsive, Haf’cath, and would not listen. But if one is young, that can be attractive, yes?’_ A weighty sigh, _’He touched this **eluvian**. Duncan destroyed it, and Merrill carried pieces here, but the pieces are not the entire thing, and Merrill and the Sabrae Clan are not whole either, **cath** ,’_ the sorrow radiated from her, buffeting at his mind. _’In this one’s story, two others were killed, as Tamlen and this one were not there...if she were there, this one could have healed it, perhaps?’_ There was no certainty in her ‘voice’...the doubt and guilt thick enough for him to cut with an ax. _ _ _ _

____Rubbing his thumb over the apple of her cheek, _’Perhaps. But there is no way of knowing for sure. Your presence may or may not have turned such a tide, either way, you should not punish yourself for such, yes? Let it go, **da’len** , it is done.’__ _ _ _

_____’It was done, the first choice that was made differently. And the penalty for that choice, three were dead instead of one.’_ _ _ _ _

____Tugging her to stand once more and hugging her, _’There was once a wise man who said to me that when a bad decision is made, people suffer. When a good decision is made, sometimes, no matter how well executed - people still suffer consequences. **Da’len** , little one, decisions are simply made with the best information on hand and even if the outcome is the best possible, there are still those who bear burdens from it, hmn? The result of being alive, is knowing, experiencing and witnessing tragedies that leave us guessing, leave us wondering ‘what if I had just done this or that - everyone would be happy and well and whole’. You cannot do this to yourself, **da’len**.’__ _ _ _

____It wasn’t exactly reproach, nor was it solely sorrow, but some combination thereof, with a side dose of fatigued shame, even as she buried her face in his shoulder, _’You do not sit and hear the Wardens’ stories one after another.’__ _ _ _

_____’This is true, but you also should listen to this - you must learn to separate yourself just enough so that these things do not damage you.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’The damage does not lie here...it is with them, with what Merrill is doing and with the Clan that does not move. They still mourn, and this one bringing only the truth, brought more sorrow when she found them.’_ _ _ _ _

____Squeezing her, _’ **Da’sa** , I hope you forgive me for saying this - but you are being foolish. You must separate your emotions from this so it does you no lasting sorrow and damage. Think of it from an assassin’s perspective if you must. What are the most intimate things a person can do with another person? Sleep, have sex, and die. A bit of myself is invested in every person I have murdered. While it is true I did not have sex with all of them, or even most of them, I still had to be intimate on the most primal of levels, gain their trust enough to do such acts, and then kill them. Do you think that this plagues me? That I feel guilt over it? Remorse? Some would say I am remorseless, believe that I feel nothing of such...’human’ emotions, hmn? No, I learned not to...take my work home with me as Zamitie is known to say, yes? Invest yourself while you are there, feel with them, be with them, but then, when it is done - let it go. Listening to what those in the clan do, the sorrows and angers and pains in the bar or the clinic, or even on the street - those are work. Work you enjoy, yes, work you live for, yes. But as soon as that is done, put it from your mind, let it go, do not take your work home with you. It does not belong there. Home is your sanctuary from such things, no?’__ _ _ _

_____’Except this,’_ a mental gesture at the mirror, _’was then and is now, trouble. **Emma’mi** wants to break it again. It affects home,’_ a spike of fear shot through her, which he felt from the sharing of their embrace. _ _ _ _

_____’Yes, this affects home, but this does not mean you must punish yourself over what you cannot control, what you could not do because you were not there, you cannot do this to yourself, **da’len**. It does you no good, it causes you to fear, to lock up when you may need to take action, or to be hasty or not hasty enough... You bear no fault for what Merrill  has done to herself.’_ Tucking his cheek up against hers in the embrace, swaying side to side, rocking her, _’When one has ability, one has to ask oneself - just because I can do this, does it mean I should? You could have forced a change on her, to ‘fix’ her or ‘save’ her. But then that would ignore her own desires. Her desire is to seek this destruction, yes? Inside she knows that this course is unwise, damaging, scarring, but she cannot, will not let herself see what it does. Some people are like that, they have to learn to stand or fall by their own actions - without you doing more than providing counsel and presence, no?’__ _ _ _

____The healer shared the hardest lesson of Kirkwall, do not help unless it is requested. The reactions of Marian Hawke and Fenris, one still her friend the other not, both trespassed upon by giving too much. The angry accusations of ‘witch’ causing her a flash of white hot anger and no action taken but to turn away. Again weariness flooded the link. _’The Keeper has said this one’s help is not wanted. This **asha** grew up with their grandparents and held them when they were **da’len’en**. But, this **da’sa** has said she will not be responsible for them as they have not placed themselves in her care and their hands will not be held.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’ **Da’len** , I am sorry you had to experience it that way to learn, but there are just some times when no matter how you wish to help, you cannot for varying reasons. That is why you must learn to leave it at the door so to speak,’_ giving Dulsanaya a gentle push back to hold her by the shoulders, Zevran shook his head mournfully. _ _ _ _

____Formally, inserting distance, _’ **Ar’abelas**. **Asha** thought that the information was needed. As it is not, she will put it away.’__ _ _ _

____Brow furrowing, Zevran tugged her in close once more, _’Silly little **mushu**. The information may not be needed, but you still wished to share, so I wished to see your face, yes? Child, not everything is a rejection, hmn?’__ _ _ _

____A deep inhale gathering scent, _’This one does not have the knowledge that these things have been taken ‘home’ or not because she is always ‘at home’. There are no complaints...’__ _ _ _

_____’But you are needlessly sad on these matters, **mushu**. You blame yourself for much, when that does no good - to you or anyone, hmn?’_ _ _ _ _

____Perplexed, _’The memories are not always visible, they are easily put away. These are not thoughts for everyday, but some pieces were recently found and when they were put away a clearer picture was formed.’_ _ _ _ _

____Zevran nearly groaned, managing to refrain somehow. _’That will have to do, **mushu**.’__ _ _ _

_____’You are frustrated with this one still. You have said that this one is not responsible for them nor can change occur for deeds in the past and she has acknowledged that this is so. The information given was not needed, so examining it further is not required. As to the hurt, these things go away in time. This one no longer feels badly for other things or other ones lost or harmed; eventually these memories will be no different,’_ attempting not to sound frustrated herself._ _ _ _

____The feeling of the ground shifting under her again as if a different perspective was sought, _’Perhaps this only seems to last a long time for you because you are faster...shem? This one would slow you down, remove the Quickening, but that is not wanted...the opposite is true, and this one will give you what you want for that. Perhaps you will come closer to this one’s steps when you slow with age?_ A sigh, _’The **enansal’en** are quick and are hard for this one to keep up with, it has always been so, but it has been much more true since Urthemiel was made no more. Will this **asha’s** steps quicken to keep up when everything has been restored to its place?’_ Lightly with amusement, _’Something to look forward to yes? Until then we waltz, sitting out of the energetic fire dances as those steps have been lost for now.’__ _ _ _


	27. Addictive Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's what's beta'd for the moment. I'm gonna beaver away, and anon4now, I'm taking you up on your beautiful offer.

[Zevran]

The clinic was amazingly free of blood, growling, or any other signs of violence. Lips quirking at the heavy herbal fog, _Good. ‘ **Amora** , how goes it, hmn?’_

_’Zevran.’_ Apparently so happy to see him, Ferox forgot for a moment that he was talking. _’It’s going, I think. I drew a map and then...oh the sewers. The map’s ‘round here, I could make another one, anyway, the walkways might get slippery, so I was thinking that some sand could be mixed in the paint, so it’s gritty. Right? Nobody would fall.’_ Looking under his chair for the ‘map’ that was on the table in front of him much to Zevran’s amusement. When Ferox began sending again he was in the middle of another conversation with a different subject, _’...you’re a really good cook. I mean the other you. Good food. Yeah. I am so hungry. Oh, here it is, so the paint goes on the steps and the walkway and the grit keeps the boots from slipping and falling in, cause that’s bad, and well then there’s the stables at the Vigil.’ ___

__Struggling not to laugh while Dassan looked on with a grimacing grin as though he knew what was going on, _’The stables, hmn? What does that have to do with sewers?’__ _

__“Stables? Sewers? Nah, I’m talking about these little magic chocolate cake-like squares he made,” one such brownie was picked up and waved about, stared at for a moment, then bitten into. Zevran could tell it was just a ‘plain’ one, but Ferox was enjoying it nevertheless. “I bet the Architect would import these in from the Fade...to tempt people over to the darkside. You really have to try them, they are really, really good.”_ _

__Holding the map, _’So, the paint makes the sand stick, otherwise given a storm, it would all wash downstream. Oh and on the rungs too. I know that steel doesn’t rust but it gets slippery too. If they were dipped in the sandy paint then... You know what I love about you? You have those eyes again,’ _“and I really need some Chasind eye thingies.”___ _

____Dulsanaya’s head turned to him and made circles with her thumb and forefinger and held them up to her eyes, looking through them._ _ _ _

____Ferox nodded, “Yeah, those. Keeps all that bright sun out of yer eyes on the snow. Really helpful that. I bet you don’t need those, huh? Can adjust the brightness and all that...well, not a lot of that though, I mean, not much to adjust to comparatively...”_ _ _ _

____Evidently, Ferox had said more in a link to her than he had out loud, because the healer’s eyes narrowed and she snarled nastily at his lover and Zevran didn’t know what in the earlier statement could cause the little healer to react that way. It was such a wild sound that it raised the hair on the back of the neck._ _ _ _

____“Hey! I didn’t mean that. I was just sayin’, the light’s not very bright.”_ _ _ _

____Another snarl and she stalked to him, poking Ferox hard in the chest, which cleared the fog from his eyes considerably._ _ _ _

____“Whoa.” His Warden missed the irate look from the healer as she made herself comfortable on Dassan’s lap._ _ _ _

____“Well, that is interesting, _amora_ ,” Zevran went to stand behind his beautiful and no longer so inebriated _shem_ and massaged the broad shoulders._ _ _ _

____Head lolling, Ferox leaned into the massage, voice rumbly just like he liked it, “What is so interesting? Oh, yeah...that’s the shoulder. Oh right there, somebody slept on that one, probably you. When did you get here?”_ _ _ _

____Chuckling, Zevran leaned down to kiss the faintly prickly jaw, “You were telling me about various changes that Denerim and Ferelden had gone through and discussing things that you wished to see happen as well, hmmn? All very pragmatic and logical I assure you, _querido_.”_ _ _ _

____“Probably add it to your lists. I haven’t had one in a while, you wouldn’t be holdin’ out on me?” Groaning as the muscles loosened under skilled hands. “Although, I still don’t know why you bother...you could just do this for the next twenty years. You’d be a very rich man...just sayin’.”_ _ _ _

____“What has that to do with lists? I am confused _amora_. Please, explain,” aware that the result would be a good memory to hang on to for the remainder of his years. Sometimes that’s what it felt like he was doing, building enough to keep himself going for the inevitable. Banishing that thought with a deep inhale of Ferox’s whisky, soil and sea scent, _’And I have already married a very rich man, no?’_ _ _ _ _

____“You know I have all that you gave me and most of the ones that aren’t finished, especially those. The girls used to draw on them, but then I started to buy them for pocket money, without scribbles...well not theirs anyway. Got ‘um in a big leather folder.” There was a pause, “Actually it’s a box at this point - did you know that in a month you make usually a hundred lists? Laundry, servant orders, merchandise, guard postings, things you dislike - did you notice I make sure that I take my socks off for sex now? It was in one of those lists... ‘It is deplorable how men are in this country, allow me to count the ways. Number one - socks and sex are considered normal.’ I could go on...but since it was the first one, I make sure now to take ‘um off...granted you now complain about my cold feet or is that me?”_ _ _ _

____Squeezing the taut muscles in the back of Ferox’s neck, Zevran nearly strangled on his laughter, instead reaching desperately with one hand for the carved pipe with Dassan’s ganja in it. “It is...it is good to know you make such sacrifices for me, _amora_. Besides, cold feet are usually warmed quickly whether they are mine or yours.”_ _ _ _

____“Anyway, the lists...I forget.” There was a blinking pause, brown eyes looking at him sweetly as Ferox sought to recall his thoughts. “Oh, of course you don’t send me all of the lists, so Nathaniel has been gathering the rest for me...some sort of reward system, vacation days or somethin’. He’s really good - anything he can get, he sends my way as soon as you’re done with it... Wait, that sounded wrong. I am positive he thinks I’m deranged and already suffering from the Taint. But our good healer says that isn’t the case. I told him it’s to keep your handwriting out of circulation, which Nate seemed to accept on its face. Wait, did that come out right? Or did it just sound weird in my head?” brows furrowed while one rose a bit at the same time as he scratched his head._ _ _ _

____Zevran didn’t have the heart to tell him that half of what he wrote was usually in Sa’id’s hand rather than his own, the rest an amalgamation of whichever instructor or tutor that came to mind. He had never developed a personal script. Instead he packed up another bowl and lit up, rather than dash his Warden’s little happy dream. _Most people keep love letters,_ taking note of how Ferox patted his left breast, putting the pieces together. All that time he had thought that most important lists were put there, but the touch was reflexive, soothing, habitual, the same way Dassan’s hand would reach for Vigilance or Dulsanaya. He did not write it down, but tucked away that information, and quietly told himself to make a list that was more befitting of such a prime location._ _ _ _

____“There was something else,” Ferox snapped his fingers. “Oh! So - who’s this rich man you snagged? I’m certain that he could go missing, if you don’t like him, I mean.”_ _ _ _

____Passing the pipe, rather amused, “You are, _mi hermoso corizon._ ”_ _ _ _

____An inhaled breath, “I am what?” oblivious._ _ _ _

____Dassan broke in, setting down a plate of cheese and _membrillo_ , “The rich man he snagged if the question posed and the one he answered are one and the same. Zevran, I should tell you that my rates can be startlingly low if you need him disappeared.”_ _ _ _

____Ferox snorted, “Unless someone is adjusting the books more than he ought, I personally have very little. And removing my person has already been planned for extensively, thank you very much.”_ _ _ _

____Delving into the platter, “Land is the ultimate form of currency for many countries, _querido._ In Orlais only nobles _own_ land, buildings and such can be owned by the lay person, and serfs own nothing - not even the clothes upon their backs. In the end, it is what land one controls that counts wealth in such terms, even without personal title and deeds.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay, land then. Everything held by the Warden Commander ultimately belongs to the Wardens...which we try to keep local. Anything Anora’s pet has, is ultimately hers. It’s not bad if all I have is on my back.”_ _ _ _

____Giving an imploring look in Dassan’s direction, who came to a rather odd rescue - Zevran had been hoping for more food or cannabis, but his fellow Crow tended towards the creative. A hand balled into a fist firmly plunked down atop Ferox’s head in a gesture Zevran had experienced as a youth with Taliesin, nearly brotherly at times. “ _Braska_ , shut up and just eat the cheese. If the miniature says you are rich, take his word for it, he is smarter than you.”_ _ _ _

____A growl gave way to a sigh as Ferox had a bite. “What’re you doing back there anyway?” Snagging, Zevran, he drew him round the chair. “Come sit.”_ _ _ _

____Tilting his head to the side, brow rising, Zevran did as requested, hitching a hip on the table, “Hmmn, better?”_ _ _ _

____Ferox handed him another slice of manchego and with a thin slice of the _membrillo_ paste atop it. “I can see you and you are eating. As you say, ‘all is well, yes’?” Shrugging, “Nothing else matters if you are happy.” Ferox returned to his map, adding to it and indicating where he wanted to put the sanded paint. Muttering, “I already have a bossy brother - but the rungs go...over here...ooo the battlements, stairs to second floors...bathtubs! Need gritty!”_ _ _ _

____One of Ferox’s usual curls near an ear had come loose and Zevran reached out to quickly smooth it back in place, “Bathtubs would be splendid. How I envy our good Howe and Shianni their blastedly spacious and warm and accessible bath. It is a veritable playground for adults and children alike, it is a shame that they will have none to fill it with, no?”_ _ _ _

____Looking up, as the elf’s hand touched him, “Why didn’t we bring him with us? Oh that’s right, this is a big trap... Well, while we’re beating a dead dog - ” Ferox interjected his usual aside for a mabari that was not there, distinctly, “- I said dog_...” Then returned to his normal tone, “And why not Alistair, he’s the one who always wanted the family. Oghren had one kid, but does he want another? Now Anders, he could make lots of children, but...can you imagine that mess? How many women would show up demanding some sort of compensation? No, that’s a very bad idea. The other two are more responsible...well, Alistair means well, even when he’s screwing up, but he’d love kids...so would Sigrun...Sig would be a great mother.” _ _ _

___Taking another long draw then rummaging around on the plate some more, “ _Amora_ , dwarves and _shemlen_ cannot crossbreed, so perhaps Alistair and Sigrun could merely foster, as they already do, rather unofficially. No, besides, Alistair should remain as he is for other reasons, unless you wished his offspring to marry into the Cousland-Mac Tir line? Hrm, that is an idea, no? However I do not think he would bear the thought of laying with a woman simply to get her with child as he and Sigrun cannot.” Leaning over to pass the little healer a finger length sandwich of membrillo paste, cheese, chorizo and bread, “Felsi has her hands full raising Oghren to the best of her abilities, not to say anything of Oghren the Younger, hmn? Do not let Anders fool you - he makes an excellent foster parent in his own way. Amaranthine and the Vigil have many foundlings, while true they get passed around a great deal, they never lack for the support that they need in ways other than food and roofs and clothes, yes? The group of our Wardens have found many ways to find fulfillment and the joys of life, never doubt that. But Shianni and Nathaniel, that is a different matter. Who will take the Arling of Denerim after she passes? I cannot see her letting some other man other than our brooding Howe touch her.”_ _ _

___Dassan was sitting on the floor rubbing Dulsanaya’s feet while she slowly munched the little finger food held with the middle, index and thumb of each hand, putting Zevran in mind of Eleanor when she had a tasty cake in hand, “Trouble is correct, the Howe, Alistair, and Anders should not come here for healing - it is a trap. And due to...certain issues...I cannot escort _em’lath’sa_ to your Ferelden.” _ _ _

___Ferox growled at no one in particular, “If Morrigan hadn’t left through that mirror thing, she could’ve helped. After all she had the ability to restore a Warden...and to insure a child in one evening.”_ _ _

___At the mention of ‘mirror’ Zevran locked onto that, but held back, remembering - as he had been outside the door at the time - what the Wild’s Witch had said. “Only if they were ‘new’ enough in the Taint, _querido_. Howe has been Tainted for what? Seven years now? You have been Tainted for twelve, Alistair for closer to thirteen, yes? Lovely Morrigan was not a healer, so I hazard a guess that what magic she used was not a healer’s, but of something more in keeping with shamanic balances and the nether realms, no?”_ _ _

___A thought loud enough for Zevran to hear through Ferox came from the healer, _’Riordan was close to the Calling when this one repaired him. That one said she could not fix him...although this **asha** does not believe that to be the truth. She knew that **emma’lath** would say ‘no’ and that he would have forbid it knowing it for what it was.’_ _ _ _

___“Still, Morrigan is, and was, no healer, _mushu_ ,” passing around melon wrapped with thin sliced ham and since Ferox was busy playing with his map, Zevran fed him by hand. “I would not say that I am any sort of expert other than what I have witnessed and what I have read, but what it appears that Morrigan did was _not_ a healing, but a different sort of ritual. Hm...part of a spirit or blood school of thought, which if one is shamanistic, would certainly be considered a normal sort of ‘spell’. It would have costs though, costs other than ‘simple’ mana or sunlight. They always do.”_ _ _

___Dulsanaya’s face was perfectly blank when she looked up at him, too perfect. Much was said in that ‘nothing’ expression. And his heart hurt for her._ _ _

___Knowing that his lover was high enough to be numb, Zevran reached through him gently, just a soft touch. _’It will be alright, even if it takes time **da’len**. Whatever happened, happened. It is done. We are here and you are loved.’__ _ _

____’She did not harm him beyond this one’s ability to repair. There are no further worries.’_ The answer was delivered in the same tone as her face. Saying something, by saying absolutely nothing._ _ _

____’It was not him that I was speaking about, **mushu**.’_ Popping the bit of melon Ferox hadn’t taken, “Would you consider allowing myself to escort her? If, of course you are amenable to such a thing as well, Dulsanaya.”_ _ _

____’Why is this Nathaniel different? What is his importance to the story?’_ Peeling the ham from the melon, she ate the ham and fed the melon to Dassan._ _ _

___“Nate’s our Seneschal,” Ferox mumbled as Zevran pushed more food into his mouth, “Shianni and he mix it up a lot. Stiffnecked idiots get shocked by them. So does my couch.”_ _ _

___Zevran rolled his eyes, “That is not the sole purpose they are important. Shianni is the best person for Arlessa of Denerim, Nathaniel is the best person for Seneschal. Having Shianni marry a known noble, even one whose family had been disgraced -”_ _ _

___Ferox interjected as he coughed on an exhaled cloud of smoke, “We’re working on that!”_ _ _

___Agreeing as he confiscated the pipe from his Warden and reached out, twisting enough to do so, rubbing and patting his back until the fit passed, “As I was saying. Having Shianni marry a known noble of an old line has given her some further legitimacy, as some will believe that Nathaniel is the one truly running the arling, and think that Shianni is just a ‘nice piece’. But there is the worry - how can the stability be maintained if there is no one to take the position of arl or arlessa in the inevitable event of Shianni’s death? Nathaniel will certainly be dead by then, which leaves few clear choices. Due to the amount of change, very rapid change for a country and people who have done their damnedest to forget how to innovate or even use anything beyond the most basic of basics, in a generation or two if things are not carefully put in place - it could all simply revert to how it was twelve years ago, and this period of time written off as an insane experiment. And eventually forgotten, much like Arland the Mad’s treatment of Ferelden and its citizens.”_ _ _

___Although it was Zevran who was speaking, the healer’s emerald green eyes had not left Dassan’s face. At least three conversations appeared to be going on, the verbal one, a conversation through the amulets between Ferox and the healer, and something between the healer and Dassan, however that was much less obvious. From the rumblings in Ferox, she seemed to be having him chase down various memories having to do with the changes they were making in Ferelden, the relationship between Nathaniel and Shianni, the company’s actions in the Alienage, and Ferox’s actions at the Vigil, specifically in regards to Nathaniel, words and deeds surrounding his return to Howe’s former estate. The need was recognized and acknowledged, but something had caught her step._ _ _

___After several minutes, she finally replied, _’There are other duties and obligations, and it is unknown if they can be set aside for a time. Inquiries will have to be made...this one is not free to go without -’_ Dulsanaya searched for the right words, and various ones flew about her mind and made themselves available in the link, one such as ‘restitution’, ‘recompense’, ‘atonement’, and ‘penance’, as well as ‘punishment’, ‘chastisement’, and ‘reprimand’. She thumbed the lines next to Dassan’s eyes, ones caused by squinting in bright light. Although there was reluctance on both of their parts, the Crow was not the one holding her leash and if it was not obvious before, it was now. _’ **Asha** will ask.’__ _ _

___Offering, because frankly he hadn’t asked for the assistance and felt he should do something at least, “Or I could take Howe here, keep him on a leash, yes? Prevent him from becoming embroiled...”_ _ _

___“Too risky,” Dassan shook his head sharply. “Crunch the numbers - how many Howes, Anders and Alistairs come here for what they believe will be a brief time, and then are unable to leave? Too risky, far too risky. I despise inefficiency probably as much as, or more than, you do, and while I do not think my Bonded and I will ever waste our time with rebuilding Ferelden on your scale, it would be a shame to let all those changes slip away into nothing. I would not have suggested it otherwise.”_ _ _

___“I told Delilah not to come here either.” Ferox grunted, “They get stuck here too. What if we brought them, I mean Nathaniel and Shianni, closer...Highever or West Hills? Could send a message and have them meet us. Less time and distance for the girl to travel. Less...whatever all that was.”_ _ _

___Dassan shifted around so that one of Dulsanaya’s legs draped over his shoulder as he leaned against the chair he had originally occupying. “She will ask, we can hammer out the details when _you_ are not high as a kite, amusing as it is. I imagine your _da’len’en_ are missing you by now, and _em’lath’sa_ has a shift to get to.”_ _ _

___XXX  
[Ferox]_ _ _

___How he returned to the embassy in Hightown, Ferox wasn’t entirely clear. One minute he was enjoying yet another square cake-like thingie and the next, he was in the middle of telling a story between two pigs, Hog and Wart and had no idea what he was talking about. But at least the children were amused, and if by the twinkle in sun-gold eyes, well, so was Zevran. Apparently Earle was bringing their slops and then the only explanation he could come up with was that he woke up._ _ _

____’What’s this one about again?’_ taking his time describing what the pigs were having for dinner and how the ol’rock farmer scratched behind their ears with a stick to hear their happy grunts. _ _ _

____’Not sure, but they are all having good fun curled up with you like that, **querido** ,’_ as Zevran propped his fine chin atop one knee, the other leg hanging free from his perch atop a table._ _ _

___Turning his head, Ferox looked at Eleanor on one side and Elissa on the other and Len sprawled on his chest. _’No wonder I couldn’t feel my arms.’__ _ _

___Len prompted, “What’s spider doin?”_ _ _

___“Spider? Which spider?” Ferox pretended not to be genuinely confused, but rather that he was testing their memory._ _ _

___“The one on the web, Uncle Fox.” Elissa poked him, thinking he was teasing._ _ _

___“What was tha’ spider doin?” asked ‘Earle’._ _ _

___“It was writin’ words,” Eleanor provided helpfully, her head shifting over his shoulder to blink her large eyes up at him._ _ _

____What? Well if the pigs and sheep are talking, why not educated spiders who can write? I don’t know, you were the one telling this story. No...no, I’m fairly certain it was you. No ser, t’wernt me._ “Okay then, what should the spider write?”_ _ _

___“Daddy!” Len happily chirped, his head twisting back against Ferox’s chest to look at him while chewing on an index finger, nose crinkled and a smile tipping his pink lips. “Gud wurd.”_ _ _

___Grinning, _I’d hug you my boy, but I have full hands. Was the spider trying to teach the pigs to read? I told you, I don’t know, so stop askin’. Well, if Shorn and Ethel have given lessons on grass and shearing, it seems only reasonable that pigs would talk about truffles, apples, and, oh dear, sausage and bacon...hrm, this might not end well, especially because you were hungry when you started this story. Earle would be happy, but Wart and Hog might have a bad time. I meant the children. Oh! Yes, that would be bad._ _ _ _

___Drawling, “Now tha spider thought ‘bout this an’ decided that she liked livin’ with Wart an’ ‘Og an’ wanted ta stay with them in tha barn. So she wrote in tha web, ‘Good Pigs’. But, ‘course ya’ll know, Earle that ol’rock farmer can’t read a lick. So when he saw tha web, Earle scratched his chin and then he scratched his head, and then he scratched his ear, but he still couldn’t read. An’ the pigs said......”_ _ _

___Oinking and neufing around him came from the children for effect._ _ _

___“Earle saw a man walkin’ down tha road, an’ he called him over ta read what tha spider had wrote, an’ tha man couldn’t read ne’ther. So, Earle went ta town an’ found someone lettered an’ brought him back ta tha barn and the scholar said ‘Good Pigs.’ An’ Earle got mad an’ said, ‘I know they is good pigs, but what does the spider say...?’”_ _ _

___It was very quiet in the room, because nobody knew what spiders said, until Len shouted, “Gud Pigs!”_ _ _

___Unable to stop it, Ferox laughed, a big belly shaking one that jumbled and jostled his boy, making him squeal-giggle, “Yes, but spiders are,” whispering softer and softer, “very, very quiet.”_ _ _

___“Gud Pigs,” whispered Len._ _ _

___Whispered back, “Good boy.” Returning to Earle’s story, “The ol’rock farmer decided that if the pigs were as good as the spider claimed, then they could help out on the farm and put them to work sniffing for rocks, and truffles, and picking apples, which they ate raw, and baked, and in pies, and even made some into cider. Shorn and Ethel, after being taught how to knit by the spider, made the pigs hats, with holes for their ears, and sweaters so Hog and Wart wouldn’t get cold in the winter.”_ _ _

___Thinking he had talked himself out of that one, Ferox was thankful for quick footwork, until Eleanor asked, “What about Claudio?”_ _ _

___“Who?”_ _ _

___“Claudio, you know Uncle Fox, the beaver?”_ _ _

____Maker? A beaver, two pigs I never heard of and a writing spider...well perhaps you celebrated a bit too soon?_ “Claudio’s just going to have to wait until next time, because Earle’s thirsty from talking too much and I hear your mother calling to wash up for dinner.” As the children tumbled off of him, _Are you on the floor? Looks like it._ “ _Marche tout la monde, mas petites_ [Everyone walk. Literally: Walk all the world, my littles].” _ _ _

___A well pleased and amused smile was on his lover’s face, _’I think it is...high time...that I remind you of just how much I adore you, **mi hermoso corizon**.’__ _ _

___“And why would that be, exactly?” As the blood returned to his numbed hands and fingers, Ferox winced and sat up. _At least it was a thick rug.__ _ _

___Zevran slid from his roost to sit beside him, taking a hand in his and began working his way up Ferox’s tingling arm with a firm massage, “Ah, it is nothing, other than I feel I must, and each day I am reminded of how dear you are to me, hmn? Is that so strange, _amante_?”_ _ _

___“Okay, you can tell me.” Pained, “What else did I do that I can’t remember? And was there really a beaver?”_ _ _

___“Yes, Claudio the Beaver, who builds dams and taught Earle how to irrigate his fields,” laughter in sparkling eyes distracted Ferox for a moment as strong fingers dug into the still faintly numb muscles and tendons. “And there was the elven hunter named Shoot who came with a brace of geese to teach Earle how to store them away for winter, hmn... As well as how to fletch an arrow, smoke fish, smoke bees so they sleep and their honey can be harvested safely, and ah yes...where babies come from, which I thought was a masterful stroke, _amora._ ”_ _ _

___Eyes going wide at the last bit, “What?”_ _ _

___“Babies come from mommies and daddies who wish to have even more children to love and share,” Zevran was obviously teasing. “And now Len and the girls know they will have two siblings to run and play and love and be loved by soon, _querido._ However, Elissa knows more of the details as she and I had a ‘discussion’ last month about certain feminine occurrences. I had not known she was getting her bleed for the last four months as she had told no one, not even Moira. She believed she was dying, poor child. It was not until I smelled blood on her one day during archery practice that I found out, hmn?” Sighing, “I wish we could get it through her skull that she can come to any of us for help if she does not know something, yet I suspect that it is a sadly typical thing for those in that age range. Something about rebelliousness and the change of body, no?”_ _ _

___“I’m afraid I didn’t have sisters and other than a few village girls, didn’t know many girls. Separation and all that. Could visit in the kitchen when supervised, but, my parents were fairly wary and watchful.” Chuckling, “Figured I couldn’t get into ‘trouble’ with boys.”_ _ _

___“Ah, that explains it,” rather dry. “Me? I always have had a slight preference of females over males. Men just look all...odd and...floppy. There is not as much going on, generally, hmn? Women at least have the decency to _try_ to look pretty even when they are ugly in certain areas. Men? Men just do not _care_ what they look like, their grooming habits, their _smells_ , so on, so forth. It is far easier to find a relatively attractive female than a relatively attractive male... Generally speaking and excluding yourself of course, _querido_. Men on the whole,” a dramatic sigh, “are such _dogs_.”_ _ _

___Snorting. _He said dogs, _still mentally calling out to the hound even years later. “Bathing, cleanliness, and being properly dressed were required even for family dinners.”___ _ _

_____The expression Zevran made was amusingly unimpressed, “Yes, but I still wind up plucking that strange hair on your left shoulder blade every three weeks, and honestly, there are a few hairs that almost link your brows... In Antiva that would have been taken care of as soon as you started to shave as well, hmn? And I swear, as soon as your nose hair gets out of control when you get older - _I_ am doing something about it. No excessive nose and ear hair, thank you kindly ser!” Hands rubbed at Ferox’s chest through his shirt, “Other spots are quite welcome of course. Except the back of your shoulders to your waistband. That too will get ‘solved’ if it ever crops up. There are just some places a man should be pristine so that those parts can be admired differently...”_ _ _ _ _

_____Growling softly, “Make a list and maybe I’ll buy it.”_ _ _ _ _

_____His assassin scooted into his lap, straddling his thighs as he tutted, “Oh, do not worry, you will likely wake up after it is done, rather than during or before. Likely, you will not notice except there might be a bit more chill on certain well groomed spots, yes?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“So, you’re going to drug me?” making a face, the growls still soft, but a tone lower._ _ _ _ _

_____“With brownies, you like those, and I like you when you have had them, as you become particularly rambling, and quite tractable, no? So long as someone keeps supplying you with snacks of course,” said with a kiss between his brows. “Hrm, honestly though, there is very little you could do to make yourself _more_ attractive, as you are extremely handsome as you are, yes? Perhaps I _will_ make a list, several in fact, with each one having a ‘new’ peeve placed at the start as those seem easiest for you to remember. Like the socks, _amora_.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Socks...?” Startled, Ferox forgot to growl anymore. _What?__ _ _ _ _

_____“During sex, you remove them beforehand, for which I am grateful, _amante._ Shall I show you how grateful I am?” fingers found their way to his braid, pulling it from its bind and running through it. _ _ _ _ _

_____“Why?” Not understanding, but liking where this was going, he wrapped his around around Zevran holding the his lover closer. “Do absent socks mean that much to you?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Lips moved over Ferox’s cheeks with typical gentle firmness, making his lids droop in response to the simple affection, as his favourite voice wound around him, “I do not like how they feel on my skin when you rub against me. Also, it looks very odd when you are nude to have nothing on but socks, especially if we are having sex, no? To see a socked foot waving around is a complete and hideous distraction, or to feel it if your leg curls around mine during an act or whathaveyou. It is...it is simply _unnatural, querido_. And a great injustice, particularly if all I can do is think about a socked foot versus a nude you. Now if we are mostly clothed or even partially clothed, socks, eh, they are understandable and at that point both of us are likely to be too hurried to much care about anything beyond the necessary equipment being bared, yes?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“If you are happy with cold feet, then I don’t care...except when we’re camping. I may be from a frozen country and I may not always like the weather, but I know how to dress for it.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Chuckles were liquid and spiced honey and whisky warm, rolling over him, “Yes, and I wind up sleeping with two pairs myself, tchk, such a crime, _amora_.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Zevran, my love, had you written ahead and said that you were coming, I would have warned you off or at the very least instructed you in what to pack. But no, you had to show up all unexpected like, clearly dressed for a summer’s day. Never did get that cloak back...but at least the wolf skins went to good use.” Confidentially, “When one has to care for an imaginary delicate, hot house cacti, I suppose one must be prepared to make sacrifices for their comfort.”_ _ _ _ _

_____The meandering path his assassin’s lips took over his face eventually found his, _’Yes, well, I knew I would find exactly what I needed in Ferelden, hmn?’__ _ _ _ _

______’You have no idea how glad I am that you arrived safely, regardless of your apparent lack of courtesy and forethought. The welcoming party might have gone a little differently. You know, something like, ‘Greetings esteemed Warden, is it really that cold there? Do people wear socks in bed? Who do I have to kill to find a good cup of coffee? Is the food always boring and bland? Must everything be served with bread, potatoes and/or cabbage - with that occasionally being the entire meal itself? Is the only available ‘spice’, salt in excess quantities?’ And let’s not forget my personal favourite question you should have asked - ‘Where might I find suitable bedding, a mattress, and warmth for my travels?’ Really, your entire trip was poorly planned, I expected so much more of one such as yourself seeing as you are the creme de la creme of Antiva’s finest.’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran was laughing aloud and within, wrapping Ferox up tightly and pulling him into the halls of his mind, pressing amusement and the simple joy of good natured teasing to him. _’Duly noted, I am quite sorry that I was so lacking in manners, **amora** , as you know I tend to be a very polite person as a general rule. My only excuse was that I was quite preoccupied at the time.’__ _ _ _ _

______’And it was not as if you had set out intending to take a long pleasurable walk through the many scenic Towers of Ferelden. Although if one was keeping track, or if you had made a list to check them off of, I believe that you hit all of the major high points, as it were.’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____There was a low hum then teeth were tugging at the bottom of his lip, licking the thin and sensitive border where the flesh of his face met the softer expanse of mouth. _Socks should probably come off now, right? Still clothed, socks stay on. Oh, right. Besides, he might just be in a kissing mood, there might not be anything else coming along here you know. No, no, no - I refute your reality and replace it with my own. Sigh - nothing new there really._ Arms flexing tighter around his Antivan sun, Ferox returned the kiss hungrily rather than with the usual half-passive and patient ‘wait and see’ tack he usually took. _Can we stay like this forever? No - your arse would start to hurt from the floor, rug or no rug. Good point. Yes, it is and rather well thought out.__ _ _ _ _

______You know, about now you normally wonder how you got here. Have any idea this time? Well I can’t testify to what I may have done in the clinic and on the way home…well until you woke up. I did get bonked on the head, I remember that. Why’d that happen? Something about towers and being married. Who’s married? Nathaniel and Shianni. Oh._ Zevran’s neck tasted of sea salt and honey and musk, which Ferox was doing an admirable job nipping as his Antivan’s head tipped to the side, throat vibrating softly on a purr against Ferox’s lips and tongue. _No, I’m pretty sure it was before that because after talking about them we left. Really? I think so. Hrm. Then I don’t know who we were talking about then. I do know he likes made-up stories, when you play with the children, when you tease him, when something is funny. What exactly does he get out of all that? It’s nothing...useless. It’s true that it’s nothing like what we do every day. Well, I suppose I can see the draw of that. It’s play, something you still have a hard time doing. It is, isn’t it?__ _ _ _ _

_____Unfastening Zevran’s belt and pushing it away, Ferox worked a hand under his lover’s tunic, wanting to touch the taut skin, to stroke the dips and welts of scars, to skip over the faint difference between inked and unadorned bronze. _Question. What is it now? Well, you haven’t asked a particular thing that should probably be asked. Alright, out with it - I’m busy, can’t you see that? Yes, yes I can - the question still stands - what is he doing here? How did he get here? Um, he crawled into my lap...and began kissing me. Before that?_ His thoughts had to pause because there was a magical set of vocal cords groaning his name right into his ear and a deep tendon that ran from that spot behind Zevran’s down to his clavicle that needed attention. _Well, we rode on a boat. You are slow aren’t you? Well, if you’d be more clear... Are you asking how I ended up in his room, once upon a time? Because that was due to tracking down Len. Or why is he here so far from Antiva? Because I remember that story, too. No, you blockhead - why would he want to be here? Um...good question? Because let’s face it - you’re boring when the only ‘fun’ things you can think of doing are talking like an imaginary rock farmer who’s a bit touched in the head and wears sweaters knit by a pair of sheep, and sometimes, when you are really trying, you summoning up the occasional tease, and if you fight for it, the rare raspberry. Well I try really hard not to think about why he’s here, because if he heard me, he might just realize why he shouldn’t be here and... Well isn’t that selfish? Hey now, I told him to go play with Moira. You probably just made him feel bad. What? You’re kidding right? Zevran’s not shy and can take care of himself, thank you very much. There’s the fact that you’re still his meal ticket. That was really underhanded. I am so not talking to you anymore because you’re an evil little troll. Go...just go play in a box somewhere else.__ _ _ _ _

_____Trying to blot out the bitterness that left a foul taste in his mind and soul, Ferox buried his face in Zevran’s stomach, attempting to shove the uncertainty aside, just as he yanked the assassin’s shirt off. _’I need you to tell me something good. Anything, please.’__ _ _ _ _

_____The hands in his hair tightened near the roots, forcing his head to tip back, so that gold eyes could search his face. _’You are my world, Ferox, my love, my life, you are beautiful, fierce, my handsome, foolish boy.’_ Zevran tugged him up as he spoke to press the side of Ferox’s head against his chest, right over his heart to hear the rapid beat. _’This is yours, this is for you, this beats because of you, **amora**.’__ _ _ _ _

_____A deep exhale, desperate to get rid of the horrible things, he didn’t want to think about where in the darkness that appalling thought had come from. The light followed by words washed into the cracks and narrow corners chasing and scouring the gloom that had descended so quickly. He hadn’t even seen it coming this time and was caught off guard, unable to recover himself, having to call for help. The heartbeat was steadying as it slowed, pulling Ferox back to reality and the fact that his spine wasn’t straight as he was half sprawled over Zevran who had wrapped his limbs all around him like a vise covering all his vulnerable spots._ _ _ _ _

______Or armour._ There was the typical hand in his hair, cupping his head tight and keeping it pressed to the strong wall of upper shoulder, while an arm curled around his shoulders, under his arms, keeping the vulnerable spots of armpits and most of the spaces between ribs covered. And the forearm that crossed tightly over his kidneys, hand tight around his waist somehow, no space for someone to shove a blade into vital arteries and organs. Legs that slung around his thighs to shunt aside any blows there, too. Of course there was also the chest to chest, throat protected too, any entrance to vital organs was _covered_ , and always had been. _Huh it really is armour. This whole time he wasn’t just plastering himself to me - he’s been protecting me with himself.__ _ _ _ _

______You don’t deserve this. We’ve been through this. Gifts, love...they aren’t about deserving. He’s said that, so have I, so have you._ Lifting his head slightly, Ferox kissed the heart under his cheek, before settling back. “Thank you for catching me.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran’s neck curved so that he could brush lips over his hairline, “I always will, _amora_.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Why?” _Not this again. Maybe I just want to hear it. He does have a lovely voice. And my ear is pressed to his chest, it’s even better that way. He could talk about sewers and improvements to water supplies all day, if I could listen like this. You are going to get us in trouble. What do you mean? You can’t just walk into a room, hear Zevran speaking and plunk yourself down to put your ear to a man’s chest. You have no sense of imagination. Oh I can imagine it all right, but I was talking about propriety. Fine, I’ll snarl and chase everyone out of the room first. Happy? Hrm, I suppose that might work.__ _ _ _ _

_____Perhaps it was because he had asked the question so many times over the last several years, but Zevran didn’t sigh, didn’t chide him or do anything to make him feel like a complete idiot for asking. Instead those limbs squeezed him. “Because if I do not, how could I live with myself for allowing you to come to harm? Any harm? Hmmn? No, _amora_ , I love you, I choose to stay by your side, by your side is where I wish to be, to the Black City and back, to find the Maker and rain shit on his day for being a lousy parent to the world, and on in to the beyond or whatever comes next, yes? You are my home, _querido_ , and I struggled for too long to get this far to give up and let you go without a fight.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“How I am your home?” Becoming unstuck, Ferox lifted his head again to taste the brown skin, the dark markings, returning to where he thought he had left off, following the line of the collarbone to the hollow of Zevran’s throat. It was like finding the place where he had stopped reading a well-loved and often read volume. So well known it was difficult to remember what page or paragraph he had just been studying. All so familiar and yet all of it his favourite._ _ _ _ _

_____There was a chuckle and the squeeze let him know it was just teasing, “Oh no, no, no. If I start now you will tell me that I should ‘put it on a list’, yes?”_ _ _ _ _

______Hrm, he has you there, doesn’t he? Eh, he has me everywhere. True._ Grunting into a column of bronze, “Tell me anyway, then put it on a list.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Hmmmn, _como desees, guapo_. Well, where shall I start, hmn? Now that _is_ a tricky question, but I submit to your superior interrogation skills, yes?” there was the looked for barely there hitch in breathing when Ferox found a ticklish spot. While Ferox was not a fan of it when _he_ was subjected to it, he didn’t mind at all the sounds Zevran made when his assassin was the one receiving. “I find I can no longer actually sleep without the sound of your snoring, _querido._ There were several nights when you were called away and I remained behind last year, and when I would try to sleep, all that happened was tossing and turning, quite dreadful, no? But when you are near, the only way to survive your snoring is to keep an ear pressed to you. Though,” the laugh was almost one of those rare, masculine giggles, as Ferox gained a spot right on the ribs and rubbed his chin over it very lightly, “though, it has occurred to me that if one were to put enough pillows up so that you slept on an incline it might not be so bad, or tie your mouth shut so that you are forced to learn to not strangle on your tongue all night long. Eleanor’s very _helpful_ and her suggestion involved a pillow over the face, but I told her that that was not a good idea tempting as it is occasionally...”_ _ _ _ _

_____That, that deserved a raspberry, blackberry, dewberry...whatever, with a followup tickle. _See? See? I can play. Yes, how nice. Asshole._ But Zevran jerked, back arching, laughing as his face scrunched up. Allowing him to almost catch his breath before delivering another salmonberry thing - _Well, okay, maybe more than just ‘another’. Three is a nice round number,_ Ferox applied his ‘interrogation techniques’. _ _ _ _ _

_____“I steal your boots even though they are slightly too big for me sometimes, to grab things from the kitchen when you are reading. Because I like the way they clomp a little and because they are yours,” delivered with a grin and arms crossing beneath his head. “My room reflects my personality more, but your room reflects yours, which is why I am in it so often, I wish to be near you, _querido._ ”_ _ _ _ _

_____At the boots, an eyebrow rose, Ferox had wondered why sometimes the soft steps were occasionally louder. Certainly not stomping, as the assassin never stomped even when being ‘obvious’. Now at least he had an explanation. As to the rooms, it was why, when he returned and was alone, he went to Zevran’s room, even if it was just to steal the elf’s pillow so he could breathe in the scent while he read. Nipped kisses were laid over the cloudberries, which had been blown across the firm stomach._ _ _ _ _

_____“I have always been grateful that you were not paid for silence.” Grinning in return, waiting for more words to come. “Mostly because you probably wouldn’t have kept quiet anyway, no matter how much you were paid.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“ _I_ was not paid anything, I handed over nearly all the percentage that I could have taken, to the Guild, taking only enough to get here and hire a few quite incompetent thugs, _amora_ ,” rolled eyes even as a hand came to cup Ferox’s head, fingers massaging his scalp. “Ah, that was actually an abysmally large sum...should have had the foresight to keep it to add to the ‘Save Thedas Fund’, yes?” _ _ _ _ _

_____“Ah, what’s done is done, as you are so quick to point out and what’s a copper here or there, when you are with me? As for Thedas, it will save itself. My responsibility is only a small thing compared to the entire world. I would have to inquire on your underestimating the mage’s ability however, at that little ambush, unless you were going for realism there. I was just grateful I had yet to find actual plate, until you stuck me with that dagger of yours, carving your entire name into my thigh. I swear there’s even a ‘curlie-que’ on the end.” With the tip of his tongue, to demonstrate, he traced the memorized shape across the brown expanse of abdomen._ _ _ _ _

_____A faint hiss, fingers flexing in his hair, “Your ability to spell is lacking, _querido_ , if that is how you write the letters ‘z-e-v-r-a-n’. It is good that I am around to make sure no one knows your skills in such departments are so scattered. Though, it is far better than some of what I have seen. Whoever it is who continues to write, ‘Yoo ahr sommond tu an apoyntment,’ should be shot. Unless it is Camilla and she is aiming for humour.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“With language like that, it sounds like Camilla knows Earle,” snorting before setting about distracting his lover once more. Drawing the jagged traveling line of the scar again, this time upside down. “At first I believed that I was looking at the mark from the wrong angle, and then I thought perhaps it was another tongue that did not use the traditional alphabet, one with a continual line as it has a certain flow to it. Symbolic perhaps?” Yes, he had thought about this probably a little too much, but often when the nightmares would wake him, it was better than counting ‘Ethels’. He had hated trying to sleep those years. Always chasing somebody off watch and into their tent, taking their place because he couldn’t keep the nightmares at bay. However, it was the first mark he had received from Zevran, apparently even then it meant something beyond an odd puzzle to keep his mind occupied. Ferox reversed the scarred ‘word’ and demonstrated again._ _ _ _ _

_____“My Qunlat is deplorable, _Zamas Ga’hals_ my runes are not far behind, so perhaps, you are correct _amante,_ ” muscles jumped in the skin beneath Ferox’s tongue as Zevran twitched under the onslaught. _ _ _ _ _

_____“ _Vashedan_ , you listened to Sten very closely, and heard even what he did not mean to say. But we were discussing your name, your home, and your dagger.” Trailing nipped kisses so Ferox could sprawl on Zevran, intending to make everything more difficult, “And as much as I have enjoyed this section of the floor, that door is wide open, and children will be returning for Claudio the Beaver, unless one of us moves.” [Crap, refuse, trash]_ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran moaned, “Tchk, so unfair. Why we cannot make spells to close doors is an absolute injustice, _querido._ ” There was a grumpy whine as his lover stretched out a hand as though he could wave the doors closed with a thought, “Mph! Damn, it is not working. Bah.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Laughing, “And,” noting the toys on the beds around them, “I don’t think this is our room either. Race you?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Interested brows bounced high in quite apparent interest, “Oh most certainly, _querido._ ”_ _ _ _ _

_____Rolling off, a hand to his lover, Ferox pulled them up. Gathering scattered belongings, he tossed Zevran his shirt and picked up the belt, and slipped on his boots. Halfway to their room, a sudden weight on his back, and laughter in the amulet, and Ferox found that he was carting his assassin along. _’Now I reckon that thar’s cheatin’ fine ser.’__ _ _ _ _

_____Lips touched his ear, husky accented words while legs tightened around his waist, “Ah, but if I ride you first, then you can ride _me_ , good rock farmer, hmmn?”_ _ _ _ _

______Okay that made sense. It did? Because I missed the logic. Spoilsport - I’m not listening to you._ “In tha’ case, we be takin’ the long route.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Truly? Ah, but you are in fine form today, _querido_ ,” hummed into his ear. “I like it.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Oh? What else do you like?” and no, he wasn’t taking the long route. _Thought about it. Yes, yes I did. What changed your mind? He seeks to drive me crazy. So you were wishing for a door closing spell too? Hello? You were there.__ _ _ _ _

_____There was a purr before the side of his neck had teeth digging in firmly but not hard enough to do more than ache slightly, _’ Everything. You, this, us, hmn? It is good **corizon.** ’__ _ _ _ _

_____“Everything is very a broad answer.” _’And you should know better than to bite your horse,’_ the low rumbling growl started of its own accord. They were going to be very lucky if they actually made it to closed doors. Even, Maker forbid, closets were starting to look good._ _ _ _ _

______’Mmmn, but I cannot help myself, you taste so good,’_ a growl of his elf’s own thrummed against Ferox’s back. “Oh no? Does this mean I will be bitten back? Tchk, an absolute travesty, _amante._ ”_ _ _ _ _

______Just for the record, you stopped running when he landed on your back. Yes, I did. And your point is? I’m guessing you like being teased because it’s not like that steel bar pressing into your spine is going anywhere. What can I say? He’s corrupted me. Corrupted you? How many demons did you say ‘no’ to?_ His own personal ruler of all temptation continued to nip, no doubt leaving small marks all over the side of his neck that would probably fade - in a day or two - while hands roamed even as Ferox carried him, the thighs pressed tight to his sides keeping the elf in place. _But, he’s so much better than them. Seriously, if you have to choose one, make sure you’ve got a real leader, not just a minion. This one gives lessons to Desire demons, trust me._ Mental touches were accompanying the physical ones as Ferox went back and forth with himself, _I think that this time I might believe you.__ _ _ _ _

_____When Zevran’s hand found its way _somehow_ into his pants as he walked, “You are thinking very hard, _amante_ ,” punctuated with a squeeze and stroke, “About what I wonder? Hmn? What are you thinking, _amora_ \- an inquisitive mind wishes to know.” _ _ _ _ _

_____“Only,” which came out rather strangled. Clearing his throat, Ferox tried again, “Only of you.” A growled exhale, “And if it wasn’t true, it certainly would be now.” Opening the door, one they must have passed at least once going round the veranda, _He is very distracting. Well...at least you made good on the long route. Not intentionally!_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Amusement paired with a face nuzzling into the nape of his neck and a hand working diligently, “Oh? And what about me are you thinking? Hmmn?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“How you had better be quickly out of those clothes, if you happen to like any of them.” _Hysterics? No, fair warning. Your voice was climbing. True.__ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran slid from his back, one arm around his chest holding him tightly just as the long fingered hand held Ferox’s manhood, “Ohhh? Now _that_ is very interesting, _querido._ As I am a believer in asking and receiving, let us see just how fast I can be.” _ _ _ _ _

_____A hand against the door, the latch clicked into place and the bolt was thrown. It wasn’t a race he could ever win, nor wanted to compete in, and anyway at the moment he was a captive audience. Biting the inside of his cheek however, Ferox managed to toe off the low boots, remove, and yes, _fold_ his tunic. Zevran gave him a last stroke and his shoulder a kiss before slipping past him. _ _ _ _ _

_____And he wasn’t undressing._ _ _ _ _

_____Instead he merely flopped upon the bed, watching Ferox, and lounged indolently. All the while his honey gold eyes were locked on him, watching intently and licking his lips time to time. _What? Is this a show? Apparently._ The neatly folded material was set on the dresser, before he joined Zevran on the firm mattress. _Needs less straw...hay, whatever._ “What can I do for you?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“You are most bedevilling, _querido_ ,” smiling with lids hooded. _ _ _ _ _

_____Confused, “I cause problems? How so?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“One of these days, _amante_ , I am going to cut those very expensive clothes from your supremely perfect form and leave them in shreds so there is no need for you to fold them,” a finger twirled a strand of Ferox’s hair. _ _ _ _ _

______But shreds would be more to pick up._ “How does my folding cause an irritation?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“Shall we say I am not always a...patient...man, yes?” even as he displayed that odd preternatural calm heat._ _ _ _ _

______You didn’t hear that little click of a trap under your foot a while back, did you? Apparently not, but neither did you. Hey, no pointing fingers, we were talking about what you heard._ Cautiously, “Yes. Often that is true.”_ _ _ _ _

_____The full mouth quirked, “One day, _amora_. But not today, hmn?”_ _ _ _ _

______Okay that sounds...ominous. Yes, yes it does. Good - that we’re in agreement, Very Bad - that I wasn’t imagining that._ Before he could ask what was ‘not today’ there were hands running over his shoulder and chest, making Ferox growl as he reached for his lover, forgetting for that brief instant that the elf was still dressed. _Did you presume? No, I’m certain it was you. I don’t do that and you better not. No, I’m fairly certain we’re not taking this for granted. Mph, his clothes need to come off. Now. Well someone should tell him that since he’s not complying. Don’t tell me you won two ‘races’ today. This is not good, it’s presuming...I don’t win. No, I remember, it wasn’t._ Apologetically, “Zevran, if folding truly irritates you, you should know by now that I if I remove them for you, I will be compelled to fold yours.”_ _ _ _ _

_____That earned a hiss that verged on feline hostility, a dire warning, sharp white teeth nearly snapping on his tongue before clothes were shed and thrown about, as though in retaliation, with a set of smallclothes hanging brazenly from one side of the headboard. Repressing the itch to grab all the scattered bits and fold them or at least gather them, Ferox sighed. _Definitely presumed and taken for granted.__ _ _ _ _

_____Ferox was sure he was in for it when Zevran lunged across the bed to tackle him to the mattress and prepared himself accordingly. What followed was nothing less than torture, but not particularly unpleasant, as his assassin mapped him with hands and mouth, slowly stripping away leggings. When Ferox made to take them from his Antivan’s hands a low warning growl accompanied a palm firmly pushing him flat as the other threw the leggings clear across their room to snag on the door handle, all while his lover didn’t even look to do his aiming. _But I can’t reach them from way over there! You’re whining. Shut up, I know I am - when I want your input I’ll ask for it. Gear first. I know, keep breathing, don’t panic. Always tend to your horse then your tack, prepare yourself for the coming day, then eat and bathe. See to everything yourself; it’s the only way to survive. Breathe. I’m breathing, I think. No you’re not, you’re holding your breath._ _ _ _ _ _

_____Except that might be due to Zevran’s mouth on his, one hand still keeping him pinned, but not trapped as his limbs were quite free, the other hand in his hair, while silk covered heat stroked over the top of his thigh. _Squirming and panicking is not very manly. Fine - you try not doing either in this situation._ Slick tongue swirled against his, Zevran’s hunger buffeting him about from all sides, swamping his senses. _Okay, that’s a way to get what he wants. Unfair advantage. You’re complaining? Possibly, but I’m not entirely sure._ His elf moved from his mouth once he was too dazed to put up any resistance, traveling downwards and then his smalls were removed too. And likely tossed somewhere, not that he caught the direction because there was another of Zevran’s unfair advantages coming into play as well. _Hah. Only one unfair advantage? Try several. Stop complaining - just hang on until he’s done. Gear first! Breathe. I’m having trouble with that, in case you didn’t notice. Hyperventilating is bad too._ Socks were discarded as well, again, to regions unknown and unnoticed. _ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran released his hold, expression nothing more than a licking and devouring heat, teeth bared, “There - now, was that so bad, _amante_?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Swallowing thickly, knowing that the incorrect answer would get him nowhere quite fast, “No.” _YES. Don’t look, he already knows it’s a lie. Okay, think about this. You know where the weapons are, right? Yes. Hold onto that then. Armour’s on the the rack? Yes. Everything’s back where it should be. Okay, okay, that’s good. And there’s another pair of trews on the chair. Clean ones - right? Right. Can I just go throw up now? No, you’re going to breathe and then you’re going to stop your teeth from chattering. Maker, I’m a dead man. Can’t even stop my hands from shaking._ _ _ _ _ _

_____A purr and croon, demonically hypnotic, “I know where everything is, _querido._ ”_ _ _ _ _

_____Shuddering, _If that’s supposed to be comforting, it’s not working. Yeah, you tell him that, because I’m not. I’m still working on the breathing thing._ Ferox pressed his hands to his breastbone to stop the shaking, doing his best to hang on. _ _ _ _ _

_____Except Zevran had other plans, taking them and placing them on his own chest, sending clear pictures with each statement, _’The door knob - leggings. Headboard - smalls. Mantlepiece - left sock. Your chair - right sock.’__ _ _ _ _

______’It’s not fast enough. Even if the dog barks, it’s not fast enough.’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____Lips thinned, _’ **Amora** , the reality is that nothing is fast enough beyond taking up arms unless one sleeps in armour.’__ _ _ _ _

______Hey - that’s a good idea..._ _ _ _ _ _

_____Teeth clicked, “You are _not_ sleeping in armour, _querido_ , I see that look in your eyes. Very well then.” Zevran slithered from the bed so fast that Ferox barely had time to register it, making a rapid pass through the room, gathering things and folding them one handed while the other scooped bits up, depositing them on the nearest chair in the same exact order and arrangement down to the left and right socks on either side of the shirt, tunic, leggings order. “ _Now_ can you ride me into the ground, _amora_?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Eyes closed, going through his own lists, reassuring and remembering to breathe, pulling back on the anger that sprang forward, knowing that the amulet was sharing. It wasn’t little rituals for little reason. It wasn’t a game. Every time, the same way, and when it was needed it was there in his hand. He may never be the first undressed, but that wasn’t where the real race was. The real one was how fast could you get dressed. It saved his life the night Highever burned, and those rituals continued to prove useful on the road._ _ _ _ _

_____A grumble and the weight of Zevran draped over him, enfolding Ferox as he always did, much like earlier, all vulnerable spots covered. _Armour. Right._ Calmer, no longer angry or panicked, he wriggled his arms out from between them and held onto Zevran who was emitting a continuous rolling sound that wasn’t pleased but neither was it angry, yet was almost soothing for the unceasing thrum. _’I’m sorry.’__ _ _ _ _

______’No, do not be sorry, **querido.** I took it too far, pushed too hard, hmn? It is I who should apologize, as I know your limits, yes?’_ Aggravation that Ferox could feel that Zevran directed at himself rather than Ferox, _’I am sorry, **amora**.’__ _ _ _ _

______’I never said why I did them. How would you know that I wasn’t being an old man puttering and wasting time?’_ _ _ _ _ _

_____The growling paused for a grunt, _’I am well aware of the soldier’s saw on such things. In the field, in case you had not noticed, I do the same. However, in a city, there truly is no such thing as ‘enough time’ or ‘speed’, **querido.** One learns to fight in the altogether, or they have not learned how to fight well enough.’__ _ _ _ _

______’Sword was next to the bed and the hound was in the room when the door was opened. I know it’s not fast enough, but it was all there for afterwards and I was quick enough to be ready for the next ones who were in the hall.’_ “If I hadn’t been organized, worse would have happened although there’s little point to that, all things considered.” Voice catching remembering that his mother was dead that night despite all preparations, despite saving her the first time, despite everything, “I need air and I will be no good here.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran slid to the side, jerking his head towards the clothes, “Go on, I will be here if you have need of me, _amora._ ” The assassin rolled to grab a charcoal pencil, book and a piece of paper, “ _If_ you desire it, there are a few more brownies in the satchel Dassan sent us with, hmn? Take no more than one if you choose to.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Rapidly throwing clothes on without looking at them, “Later, with you.” Without thought, the companion sword was on. “I am sorry,” Ferox said to the hallway after he closed the door behind him. _ _ _ _ _

_____Several hours later when he returned Ferox found a fresh change of clothes occupying the space he normally put what he was wearing that day. And a neatly folded list that he only glanced over enough to know that’s what it was. Zevran had his back to the room, sitting on the windowsill, smoking what didn’t smell quite like the duplicate’s ganja, but like an excellent pipe tobacco._ _ _ _ _

______’That’s an addictive habit,’_ mildly._ _ _ _ _

______’All the good ones are. And one I gave up years ago, but time to time it is pleasant when good tobacco is near to hand even though it is rather pungent, especially since I did not wish to be sleepy when you returned,’_ a glance was cast over his shoulder. _’But that would be why I am at the window, **amora**. No need for the stink to get into the room overmuch, yes?’__ _ _ _ _

_____“If you scoot over, I’ll join you on your perch.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Space was made quickly, “Of course, _queirdo._ ” _ _ _ _ _

_____The very action of how different the duplicate and Zevran were was even in the details of how they smoked. While ‘Dassan’, _Still having troubles with that I see. They’re identical! Just their faces. Sort of,_ usually left the odd cigars stuck between his lips except for to ash - holding the rolled up blunt between index and thumb, shifting it to tap it with the back of his ring finger to make the ash fall away - Zevran kept it sandwiched between index and middle fingers except on inhale, flicking the end firmly once to send the grey mass dropping off. The set of expression, the droop of a shoulder pressed to the frame of the window, legs hanging over the side of the estate’s wall, clearly uncaring of the three story drop beneath him, exuding an air of tranquility rather than disdain for the world around him - all that was different too. Fragrant smoke was blown in a stream rather than left to hang like a cloud of dragonfire and brimstone, bottom lip licked with a quick swipe of tongue before another long and deep drag to begin the process anew. As with most things he did, everything had a nimble dancing grace, following an unheard song. _ _ _ _ _

_____Three stories was not a tower, so there was no danger, no temptation to take a fall. Next to Zevran, Ferox set his hand on the reclining assassin’s thigh. Ferox had spent the time away, not that Zevran couldn’t reach him at any time through their connection, trying to convince himself that giving up a habit ingrained since he was old enough to have his own equipment, one burned into the foundation of his core after terror and tragedy, could be done. It had to be a good thing, if Zevran wanted him to do it. The longer he thought about it the first hour, the angrier he became at himself for not being able to give this to Zevran either. _He asks for so little!_ The second hour he tried to reduce what had to be done, after coming up with socks he got stuck again. At its longest, items needed to be repaired, but after noting what was needed, he  could walk away from that. At the bare minimum was laying everything out where quick access could be made. True, it was not needed in cities, _But, damn it, it shouldn’t have been needed in my own home either, and I can’t let it go._ _ _ _ _ _

_____The first thing to go in a Warden was the mind. These tricks, rituals, would help cover the decline when it came, ingrained daily habits would endure the longest. Ferox was going to lose his mind, memories, every tiny thing a little bit at a time, until all there was left was an urge to crawl underground to become the monster under the bed, in the closet, or in the quiet dark spaces where even Zevran’s sunlight wavered and couldn’t fully reach. There was a plan in place, there were backup plans, but at what point in the decline was enough? When a few things lost here or there, while the mind was still able to make the decision? There was a risk of waiting too long, leaving a terrible burden to others. True, there was the safety net that Zevran had promised, but Ferox’s death was his own responsibility. Father had said, ‘We leave the camp cleaner than we found it,’ and Ferox had carried this into every aspect of his life and intended to follow it through to his demise. _Dear Maker, Zevran’s going to have to watch me lose myself. He’s going to lose me twice. Maker, what did I do to make you do this to me? To him? Well, you could have lied. You could have said that you were going to the Deep Roads. No, first of all, at the time I was afraid that he would see his promise to himself through and since it wasn’t my intention to go there in the first place, I wasn’t going to put on the show. Second, I don’t lie to him._ _ _ _ _ _

_____The third hour consisted of reviewing the options in the plans, to make sure that he went before he did any damage, before anyone was hurt, before he did anything terrible. None of which was an answer to what Zevran had asked of him. _Frell, do I even know what he was asking me? Sigh. Probably not. But by then I wasn’t, couldn’t listen, which he saw too. Well, you didn’t hurt him. Uh? Are you using the same senses I am? I meant physically. Okay, I’ll give you that...but just that._ _ _ _ _ _

______Okay, eye on the trap cause we’re going to try this again. I don’t wanna! Stop whining, your name isn’t Len and you aren’t three. What if you keep breathing and I’ll be in charge of the not panicking part? Okay, I can probably do that, you okay with the rest? No. Damn. Well, time to suck it up buttercup, we’ll have to find a way to manage._ “Zevran, you’re trying to tell me, show me something, and I’m apparently not listening and I’m definitely not understanding. Would you tell me again, differently...some other way?”_ _ _ _ _

_____“You do not always have to remember every single second of the day or night who and what you are forced to be, you can let go, trust yourself, myself, even the world at large, that it will not all come crashing down for a mere half hour, _amora_. It is not the action, but the meaning behind it that is so vexatious,” a hand waved, the trail of smoke left behind weaving shapes in the air. “Releasing yourself from bondage and habit, no matter how necessary or useful that habit is, to simply enjoy life for a handful of seconds without that hanging over your head constantly, it is... One day you will learn it perhaps. My pushing will not make it easier, only harder. Tchk, a skirmish lost, information gained, nothing more than a minor setback, ground to be regained, that is all, yes? I become overeager, wishing you healed so that you have more time to enjoy life to its fullest in our limited years.”_ _ _ _ _

______You still breathing? Yeah._ “I try in other ways...” _But it’s not enough. He needs more._ Starting over, “Smaller steps. A half hour is your goal? Or how long you think I can go without leaping to my feet to put everything to rights?” _And it’s not everything, it’s just your things. Yes, and whatever I touch...oh, right that’s what started the snarling cat. Hey, that was reminding. I wouldn’t say that was how it was taken. True, things did go rather badly after that._ “Without warning, I don’t think I can make five...as recent events attest. I know that it defeats the purpose of what you are asking for, but can we start with a warning and a small amount of time so I can get get a hold of the not being in control part? I know it’s stupid, but I can’t drop everything and be okay.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran shifted, leaning his head against Ferox’s shoulder. “A half hour was an arbitrary quote, _amora_ , nothing more. Likely it would not have taken either of us very long to reach climax at least once, and then the other things could have been put back to how you prefer them. The principle of it was that I thought if anything could make you forget for any time at all, that it would have been dire need and desire.” A cheek rubbed against his arm, “It is of no matter, we will do whatever works, _querido_.”_ _ _ _ _

_____“I am not, and do not mean to, reject you.” Tightening his fingers slightly on Zevran’s thigh, “I would gladly forget everything to be with you, but somehow I don’t think a gibbering mess is what you are looking for. Before today, I hadn’t thought much on why these things are done and, upon reflection, I can see why they are there and what caused them. The healer said that routines were good, that they will be helpful in the future, but perhaps she has other ideas since we first talked. I’ll ask.”_ _ _ _ _

_____The thin cigar was flicked away, finished, “It is not worth asking over, _amora,_ as I never said that those routines were unnecessary, unwanted, or unhelpful. What I said was to ‘forget for a few moments’ and then to ‘put things back’. But that is semantics and should be left for another day, yes?”_ _ _ _ _

_____Automatically, “Yes.” Pausing, “I mean, no. I heard what you are asking, what you want, and I am willing to try, as I said. The inability to function is bad; you know it and I know it. If there is something to help, it would be worth the time to inquire. I want to be what you need. I want you to be happy with me.”_ _ _ _ _

_____Zevran’s hand came out, taking his chin firmly and turning him to look down enough to meet his gaze, “ _You are what I need and what makes me happy, **amora**._ What I do is not because I find you _deficient_ in any way, _querido_ , but because I wish you to be whole and healthy and able to live without being held back by old scars. Because I love you, I wish for you to be healed, as healed as you are capable of being, to squeeze every last drop of goodness into your life so there is not a moment that you ever feel that you are held back in any way.” _ _ _ _ _

_____Leaning closer, Ferox kissed him. “I have everything I need, everything I want, right here. The other things are extras, like cranberries in addition to raisins in oatmeal cookies or a good beer at the end of a successful day. If, or when, the extras happen, they are welcome. If they don’t, what is already here is plenty, it’s more than enough and I am content.”_ _ _ _ _

_____His lover squeezed him tighter in return, but he could tell that Zevran wasn’t satisfied. _’I want more for you, I want everything for you, **querido.** You would stop at nothing for Len to heal him, you would stop at nothing for me to heal me, I will stop at nothing for you.’__ _ _ _ _

______Can we take all of that ‘fixing’? I mean, without snapping or biting or whatever that whimpering thing you were doing earlier? If it makes him happy we’ll grit our teeth, hold still, and like it. And anyway, he called it ‘healing’, get it right or we both know you’ll kick up a bloody fuss. I liked my excuse better._ “As you wish.”_ _ _ _ _


	28. Have You the Ring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the start of Zev Week. Well, these are fairly beta'd, but there may still be booboos, lemme know.

[Ferox]  
Ferox stared at the list, unsure of what he was feeling. It was titled in the sort of scrawl he used himself rather than Zevran’s usual varieties of penmanship, the contents, wording and style all that made it obvious, to Ferox at least, that it was from his lover. Numbers that he realized were dates, even though they were in a different order than a Ferelden would use, held a word or two, sometimes a sentence beside them. Scratching his jaw with a puzzled frown, he contemplated asking Zevran, but that seemed strangely counterproductive.

 _Guess you’ll have to figure this out on your own. What? You’re not going to help me? Oh? You’re asking for my help now? Fancy that. Oh just shut up and give me the input._ Making a face at the statement of ‘third floor hallway, afternoon, Jerrick-masonry-left battlement-Irenicus’, _Who the frell is ‘Jerrick’? That was the rapist that got hung, it took place a year after you got back from Amaranthine and Irenicus was the captain that brought in that extra stock of supplies from Gwaren since it wasn’t as hard hit. Oh. Right - and the masonry for the palace needed repairing as did the left wing of...oh. Oh._ Realizing that what the list of dates was, Ferox flipped through the tightly packed pages. What had to be nearly every meeting and discussion, since he and Zevran had taken up the work of Ferelden, was on the pages, the last one had an abbreviated ‘work in progress’ at the very bottom. _Why would he keep track of all this? And why would he give it to me? Hey, you, input’s welcome here. Uh...I’m coming up blank - maybe to say he remembers each time you were together, even if it was over something...stupid and boring? Okay that is a dumb answer, because there’s no way he would bother with something like that. Well you asked for my input and he does make a lot of lists. True... Quick - check that book he was using - it might have those things in there!_

Quietly scanning the link for Zevran’s presence, Ferox discovered that the Antivan was still in a tub, pickling himself. _Good. Now get it!_ Grabbing the slim book from the end table and leafing through it, it held nothing more exciting than recipes for poison and cookies. _Okay, that is a weird and disheartening combination. I dunno, it kinda makes sense, he loves to cook, he loves to make weird stuff, so..._ Setting aside what he mentally dubbed  Papi Zevran’s Assassin Cookbook, Ferox dug further in the other books. All of which were torrid fiction, over-read myths and fairy-tales, history, or the expense account for the trip, the embassy, and personal finances. Not a one of them had any of the dates listed or clues to them either. 

Sighing, _Still makes no bloody sense. You could always ask him. Oh thanks, I hadn’t thought of that at all, ever, it’s so original and unique. No need to be such an ass._ Flopping on the bed, Ferox tugged Zevran’s pillow close, pressing his face into it to take a deep breath, only to stop because there was an odd crackle. A brow rose and Ferox checked inside, another folded piece of paper, also with his name on it. _Want to bet it’s a list of ways to kill someone? I’m not going to take that bet. What about if it’s pet peeves - like socks during sex? Now that’s more likely, but since you’re choosing that side, I’ll have to decline on that bet too, because there’s too good of a possibility that you’d win._ Opening it was a very strange series of symbols. _Now, don’t get me wrong, but doesn’t that one look a bit like the scar on the back of his neck? Huh? Turn it to the right a little bit. Oh. Huh. It does._ He blinked several times further confused. When had Zevran gotten that scar? _When you shouldered him and he went flying into that rock formation probably. Not to burst your bubble but I’ve never - oh wait. I did. Right. When he tried to use you to commit suicide. How nice._ Growling at what he finally understood was a list, Ferox almost balled it up and even began to do so, _Wait - they’re all sketches of his marks from the Blight and even a few that he got in the last while, not that there’s many. What? Oh frell, they are. It’s my name...like his name on the inside of my thigh._

Ferox didn’t like to think that it was his name there somewhere in that mess or that the marks and scars were there because of him, because of the tasks he had taken on. _Well. You want to mark him and you already have, problem solved. You know, I hate you sometimes. I said that I didn’t want to harm him more that I inadvertently did already. Make up your mind. Mark him or don’t. Too late either way, sigh. So, you have a list on how he has wasted his time on your projects and how he’s gotten hurt doing what you want him to do, both put there for you to find. Feel about ‘yay’ big? Pretty much. Sigh. Is this because you won’t do what he wants? Oh don’t start that again. Well it’s that or the answer you thought was stupid. That one didn’t explain the drawings, however. Hrm, give me a minute. Fine, take your time, I have all day. Actually, no, you don’t, because who knows when he’ll come up here or reach for you or whatever. Great, just great, that’s not alotta pressure to be putting on me, now is it? Welcome to my world. I think there’s a barn that needs inspecting, somewhere...anywhere. You know, the Viscount has some nice plow horses and oxen. Really? There is no hiding here, you’ve forgotten that. Even if you take off that amulet, he’d sic the healer on you and then you’d be in bigger trouble. Then figure out that other dumb answer already! I can’t think with all your thinking at me going on in the background! Now you know how I feel. Alright, let’s try this one on for size - he’s marked you and you like it. Do I? Well...not then obviously, but it’s okay now, right? Sure. And you’ve marked him and maybe...maybe he likes it. I mean, remember how he said he liked the idea of you branding him? He is not cattle! Well that is true, but what about you? What about me? You’re not livestock either. True - but that is also a very dumb answer. I don’t hear any better ideas. Well, the writing on this letter is very recent, probably done after you teased him about writing on your thigh, which makes my idea better than the nothing you have. Oh Maker! Would you just shut up! You got nuthin’, huh? I have nothing. Well, put them away and keep working on it. Seriously, I hate you. It’s particularly pleasing to me when I’m right and you’re wrong._

Summoning one of the servants, Ferox ordered food up because he couldn’t remember his assassin eating much that day. _Well either way, maybe I can make it up to him. Good luck with that, meal-ticket._

Zevran returned later, exuding a nearly trance-like serenity and sense of well-being that radiated through the amulet. Boots, socks, belt, and tunic came off and were set aside with a dreamy series of movements, almost as though he were moving through thick air. _’Ah, much better. How are you, **amora**?’_ he asked as he slid into a chair.

 _’I’m fine.’_ Watching all of it, Ferox tried to put his finger on what was different about him, curiously, _’What did your duplicate give you this time?’_

His Antivan shrugged a shoulder, waving a hand, “Dassan touched up my tattoos, fixed a few that had faded badly, a wedding band and little Dulsanaya healed them up.”

_The old dope peddler, doing well, by doing good. Wait-a-cotton-pickin’-minute! _Calmly, “I hope, if you had to choose which one of them to marry, that you are bringing home the healer, because I can’t think that he is your type...okay he’s you, but...” _You’re going to have to kill something, aren’t you? How’d you guess? Too bad Anora didn’t send any of her Own. There aren’t any left. Oh yes...it’s why the garden is so green, fertilizer. Breathe! You are holding your breath again and getting ready to crush the armrests from the blasted chair. Sorry._ __

__“Marry one of them? What?” the look he was given stated clearly that Zevran wasn’t sure of Ferox’s sanity. “Braska! Where would you get such a thought, _querido_? Have you been eating the brownies? I could have sworn that I told you to eat no more than one, but it is the only explanation for such an...odd...statement.”_ _

___He clearly means ‘delusional’ and not ‘odd’. Piss. Off._ Petulant, “And I said that I wouldn’t have any without you.”_ _

__“Well what else am I to think when you come up with something so outlandish? Why in the name of the Maker would I marry someone when I am already wedded to you? I mean, true, I do believe in polyamory or polygamy whathaveyou, but that is usually with all parties content with such an arrangement, outstanding cases excluded of course!” Zevran leaned forward in the chair, head cocked while his chin rested in his left hand, “From now on, please, do me a favour _querido_ \- whenever you think there is something negative or strange going on with yourself and myself, either talk to me about it, _before_ you reach critical insanity, or try and think of whatever positive thing it _just might be_ instead and you can be assured that that is the much more likely answer! Did you not find my love notes? My lists to you? Honestly, I know that people say their husbands get odd over time, but truly, _amante_ , sometimes I do not know what to do with you at all, as not a single thing gets through. Not even getting your name inked into my flesh. Bah!” The serenity had dropped away to be replaced by agitation and rubbed temples. “Ferox, my love, my big, occasionally stupid, usually thick-skulled yet still highly intelligent husband, you are one of the most _impossible_ creatures sometimes.”_ _

___What just happened? You forgot to duck from the confusion spell again didn’t you? Huh? Yeah...I thought so. This is where you start asking really stupid questions and just get deeper into trouble. What? No, really, I got this. I wouldn’t do that if I were you._ “Wait - did you call me your husband?” _Damn it, you weren’t listening! What?_ “Did you call them love notes?” _Okay, now you are on your own, Ser Straightman. I’m not getting in trouble for that, cause I totally told you. What did I do now? Maker, you’re hopeless.__ _

__Zevran buried his face in his hands, shaking his head, taking deep, audible breaths. “Yes I did, to both questions,” said very evenly. “I would not know what else to call the person whose life I wished to be bound to, in sickness, health, and all whatever the Ferelden vows are, as Antivan ones are far more transitory, all while raising a family. You keep my lists as others would love letters, so I thought to write down every little bit of you that I managed to have and hold precious during a time when you were not able to give more, and I thought perhaps that would show you that you are wanted and needed and make me happy. Even when you drive me mad, _corizon._ ”_ _

__“Ah.” _I was right. No, that was me. Shut up. Look, I swear if you say anything about Anora not agreeing to this, I will kill you in your sleep. Okay, you win that one...even I know that’s bad._ “So, are you going to show me this ring?” _That’s not terrible. Bad delivery, but not terrible. I did like him better the way he was...could we have a do-over? That would be great. When’s the last time anything that good fell into your lap? Uhhh, can’t say it ever has. In that case, I’d have to guess that there will be no ‘do-over’ either. Damn. You, my good ser, are only good at frelling things up. Hey! I used to be good at fixing things, and schmoozing people. Until you decided to go and fall in love with an assassin from Antiva and become human, yes. Okay, you’re pissing me off again. It’s true. Think about it. Snowman falls in love, melts, and becomes the straight-man for every bad joke and trick in the scroll. I really don’t like where this is going. There’s more to me than that, I hope. Isn’t there? Don’t look at me, I’m you._ _ _

__Zevran interrupted his inner tirade by slipping into his lap, to hold him and ran a hand through Ferox’s loose hair, _’You make me crazy, **amora** , I can feel you beating yourself up or twisting around constantly. But what can be done? If I push, you clam up or we argue, if I do nothing, you do not come to me and then you continue to suffer. Who else but you holds me the way you do? Who else do I choose to wake up beside? Nightly? Prior to you, I literally only slept in bed with another person out of severe need, as in the case of Leliana. The only others I slept with were Rinna and Tali. Go far back enough, Fewrlin is in that equation, but I do not...tchk, this is not coming out right. Who else would I wish to bind myself to and call my spouse? Moira does not count.’__ _

__“I’m listening, and your words are better than what I’ve come up with. But I don’t know why you’d pick me and would recommend that you have your head examined for strikes or bumps, but my luck isn’t very good and they’d be sure to find something. And...I’m saying this aloud instead of just in my head... Damn.” His head rested against Zevran, arms about his waist, _I’m never going to get this right._ “Show me this thing that makes you shine brighter and practically float into a room, please.” _Quick, before he says anything else stupid. You are no help...or actually, that might be helpful.__ _

__Zevran made a face, “This will sound odd, but I would rather you take my hand than me fling it about like a limp-wristed ninny, or like a woman of particular standing and breeding who has been taught that that is ladylike, hmn? Like an Orlesian one or some such, no ser, no limp flopping and flailing of _my_ hardwon swordsman’s wrist.”_ _

__Laughter broke the ice dam. “I’d be happy to assist,” reaching back to take his lover’s left hand from the back of his neck, then pulled Zevran closer so he could lean against his shoulder and show him, fingers intertwined with his._ _

__“Dulsanaya healed them because she made the valid point that you would be upset, believing me to be in pain, hmn?” said as Ferox cradled the long fingered brown hand, the ring finger bearing a tightly woven knotwork all the way around its base. “Never mind that the entire process, aftercare and natural healing are part and parcel, a spiritual thing, bearing no pain. However, the state of mind does usually last past the tapping, even if one goes the lazy route and ignores the whole meaning of its methodology as a sacred art. Particularly since Dassan redid many of the inkings, making faded spots black once more as well as this bit of work, it was just easier for the little healer to fix it all up. Tchk, Zama would not be pleased with such cut corners.” Zevran turned his face so that he could press it into the side of Ferox’s jaw and neck, each breath and word and motion stroking him, “Apparently Dassan is skilled in this, far more than I would expect, to make such neat and twining lines of your name, no?”_ _

__“My name?” Looking closer. _That must have made him...the duplicate, upset. Don’t snicker, it’s unbecoming, especially because it is done so well.__ _

__Pointing, “He layered the letters, _querido._ I know you said you did not wish to mark me like this, but truly, rings and trinkets can be lost. The only way this comes off is if someone removes my finger, hmn? Much more efficient.”_ _

___Another mark you decide to take on my behalf. Don’t be stupid. I mean, don’t say anything stupid. Oh, like that ever helps. At least they’ll know where to send said finger. Okay, **that’s** the sort of stupid I’m talking about._ “Much, and handsome as well.”_ _

__A brow quirked as he pointed out, “You could still truss me up and brand me if you prefer that method, _amora_ , I would not object.”_ _

__“I have already said, I will not do more than I already have done, and continue to do, accidentally. Please, do not ask, not even in jest. There is already too much.” Continuing even though he knew he should stop, “Trussing is an interesting thought, however.”_ _

__The double-take with the widened eyes, the complete and utter air of surprise, was worth it, because Ferox almost was never able to outflank the sun that way, “Oh? Is it now? Tell me more, _amante,_ as I am eager to know.”_ _

__Pleased with himself, Ferox stroked Zevran’s knuckles, pressing a kiss to the fingertips, flirting as he revealed the truth of his world, “Know what? That it is an interesting thought, that I know nothing, that you are a wonderful creature that drives me to say things I shouldn’t, probably, including nearly everything I just said in the last five or ten minutes?”_ _

__Zevran’s head rocked back as he laughed hard and long, finally trickling off to a few chuckles. It was a sound that shot straight through Ferox, blinding him and striking him temporarily dumb with the brilliance of it. “And you seriously wonder why I love you? Foolish man.”_ _

__Scrambling to regather himself, Ferox admitted ruefully, “On the days I don’t just forget and throw my lot in with yours, yes, I wonder. Today, yesterday, are perfect examples of questioning. That said, I don’t know if you even believe that those forgetful days even exist.”_ _

__“Spend nine years unsure if a single thing you do makes a difference to the healing of someone you love, yes, it is hard to believe, when for most of that time, there were no days of forgetfulness or remembrance or signs to cleave to at all, hmn?” Slouching and pressing himself closer. “Not a day went by when I prayed to the Maker and all the spirits I could think of, waiting and hoping, eh?”_ _

__“No, there were no days of freedom then.” Ferox tightened his arm around him, guilty but willing to take the burden of his own guilt, his own failings. “Nothing but duty and looking forward to the end of it. Laying down the burden of having to be upright, to have to drive everyone in the same direction. Finality. There couldn’t have possibly been anything afterwards. Nothing worth continuing the journey for... I wonder what deals you made to bring it about, what gods you owe debts to, and I know better than to ask. I am grateful and ashamed all at the same time. And I continue to wonder why, and ask if it - if **I** \- was worth it.”_ _

__Tutting, “Could you look at someone you love and ever think it was not worth whatever sacrifice you made for them? I think not, _amora_. Besides, spirits are not gods, you entreat them, beg for their forbearance, perhaps offer up a chicken or two and a bowl of salt or throw a silver ring in a river or some other thing, hmn? The spirits of the land are not the same as those of the Fade, or demons, nor are they gods.”_ _

__“Zevran Arainai, if you are so set on this, will you then marry me? Or have you already and I was merely enjoying the brownies too much to notice?” His brown eyes were laughing, he could see the reflection of it through the link they shared, these words and deeds - sometimes they brought him down, sometimes they raised him up, but most of all, in spite of having to rehash it so many times, Ferox was happy that Zevran put in that effort for him. That was what lit the dark and helped him find his way to the warmth._ _

__“Faugh, I do not stand on ceremony. I mostly figured that it was just logical. Friend, confidant, lover, spouse. No mess, no fuss, yes? It is a title and state of being, not some...some...people at a party and a public declaration,” his nose wrinkled. “It sounds more stable than ‘lover’, no? Lovers are able to be rid of when you grow bored, spouses are far more invested in each other, and I cannot think of how we are other than as fully invested, titles born to others and duty notwithstanding.”_ _

__Ferox grunted, “I don’t need a party and I certainly don’t want any people, mostly because I can’t stand most of them.”_ _

__“I suppose I am taking a page from the horseclans. A couple, or group, says that they are invested, then that is what they are, no need for questions or debates or doubts, no rituals, no anything, just, ‘you are mine, I am yours’. Simple. Done,” waving a hand._ _

___He’s been saying ‘I am yours’ for how long precisely? I know, don’t remind me. You said it too... When was that? And you also said you wanted nothing else. Well, one of those would have been an acceptance...hrm. You’re right._ “I like it.” Pressing his lips to the finger so marked, “Very much.”_ _

__“Good because if you did not, I am not removing a finger, even for you, _querido_ ,” snorting good-naturedly before kissing him. “With how you were going on about my ‘name’ carved into you, I thought it only fair, as I was quite envious and you were unlikely to see it from _my_ point of view no matter how I beat at your skull, so, I went and did it myself.”_ _

__Ferox couldn’t help the laughter, “I don’t think, no matter how I attempted to contort myself, that I could ever see your ‘name’ on me, from your point of view, regardless of how much you may strike my skull. I might imagine having viewed it depending on how hard I am hit, however. I admit that I am flexible, but not that much...that would take some dismemberment, something I’m not usually for...especially in regards to myself.”_ _

__A wincing laugh, “That logic is so convoluted, it nearly sounds like it came from a comedy, _amora_.”_ _

__“I have given up logic since it’s not serving me well today. So, tell me, my radiant sun, what are your plans for the day? Other than eating something, which I intend to see and make sure that you will eat first before anything else is done.”_ _

__“Ah, I was fasting, I had some oatmeal and a glass of milk at one point...plenty of water, yes? But I suppose food would be good,” which was punctuated with the grumble of their stomachs._ _

__Muttering, “Could explain your transparent quality.” Carefully, “Let me guess, you also used the amulets too...tell me she’s lectured you about that, so I won’t have to.” One arm firmly around him, Ferox leaned over to the table to pick up a plate of meat, cheeses, and fruit, setting it on Zevran’s lap. “Eat, so I can stop worrying about that at least.”_ _

__He grabbed the other plate of bread, sweet pastries, and roasted nuts, putting it on the arm of the chair where they could both reach it. Zevran fell upon the food, making sure to pause to double check that Ferox was wolfing the food down also, but not much needed to be said that couldn’t wait. Whenever his assassin paused though, Ferox made sure to shove more food at him, going so far as to feed it to him by hand a few times, which earned him licked or nipped fingertips. By the time they both slowed he wasn’t entirely certain he was tasting the chunks delivered to his mouth as he became far more focused on Zevran’s eyes and the brush of a thumb or finger over his lips._ _

__Capturing and sucking on the fingertip at his mouth, _’You are always trying to set things right, my love, often when there is nothing to fix. I’ve said I am content. This is good.’__ _

___’Tchk, I am trying to seduce you, **querido**. Besides, I had been planning on asking Dassan if he knew the art of inking, as I had intended on gaining a mark from someone skilled if I had the chance,’_ a cheek rubbed at his. _’A Dalish would be able to, but their inks are not the same, and they do not like trying new things, yes?’__ _

__Amusement, “I do not recall asking any Dalish to try anything new or different as they seem a sort much set in their ways. Although I liked the little one who was First to oh...what’s his name...curse of the werewolves.” _The little healer says you are not losing anything. Did you imagine that?__ _

___’She is the Keeper now, and Zathrian is years dead. Additionally she is likely my age as being a mage helps my kind to age even slower, hmn?’_ audible relief that he wasn’t a mage ran beneath the lightness of the statement. “A busy time, no? I cannot for the life of me recall the _hahren_ of crafts no matter how many times we stopped back there to stock up on ingredients... But yes, her name is, ah...a moment. Oh, yes, Lanaya.”_ _

___’Yes, Lanaya and Zathrian. Although forgetting him wouldn’t be bad...what a mess. She wanted something more for her people, and was able to think beyond hatred and strict rules. I liked that even then. Ilen...no he’s the craftsmaster here. Valendrian? No...Varathorn, shrubbery, searching for his ironwood.’ Maker, if you keep this up you are going to sound like the healer... Oh that’s really bad. I often wonder if she knows one day from the next. Her grasp on reality isn’t exactly tight. Occasionally she finds it though and scares the hell out of me. Well, that’s only because she sees right through you._ _ _

__Zevran brought him out of his thoughts with a nuzzle, _’You mentioned something interesting earlier, **amora**.’__ _

__“Just one thing?” _Damn, what was it? Quick - think fast. I’m trying! Think FASTER then. Um...um...trussing? Oh, that. Yes. That. Oh dear...hrm._ “Was it amongst all that babbling you easily cause me to do because you’re beguiling?”_ _

__His lover, _Hello, upgrade - spouse. What? Now I’m supposed to go ‘hey honey, I’m home - what’s for dinner dear?’ Ah, no, anything but that unless you’re aiming to get laughed at. But his laughter is good,_ pursed his lips as his mouth quirked to one side, “Seeing as I have so frequently trussed you up with sheets and limbs over these years, it might be nice to have the favour returned. _If_ you are of a mind, _amora._ ”_ _

___Don’t freeze._ “I wouldn’t know where to begin.” _Okay, much better than that first reaction I felt from you. Congratulations, you have improved. Slightly. Actually I like to think of it as just a continuation of yesterday before everything got messy.__ _

__Zevran scanned the room thoughtfully while remaining leaned against him. “Something simple then, so that I am unable to ‘distract’ you, hmn?”_ _

___I don’t really think that’s physically possible...or mentally possible - he still holds an amulet and distraction is always within his grasp. I don’t think it’s possible either, but we signed up for that. Whose idea was that anyway? Yours. Splendid. I vote you off the Tower. Can you even do that? Don’t flinch._ Hesitantly, “Okay. That sounds...good...?” _What did you just sign us up for? You, signed you up for. Seriously? Well, you did vote me off the Tower. Right, and this is the one time you actually chose to listen to me? Hey, I can get a clue - I know when I’m unwanted. You are such a drama queen. At least I’m not the one who wears the pretty, frilly apron to wash nappies. I don’t know how he does it, or why, but that still makes him looks like a man. Okay, that? That I’ll agree to.__ _

__As easily as he slid into Ferox’s lap, he slid away, taking both plates and setting them on the table and searched the room for something. Eventually he came up with one of those travel sheets that really was supposed to be for a bed, but had been cut down to make it so that he could have a top and bottom sheet for his bedroll. Which had made Zevran happy. Which in turn made Ferox happy, even when he woke up tangled, because on the road all he had to do was change breathing, and hands would slip over him, making sure he was freed. _Breathe! Don’t think about boxes and bindings and darkness! Oh, right, right, just watch what he’s doing._ _ _

__As it turned out his lover had his arms bound from just below his elbow to his wrists, so they were straight and was kneeling near the headboard, “Ah, now would be the time for you to assist me, _amante._ Please get it fastened to the center plank of the headboard, we do not want me to get free to distract you, yes? It would be not much of a trussing if that happened, hmn?”_ _

__Rising to his feet, “As you say.” _Hellooooooo? I know. I’m watching the eyes. There is choice on both sides. Okay, just checking. Just don’t turn out the lights. It’s daylight. I’m good then. Long as the bindings aren’t on me._ Ferox toed off his boots before kneeling on the the mattress to fasten the twisted fabric as requested. _How long has he been planning this? Benefit of the doubt? No, he dances faster that us, always had. You know better than to ask - because he’ll know you don’t quite believe him. That, and he doesn’t like receiving too much credit even when you are teasing._ Putting a couple pillows behind his assassin’s head, _You’re stalling. Shut up, I’m just trying to make him more comfortable! Stalling. ‘Is that good?’__ _

__Warm smiles and an upturned face, _’No, it is excellent, **amora**.’__ _

___’What can I do for you? Since you are ‘seducing’ me an’ all...’_ _ _

__Even though he was bound, there was a broad stretch of shoulders and chest, grin pulling wider, _’Well, I am yours to do with as you will, **querido**. You could keep me captive here while you put away your things, or you could read me a story, or you could tempt me, but leave me wanting and begging, or you could take a nap. The choice is yours.’__ _

__“Put away my things? There is nothing to put away after your lazy morning other than my trews.” Laughing. “Although I do like the sound of talking your ear off, sadly, I am not qualified for such removals. As for napping, what else is there to do while the healer does her little magic tricks on me? Well, after asking my questions and not having them answered in ways I expected, that is.”_ _

__“Perhaps you could argue with me over the fact that you claim my name is written upon you in some strange script, or go berry picking? I am here and am a happily captive audience, yes?” even as eyes twinkled._ _

__“Yes, argue about what I already know to be true. Sorry, not opening that door as it’s been firmly closed now that we know the truth - your name in some runic script looks just like that. You were marking territory before you had even sent a letter of introduction - how impolite. As for berries...you just want to know if I have any other names up my sleeve.” Stretching out next to his self proclaimed ‘happy captive.’ _Eyes that should be outlawed. Well when combined with that voice, yes.__ _

__“Tchk, this is how you torture people in Ferelden, mock them?” nearly smirking as his head turned towards him._ _

__“Tut, tut. Repetitious, my dear assassin. Even I remember that line. However, since you believe you are so clever with your tongue, you could help me out on a little story problem with Chuck, Claude, err, Charles? the Beaver, and I believe that...Claudio,” determination as to the choice of name, “needs a voice of his own.”_ _

__Zevran clucked his tongue, head shaking slightly, “No, no, no, that is your specialty with the children, their special Daddy/Uncle Fox time, not to be interrupted by Papi. There are some things that should just be yours and theirs, just as I have my things with them, yes?”_ _

__Nosing his favourite ear, or was it the other one? _Fine, favourite ears...I’ll get to the other one or pick between them later._ Softly, “Not that I remember how we ended up with Claudio anyway. As for it being my ‘speciality’ - you do sound like the healer when you say that word - that may be so, but it doesn’t mean that I am precluded from asking for advice. Such as, beavers live in family groups. Who are the other beavers? Or is he looking for a family?”_ _

__“He got lost, a big storm sent him to a far off land, and now he lives in a stream near Earle’s homestead, so yes, I believe he must be looking for a family,” a few moments of thought, while Ferox nuzzled his ear, yielded that offering as well as a few twitches of the flexible cartilage. “He was lonely and wandered from the little stream he was working on and that is how he met Ethel, Shorn, Wart, Hog and Earle, hmn?”_ _

__“That does get me out of a pickle. Surprised as I was with how the Rockfarmer family grew when I was not paying attention. If I’m not careful, next time there’ll be a raven named Walter.” _Are you truly going to talk his ears off? He said I could, but no. I was actually stumped. Oh, ha ha._ _ _

__Moving, Ferox settled himself on his captive, so he didn’t miss the eyes that laughed at him and so he could examine the three marks on his face, refreshed and darkened. Except for a deepened line on his forehead, Zevran appeared much as he did that day they met. _Reminder, I really don’t like this situation. I know. He seems to. There is choice here. He chose and can change his mind. I still don’t like it.__ _

__“Families grow and shrink over time, change and evolve, _amora_. It is not odd that such a thing happens.”_ _

__“True, and everyone else is local, it would be nice to have an outside opinion, another point of view.” Returning to the line of the collar, _This was the bookmarked spot? I think so, but it is a favourite even if you are wrong._ Following the markings with breath, Ferox began at the hollow of the throat and ran his tongue up along the elf’s windpipe to the point of the chin before kissing him. Zevran’s mouth still tasted of the sweetness of stone fruit and red grapes. _I could stay here all day. Tempting.__ _

__Taking his time, Ferox tasted, a rumbling hum building in his chest. _How is it that he’s everything that tastes and smells good, satisfying some hunger that cannot be met by any other means? Lit golden eyes and that voice would be worth staying for all by themselves. Combined with the warmth in the amulet, I need no other; I could live a very quiet life if he were with me. But instead, he helps me take on a great work to help so many. Things I could not do on my own, things that become grander and better because he lends his mind to them. The duplicate and the healer acted as if no one else had taken on the massive projects to restore and rebuild, nay to build Ferelden as we have...and we have not allowed our Wardens to come here. In doing these things, have we changed our story from the others? Well, then we’re in unfamiliar territory. I wonder how this will turn out then. You’re daydreaming. No, I’m kissing Zevran and bloody well enjoying it. No, you were daydreaming and I was covering for you. Well, thank you for that. You’re welcome._ _ _

__There was a low groan and deep breath, tongue moving against his, and the flex of muscles, communicating more than just desire, but satisfaction as well. _Probably acceptance too, you know. Shhh - busy._ It was around that stage that Zevran usually ‘distracted’ Ferox, urging him or pulling or pushing in some direction or another, but his assassin had handed over control and wasn’t going to try and take it back apparently. Breaking free of that warm and wet accepting mouth, Ferox saw hooded, half fluttered lids, the sliver of amber eyes and a darker flush coming over his lover - _Spouse. Stop interrupting! And besides that, I just got used to one name. Not saying I don’t like it, but...give me a minute. You mean a week or two. Probably_ \- slowly spreading lower. _ _

__Love and desire for this beautiful creature engulfed and caught him off guard. Perpetually feeling that he was a large, awkward, bumbling fool when they were together like this, Ferox tried not to compare himself to the one who always seemed so self contained, graceful, and sure of himself. When Zevran gave up control, Ferox became anxious and was more conscientious. Although he knew that his lover was no delicate hot house flower, as he so often teased, this giving over of self, the unspoken trust, scared the hell out of him. _How many years and he still turns you to slush?__ _

__Methodical, as if he had his own memorization to do, gently, he turned Zevran’s head to look at the recent inking closely. Not something he had considered doing himself, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t appreciate it. Instead of the faded russet, they were a deep and coal black, the edges that had once feathered away from age were now sharp and clean. Not exactly understanding the ‘cut corners’ that were alluded to, but was grateful that a healing had been done, else he would have treated his lover like fragile glass. _Spouse. What? Go away. Can’t a lover be a spouse and a spouse a lover? How should I know?! Anora’s not. Okay, stop that thought right there. There is no way she is even going to ruin this. She’s hundreds of miles away and not here. La la la la la. I’m not listening._ _ _

__Actually there were two works of art here, the obvious one of the renewal of the markings and the unseen one of the healing. He had observed others with recent tattoos and they never looked like this. As it was an injury, it was never pretty directly afterwards, even if the end result would be. Slowly running first his thumb over the marks and he gained a contented sigh, then the tip of his tongue just to see what response would follow and received a throaty moan. _Well that’s interesting... I thought so too. I like it. Well then, more testing is in order...just to be sure. ‘Other than these, were any other’s re-inked?’_ Tasting again, more thoroughly, Ferox ‘made sure’ of it._ _

__A ripple ran through his assassin, rolling from neck all the way down, causing a slight undulation, _’A few, but there are also new ones... Paw prints on the side of my right thigh, hmn? Fox, rabbit, bear - for the children, yes? For the two that will come, since it is my thigh I can do it myself later when they have chosen which they wish to be represented by.’__ _

__He noted the slight avoidance in answering the question, _Inviting exploration, very well then, I’m happy to oblige._ A light nip to the nearest ear lobe, Ferox began to trace over the markings on Zevran’s chest watching for any reaction. Anytime one was located, painstakingly he licked or nipped that line of ink. As soft moans became ragged groans, Ferox continued his searching, for once without interruption, the harsh vocalizations and the occasional shudder notwithstanding - in fact, those were the rewards for them. He knew that Zevran and Moira thought that his puttering was alternatively frustrating and/or entertaining. However, today, triumphant in his discoveries, Ferox’s unhurried and exhaustive investigation reached the pinnacle of puttering. Not one square inch ink was exempt from scrutiny, even if he did pause long enough to pull off Zevran’s leggings and fold them so they could be neatly set aside. _ _

__All of that had Zevran’s back arching off the mattress, legs dragging against the sheets, body bowing as his neck stretched, the muscles there tightening as all manner of sounds were worked from him. Setting his assassin’s leggings aside, Ferox took long enough to remove his own and fold them as well, before he checked on Zevran’s expression. Nearly drugged eyes met his and there was a fine sheen over his face as Zevran lifted his head, trying to reach for a kiss, which Ferox gave with a groan of his own. _Oh ho no, you don’t get to distract me yet. I’m not done. You tell him, ‘cause I’m done anytime. Nope, not done, so keep quiet.__ _

__The new paw prints had an inexplicable taste that Ferox couldn’t resist and he spent much time on each of them. Every one received its own enveloping bite and a very thorough nipped licking. These markings were not abstract, and, at least to his own eyes, their meanings lacked subtlety, which made them all the more treasured, for they were worn with pride. Returning to the refreshed inks, with nothing more than a press of lips at the base of the unmistakable and unambiguous evidence of Zevran’s frustrated need, Ferox continued his comprehensive ‘research’ of the tattoos down his assassin’s thighs._ _

__Finding the last one just above an ankle, Ferox rumbled, nudging Zevran’s legs apart to check the one above the bend in knee along the back of thigh. His lover was panting - _What? No commentary? Busy!_ \- writhing, the free leg wrapping around Ferox’s shoulders under his arms. Growling, _No interrupting from you either!_ Ferox grabbed his assassin’s other leg, garnering a desperate, garbled and hungry cry, as he lay on it so it couldn’t wander around and distract him. _But I do like this one right here. So does he. What? Shut up and listen would you. Maker, he’s enjoying himself,_ hearing it, feeling it in the amulet. _But, I have one more leg reserved. You sure about that? Uh yeah, I’m laying on it. Okay...I’ll just be waiting over here then, not sidetracking you, over here. Fine. I’ll be here. I heard you. Over here, this spot, right here. Yes, over there, I heard you!_ _ _

__Rumbling, his pattern having been disturbed and not remembering where he was in his examination of the marking behind Zevran’s knee, Ferox started over and traced it again to the soft whines and keens. Nipped kisses were laid along there as well, repeated because he remembered when the interruption had occurred. He swept the leg for any untasted ink, and finding that he had tried every one, Ferox rolled off of the limb pinned to the mattress for its turn._ _

__Finally there was no more ink to check and double-check so his attentions could shift once more. _There’s always his back... I don’t think he can be twisted safely to get at those right now. We’ll do those...some other time. Wait? What? We’ll be doing this again?_ Tilting his head, Ferox pulled his single-minded focus back enough to take in what he had wrought, and seeing Zevran left trembling, shuddering and flexing, had him swallowing thickly. _Okay, yes, we’ll be doing this again at some point. ‘I ask again, Zevran, what can I do for you?’__ _

__There was another shuddering groan, _’Anything, anything!’__ _

__Finding another, more delicate spot to lap and swirl over, repeating the motion, _’That’s not very specific, my beautifully ornamented assassin. Not specific at all.’__ _

__Frantically rocked hips as Ferox repeated the same pattern again, _’I need you.’__ _

___’To sign my name to some paperwork, perhaps? Some new list of improvements you have written in your free time? Tucked away somewhere I must find?’_ _ _

__“Ferox!” it was hissed, growled, begging as Ferox teased at nerve endings. The headboard creaked dangerously, _’ **Amora,** if you are not inside me by the end of this sentence, I will have to punish you for being such a deliciously -’_ the words were cut off as Ferox worked fingers in that were clamped down on immediately by strong muscles as the hard knot was searched for. _ _

___’Punishment averted,’_ finding himself quipping unable to stop, wondering just how far he could work Zevran up._ _

__A gasped, “Semàntics!” was matched with rolling hips and the crash of desire inside Ferox’s mind._ _

___’A deliciously what?’ Oh boy, that was cheating. Hello? I’m still over here, right here, still waiting._ _ _

___’Evil man, a deliciously evil man,’_ it was ragged even inside Ferox’s mind, clearly taking a great deal of effort as vocal cords were too busy groaning._ _

__How he managed a bit of a laugh with that wave of need threatening to drag him down with Zevran, he didn’t know. _Undertow. No, distance. What? You have any of that? Not really, but I have a goal. You are kidding me. No. Frelling. Kidding._ Pressing his thumb to the spot right behind Zevran’s sack while fingers worked internally, pinning the bundle so that it had the most possible stimulation to the sounds that had no particular name and the occasional creak of the headboard straining at the elf’s pulling at bindings. Working his mouth over the weeping hardness, avoiding the crown, Ferox continued to tease even as he thought he might go mad himself. He clung to his ‘plan’, the rapidly created thing that had come to mind, hoping he wouldn’t break before it bore fruit, since it was all he had. _ _

__A strangled cry and a particularly violent shudder that wasn’t quite release, upper body twisting and then hands were in his hair, tangling forcefully, wordless pleas and mental entreaties ringing out. _Okay - what was the plan? That was the plan. Huh? I win? Oh good, I win...what do I win? Oh shut up, busy, remember? Right. Forgot._ Licking his way up, growling at the taste of salty pearls, Ferox barely managed to keep taking his time until Zevran cried out, a sound of pure, unmitigated need, yanking Ferox up even as he bucked, pushing his member in deeper. _ _

__Zevran was babbling nonsense that Ferox could only pick out ‘hard’ and ‘now’ and the occasional ‘please’, his own pulse rushing in his ears. Normally more time was taken or care or something, but Ferox couldn’t keep the silverite bands that locked around his waist from pulling him in any longer. Rippling tight massaging and fluttering muscles wrapped around him, while Ferox was forced to clutch the bedding as he took Zevran, knowing if he didn’t hang on he would lose himself too soon. Hot moisture splashed against his stomach as his assassin snarled after the hitching moan. He nearly let the tide take him then, but Zevran was still clutching and churning, an impossible thing to deny until there was no stopping the fall from the highest tower that could ever be found._ _

__Sprawling onto his side, barely disengaged, legs tangled, Ferox blinked blearily, _I won. Yay me.__ _

__Zevran was clearly struggling to regain his wind as he rolled into him, “I am...impressed... _querido._ And you are magnificent.”_ _

__“You are _loco_ and I am a plodder.” Grinning. “But you love me anyway, yes?”_ _

__“Only for you, and more than anything, _corizon_ ,” was mumbled into Ferox’s sweaty neck followed by a kiss._ _

__“Why do you drive me to these lengths? To see if I’ll survive my heart bursting?”_ _

__Zevran muffled a yawn in Ferox’s shoulder before raising his face, “Do you not like such things, _querido_? If so we do not have to do them. Otherwise if you do not mind them, perhaps even like them, then we should go to such lengths time to time... If it is good, then it is good. We should have good things together, of all varieties, in any guise you are remotely desirous of... As you have said so long ago, there was only one other, while for me there were...many. I am as pleased with the staple items as with the exotic, but it is...interesting to taste of other items together, to discover what else we like, no?”_ _

__“It is good, _very good_. And, you have some other ink that requires tasting...err, investigation.”_ _

__A cheeky grin, “My arms, yes, as they were covered...hmn? We will have to devise some other method to keep me from interfering in such an exploration... And of course there is my back, no? But even for you I am not shaving my head to get to those, _querido_.”_ _

__“Absolutely not, you’re not cutting hair or shaving your head, in fact I wish you’d quit trimming it. But as to the others, let’s just say that you should find time in your busy schedule or you may find yourself, suddenly, unexpectedly with a ‘free’ day and many rumours to juggle the next.” A shared image of Zevran’s bronzed back with the dancing ink flowing over his shoulders and spilling down the sun warmed canvas. Ferox rumbled, “Sooner rather than later, yes?”_ _

__There was a low purr before lips sought his, _’You spoil me, **amora**.’__ _

__“Gladly, and it is not spoiling if it is deserved.”_ _

__“Careful, _amante_ , else I might think you have rested enough and need no nap,” a hand smoothed his wayward hair slowly, soothingly, gentle teasing and perpetual good humour there along with something else that sounded like... _ _

___Like what? Oh no, no, that sounds bad, even in my head. What? What does it sound like? Love. Sounds like love. Okay that is a bit over the top, but...ah...just this once I’ll let it slide._ “I am with you, I need nothing else...although a nap would be a nice extra.”_ _

__A contented grumble and Zevran pulled up the blankets just enough to keep the blowing, generally warm air from turning their sweat covered skin chill, “You are not the only one who would consider it a bonus, _querido._ Come, let us meet in the Fade, and make the demons all jealous.” _ _

__....  
[Dulsanaya]_ _

__It looked like an excuse to sunbathe as the southern rooftop of the embassy was a corner tower that had been turned into a little oasis. The canvas shade had been rolled back so that the warm light fell across the deck, with three chaise lounges that had been located and were currently occupied by the men who had sprawled bonelessly upon them. Apparently everyone had been up late, or had been up entirely too early. On tables between them were tasty things to eat and pots of tea and coffee. While moving between them, snacking, the little healer touched the Haf-cath, checked the healing of his markings, healed some discomforts, and repaired only the Taint’s damage to his mind. Reluctantly, she removed her hands from him so she would not heal the body further than agreed – although if it were done inadvertently, the amulet she had prepared would negate the healing in a short time. She remembered to advise him to have an exit plan, fairly certain that it would affect his mind much like a Warden. It made her ill to leave Haf-cath this way, even though this was his request, and knew that some of the agitation and sorrow leaked through the close link with her blade, the Warden could not taste it, but the one who wore her amulet would, and the one she touched certainly could. Oh gods. Reassuring that she was ‘fine’, she backed out of the link and found her glass of chilled tea._ _

__She would not be labeled _saarebas_ , would not be collared, everything was done to hide what she had become, knew that those who had been collared would tell, if they knew. It was a very fine line, and she did not lie outright when she ‘spoke’, but she did mislead and allowed others to mistakenly believe something was said, or worse, something that she may have impressed upon their minds...a lie. Justifying that the purpose of the things that were not true, of the rude invasions, was not only for her immediate safety, but that it was for the eventual safety of the Thedas as a whole. Her plans were long and large. Flemeth had shown that from a small bump here or there, by a tiny manipulation in the right place, that the world could be changed. _ _

__The interview with the Arishok had gone as well as could be expected. He was angry and did not understand her obligations to the _bas_ and she could not come out and say that a healing was required. She had cited that it was impossible to keep the position which she had obtained, one that supposedly obtained what he believed to be necessary, if she did not comply with duties and obligations that position placed upon her. The lie was laid into his mind, a fabrication as close to the truth as she could get, because it was easier to only have to remember only one story told. Again, she was reminded that she would ‘be returned’ when the artifact was finally located. This memory was deep and ingrained, it was not able to be removed or adjusted, and even if she could, the instructions had been heard by too many others. Publicly it had been said that she had failed in her duty and would receive re-instruction upon her return._ _

__The punishment, the penalty for the request to be away for so long, would have to be realistic enough to believe that it was his own idea. In times past, he had come up with the requirements, and they had been modified slightly so she was not hampered too much, adjusting the memory so that it was easy to believe. This had been more, much more, difficult because his response to the request was an outright ‘No’ - expected, but unacceptable. Thankfully, adjustments to his thoughts were easily covered using his own anger, however that in itself was a punishment when it was brought to the sparring circle. As the ‘correction’ was large, so too had to be the corresponding rage. More energy had been required, not only to make the modifications, but to avoid Sataareth [that which upholds], the Arishok’s massive axe, during their morning sparring session._ _

__As ‘permission had been granted’ to be gone, Gaeaf’s healing could take place over a longer period of time, thus making for better results. Most Wardens that she interacted with regularly, received daily or even weekly attentions to push back their Taint. Healings they were unaware of receiving, extended their useful lifespans, some by twice a decade or more, depending on their physical and Warden age. A hand on Gaeaf’s shoulder, she repaired some sore muscles, glad that he had found his happiness with Haf-cath. Although she was greedy, desiring to know each of those who were _enansal_ , she tried not to be possessive of them - often it was difficult - particularly in the cath’s case as he was so like her own, and she wanted to roll against his scent wrapping it around her. Constantly, while in his presence, she had to remind herself that the joy was in the knowing and assisting, cupping her hands to catch what was offered. Perhaps Kirkwall was a trap for her as well, because this was the only place where she could meet other Zevrans that were not part of her story...new and different ones._ _

__A bit of her was hurt that her blade would suggest that she travel with Gaeaf and Haf-cath to their Denerim, to suggest that she be away from him, their time was already limited, and in that offer, the time became even shorter. She wondered what activity he would attempt when she was not nearby to heal, to watch, to care. If she had thought he would even consider tolerating it, others would be assigned to take her duties, but there was no use in asking, in throwing herself repeatedly at that stone wall. It was bad enough she wanted to argue more, even when she saw the reasons for the travel._ _

__She was still rumpled from her discussion with Haf-cath about responsibility and concern, added to that was Gaeaf’s not understanding the differences, a bitter thing, and then this offer...off-kilter would have been more balanced than she was currently feeling. The final dollop was fatigue from the overnight activity of altering the mind of someone who was very set in his thinking - if asked, she would have said the Arishok’s mind was granite, difficult to shift - and then she was made even more weary by the morning’s ‘exercise’. Truthfully, all she wanted today was a safe place to curl up to sleep. Settling between her blade’s legs, Dulsanaya rested her head on his thigh and with eyes closed, listened to the words floating on the ocean between the males._ _

___’Do not push yourself too hard, **em’lath’sa**. You will have access to them, to him, for easily a month or two. And you know I am not going anywhere anytime soon,’_ _Emma’mi_ was stroking the side of her head, “Considering what you had to work with, I suppose that potbellied sow you call a ship was a vast improvement. However, I took the time to go over my own knowledge and the notes made about the _Dahdal’reth_ and drew up some copies for you.”_ _

__“Handicrafts were never my forte, Dassan, so any help would be quite appreciated,” Haf’cath shifted, probably rolling so that his oiled skin would pick up more sun, but she did not look to check. “Speaking of notes, did you get the chance to look over the ones I sent? The ones about the nature of Kirkwall, hmn?”_ _

__Her dark blade slid some of her hair aside, a finger tip tracing along her ear before rubbing the small leaf behind it soothingly, too firm for it to tickle, “Not much. Just your analogy of many maps of Thedas laying atop each other, with a long pin shoved through it at Kirkwall, anchoring them together.”_ _

__“I posit that there are other anchors than just Kirkwall, but smaller, able to cross boundaries, yet do not leave such a large mark, yes? Kirkwall, it is as though someone noticed those anchors, and made the place... Ah...not heavier, though that seems to be a side-effect, for if one looks around it is quite clearly a place of mostly negative weight, but a much larger anchor, widening the sphere of influence.”_ _

__There was a low hum, “Reasonable. Any idea what those anchors might be? Or where?”_ _

__Haf’cath warmed to the subject, she could hear it in every vowel and consonant, “At first I was not sure, but then I thought about it. About the places that produce the most duplicates that seem to affect and reach out. The Avernuses, the Howes, the Alistairs, the Anders, the Hawkes, Zevrans, Isabellas, Fenris...so on, so forth, they each must come from, or pass near, one of these anchors, becoming either attuned or merely dragged through them. Exposure to the areas of Taint, even if they themselves are not Tainted, passing through, or near places repeatedly that have an anchor, until at some point, they stumble through one of these doorways, no? Lothering, the Brecilian Forest, Amaranthine, Soldier’s Peak, Denerim, Kinloch Hold...various ones in Antiva, Orlais and Tevinter...”_ _

__“Probably a few of them nearby - brought or moved or here originally, which would give Kirkwall a bigger footprint,” Gaeaf grunted drowsily, the contribution causing the muscle underneath her cheek to faintly tense. “And it’s the only place big enough for all of them to gather. Convenient that.”_ _

__“That seems likely, and it is all very interesting. You mentioned Soldier’s Peak...”_ _

__“And Lothering, the Tower, oh - Ostagar too, yes? - anywhere where great magics have collided. Particularly ones of elven, Tevinter and now Tainted ones, have mixed... Likely across time, no?”_ _

__There was a groan, “Okay, that makes my brain hurt.”_ _

__Her blade snorted, “Eat a cookie.”_ _

__“You’re a dope peddler, you know that?” _’He gives the kids free samples because he knows full well, today's young innocent bystanders are tomorrow’s clientele.’__ _

__Cracking a lid open to look at Gaeaf, _’ **Emma’mi** does not give out ‘samples’. You and the cath are the only ones who benefit from his largesse other than himself, well...and this one by secondary means.’_ Changing her direction, _’ **Emma’mi** , he is thinking at **na’asha** ,’_ nose crinkling on a laugh._ _

___’I gathered by the crinkling nose,’_ a thumb ran down it quickly._ _

___’He says that you are seeking to make others addicted to your tasty pastries and their special contents,’_ she nipped the pad of his thumb when it made another pass._ _

__“There is nothing in the cookies other than flour, sugar, milk, eggs, butter, salt, and spices. And more butter. Triple the butter than is healthy probably. Good thing you do not get these that often, you probably sit on your ass more now that you are the Prince Consort, delegating or paperwork, and would get fat real quick if you ate these every day.”_ _

__“Gee, thanks, I love you too,” even as crunching from one of the spiced cookies came. _’Thank the Maker for a Warden’s metabolism. I still say he’s peddling dope however. These things are way too good.’__ _

__“Ah I would not mind a bit of extra, it is more to get close to, and generates more heat for me...”_ _

__Growled, “I’ll generate heat for you.”_ _

__“Oh-ho? Really, how about...hmmmnow?”_ _

__Her dark one made a sound of disgust, “Get a room, or wait until I am not here if you please. It was bad enough hearing you three on the beach. I am still trying to forget which one was the screamer, the other who talked dirty, and the one giggling constantly.”_ _

___’Giggling was this one. Wait...that was the next night and it was purring...’_ _ _

___’It was Trouble who was doing the giggling. Zevran was the one howling, and oddly enough, it was the dark haired **asha** who must have picked up on one of his bad habits...’_ _ _

__An open sending, loud enough for Gaeaf to share, returned them to the hidden subject, _’Time is important in the touch points. Normally new ones arrive between the celebration after the end of the Blight to after events at the Vigil. There are a few variations, but only later and not by very much time, a year or two perhaps. Never, is anyone sooner.’__ _

__“I had a few thoughts about that as well, they are in my notes. Perhaps those who are naturally attuned or in sync with these anchors if they pass near them, particularly if those anchors are more...intact...or larger, they can draw the person through them, yes?” She heard the cath reaching to her through Gaeaf, _’The order he went through - Denerim, the Brecilian ruins, Denerim, then Soldier’s Peak...hmn?’_ _ _

__“Food for thought then.” _Emma’mi_ shifted to grab some tasty date cake and give her a bit to to nibble, “I will have to look into those notes more then, such things are...interesting.”_ _

___’Getting up in the night at the Peak, is where the story ends and the last of his memories in Ferelden. After that it starts again on Sundermount with a horse and is very foggy until we met at the Emporium. This one saved the memories and would share later when the city is behind us.’_ _ _

___’Yes, he had said, some of that at least. I suspect part of his suggestion in you joining us for a time is only marginally due to his tolerance of Ferox and I, and more to do with your own inherent wishes and whatever information he requires...’_ _ _

___’The information is the important thing. This one wishes not to travel but she is not arguing.’_ The tone, which she did little to hide, was disgruntled, because she had already argued._ _

___’Time is an intriguing thing, it is both limited and limitless, yes? If he were not here, and it had been asked of you, would you wish to travel then?’_ the cath was not even looking at her, yet seeing straight through._ _

___’This one came here because of another and when his duties are completed she will leave... have to leave. Without the two anchors, this **asha** would have left this place long ago.’_ A side thought, _’She has wondered, as much time or very little at all seems to have passed here, has time moved normally outside of the influence of this place - most importantly in her own layer?’_ An internal sigh containing frustration, confusion, and lack of direction, _’Yes this trip assists you, and if you ask for this thing then she will do it.’_ A note of warning, _‘The costs are not too much, provided that there is a foundation...’__ _

___’I would like you to see what has become of Ferelden, what you have further enabled to grow by simply giving us the last key to unlocking the door. It is something you should see, **mushu**.’_ _ _

__A hard swallow as her sun-browned arms wrapped around the leg under her head, _’ **Ma nuvenin** [As you wish], Haf-cath.’__ _

__....  
[Ferox]_ _

__Dulsanaya kept what he thought was a rather firm mental grip on his amulet. Thankfully, she had put a copy of her amulet around Zevran’s neck, so he wasn’t the only one she was holding close. How did the duplicate live like this? No wonder he needed a vacation and was a complete bastard. She was either wrapping arms and legs around one of them, or in the alternative was up in the crowsnest or at the prow of the ship. Even when she was physically separate, she certainly wasn’t separate mentally. Constantly checking in as if she were used to having many others to pester, he felt like a wall against which a ball kept bouncing. _How many Wardens was she used to keeping track of? How many were in Kirkwall? Assuming that is she’s used to finding everyone once an hour. Guessing by the number of touches you’re receiving, about thirty._ _ _

__Elissa and Len were taken with her, but Eleanor, while accepting and interested, was slightly aloof, opting instead to spend her time either with Zevran, himself, or her mother. He found it slightly odd, as she was the younger of the girls, but sometimes she could be a little strange and far too grown up for her years. Or so he supposed. Elissa on the other hand was apparently asking questions and gaining many answers on plants and animals, and what the little healer called ‘crafting magic’._ _

__Watching the odd Warden weaving and checking over rope with Elissa and Len ‘helping’, _’I just hope she doesn’t develop mage talent. That’s a problem we don’t need.’__ _

__There was a growl, _’We would send her to Antiva to study under Zamitie long before anyone tried to do anything with her, **querido**.’__ _

__While things had become more relaxed for certain kinds of mages, they didn’t need the brouhaha that came of having someone ‘in the family’ developing such a talent. It would garner cries of ‘nepotism’ and accusations that all the pushes to integrate all members of Ferelden society were based solely upon filial and personal reasons. And since there wasn’t much that Moira knew about her family beyond the immediate, or Edric’s, that could mean that at any point such a difficulty might crop up._ _

__Eleanor was practicing her calligraphy of all things, as Zevran had ‘splurged’ - _More like picked enough pockets to buy. Shh, that’s not nice. You’re only saying that because he bought you a nice outfit. I have plenty of nice outfits! None he bought you. True..._ \- and bought her a large palette of ink stones as well as ingredients for fresh liquid inks. She probably never would be as good at the art aspect of it as Elissa, but she had a very beautiful script that even Ferox had to admit was quite far beyond her years. So he had rewarded her constant upkeep of the nursery’s monies and costs, chores, and plans, by getting her a new set of books for her to work in. _ _

__Len had a set of odd batons that Ferox had nearly protested about giving his three year old son, as they were _clearly_ weapons, but the look the twisted duplicate and Zevran had given him silenced any argument he could have made about what they both called ‘tomfa’ which was some strange word that probably was made up. _At least not aloud. I’m still surprised you gave in. Hey! You were there you saw those looks and how they boded me no good if I didn’t relent!_ Besides it was rather interesting to see Len play with them, as that was clearly the tack Zevran was taking with their child instead of making it into obvious ‘training’. As is, the three youngsters would try and mimic Zevran’s evening ‘dance’ of leg sweeps, and flips, having great success in the last few years. The first time Len had done a backflip and run around giggling in the nursery before they had left to go to Kirkwall, Ferox had almost fallen over in shock. _First time that you saw. He probably had been doing that for awhile...__ _

__Late the first evening, the children were being tucked into bed. He was due in for story time and had Chuck, aka Claudio the Beaver settling into the farm. Tonight would probably have to do with different building techniques, as Claudio ‘tweren’t from ‘ere.’ As the amulet hummed yet again in the last two minutes Ferox finally answered testily, _’What do you require now?’__ _

___’This **asha** needs an anchor, Gaeaf.’_ _ _

___’There’s one on the deck. Two! On the deck over there!’_ waving behind him._ _

___’Not that. Warden anchors...umm touchstones. Uh, grounding...balance, yes, balance.’_ _ _

__Zevran was obviously hearing this as well, _’A point of reference and safety, yes?’__ _

___’Not safety or protection, but yes, reference...reminders. This one gets lost, and there is no one else she can hear. A foundation is required.’_ _ _

___Seriously? The duplicate sent her with them to give him a headache...or to get rid of one he’d been nursing for how many years? I knew there was some ulterior motive! ‘So, not to complain or anything,’ but you are, ‘but how many times are you going to do that?’_ _ _

__First there was confusion followed by guilt, _’Too much. With **emma’mi** it is open all the time, but the others it is only as needed or to keep track. Some more than others, because they get into trouble and this one can send others to help them. She can still taste some even out here, but tomorrow you will be the only ones.’__ _

___Great. Just great. ‘Anything else we should know about?’ Don’t growl remember, you need that back up plan and Nathaniel. I know, thanks for that reminder and for the record I haven’t growled yet._ _ _

__Zevran touched him mentally, reaching only for him, _’Leave it, I will take care of her so she does not make you feel hard-pressed, **amora**.’_ To both of them, _’I will leave the link open, **mushu** , do not fret. You may have whatever you need, hmn?’__ _

__Relief flooded the link so strongly that it nearly bore Ferox down and he gripped the railing, _‘ **Ma serannas** , Haf-cath. **Ar’abelas** , Gaeaf, she has tried to touch when you are not busy, but the movement of the ship makes it harder to stay grounded. **Asha** does not know why, but it has been so since leaving Denerim.’__ _

___And now I wish we were traveling by horse. You wished that before when you were bored. True, so now I wish it doubly._ Isolating Zevran, _’What did we agree to exactly? Were there instructions or was a how to guide part of the hand-off?’__ _

___’He only said that she would need our presence, **querido**. Think of her like a babe who is unsure of where she is, or who is there, and must gain reassurance else she become frightened. Likely she would not quite agree with that assessment, but that is how you should think of it to ease your own discomfort. You would not leave Len or the girls frightened in the night, this is similar in some ways.’_ _ _

___I knew it, he needed a vacation. Why are you happy? Because I win. Yeah, you win alright, one broken Warden healer coming up. Why doesn’t she fix that? She knew about that years ago...she said ‘since leaving Denerim’. Maybe she can’t._ Now that was a frightening thought. _Yet, you’re trusting her...trusted already to create children. Well that worked. Maybe she can’t work on herself the same way? Like how Zevran can tattoo his leg or stomach but not his back? Stop being logical and coming up with excuses! It does make a certain amount of sense. Oh Maker, it’s the hourly hug time. Shut up, don’t growl. Sigh. Probably because she hasn’t touched you through the amulet since you growled, to comfort you like you would when Ulfric or Len makes a sad face. I didn’t growl. Sounded like growling to me. Maker, this is going to be a long trip._ An arm around her shoulder _Reflexively!_ , the little healer breathed deeply, much like Zevran did as if looking for something, then sighed._ _

___’This one is sorry, she can try to be quieter, there have been so many to keep track of, new ones too...even a Jowan. But go tell your stories as this one can hear the **da’len’en** calling for you,’_ another squeeze round his waist before she ducked away presumably to find Zevran._ _

___A Jowan in Kirkwall, that won’t last long. I hope he walks into one of the Alistairs._ Ferox headed below deck for storytime. Claudio, whose accent was decidedly Antivan - or to the best that Ferox could manage, built a dam and flooded one of Earle’s fields. At first there was the issue of damage to property and discussion of submitting the matter to the bann, until Hog pointed out that Earle could plant rice and raise trout in the flooded field. Wart and Hog offered to ‘plow’ the field with their snouts, in preparation for planting. Ethel and Shorn discussed the benefits of this type of ‘grass’ and Claudio said he would trap the fish in the field so they could make fertilizer and lay eggs to make more trout. After that matter was settled, using Elissa’s notebook, Ferox drew a cutaway of the beaver dam so that the children could learn about Claudio’s new home. Ethel, because she was the smallest, went for a visit, and swimming into the entrance, described the place where food was stored for the winter and how in the bedroom, soft material was laid down, much like rugs on a wood floor, to keep the little house warm and cozy. Earle was happy that Claudio was cutting down some of the trees, because deer would come to graze there and berry bushes would grow in the newly opened places. Earle ended the evening with the children listing names of berries that they liked to eat, with Len’s ‘Wazzleberries’ being voted everyone’s favourite._ _

__Storytime over, kisses and hugs had, children were tucked into beds and Lightning, self-appointed nursery guardian, lay in front of the door with her eyes on sleepy children. Ferox drew Moira out with Zevran into the cabin next door. It had been many days since it was just the three of them and the conversation followed comfortable familiar paths, Elissa, Eleanor, and Len the most well trod. A path that would widen by the additions. Discussions of school, ideas on permanent and guest teachers, subjects...relaxed and easy trails to follow._ _

__At ease, the three of them talking companionably, and Ferox watched Zevran’s interesting reaction to Moira. It reminded him of Fergus when Oren was just a glint in the eye, the protective way he was with Oriana. At times driving her to chase him away...until she needed something and he was back until she wasn’t able to tell him to leave, too tired and finally putting him to work. Father called him a protective papa, and in the beginning, each time Fergus was turned away, just told him to get back in there until Oriana gave up. The difference was that while his lover - _Spouse. Both dammit. Fine, have it your way. Thank you, I do believe I will!_ \- was watching her closely and working to anticipate any of her needs, he wasn’t...crowding her to such a degree that it appeared bothersome. Tucking a pillow under her head, Ferox tossed one at Zevran. _Ha! Got it before he did!__ _

__Moira laughed suddenly, cupping Ferox’s cheek and rubbing her thumb over the bone, “You two! I’m no more than a week along, I’m not an invalid. Just wait until I’m big as a prize winning pumpkin and can’t get out of bed unless someone _rolls_ me out...” Said warmly, “Not that I don’t appreciate it, because oh my do I, but I’m not going to break. But trust me, I’m a woman, I’m _built_ to do this, and have done it twice before, it’ll be alright, I promise.”_ _

__“Since I was laying on them, I thought I would only share,” grinning, knowing it wasn’t exactly true._ _

__“Tchk, that sounds like justification, _queirdo_. Moira, my dear, it is...we are men, we only know so much of these things, and is it not better to err on the side of caution and treat you like the fine, precious woman you are, than to leave you hanging? Hmn?” this was said with a hand gently rubbing over her abdomen and a kiss to her temple, then weaving his hand with Ferox’s over the house where the little spark of life resided._ _

__Moira lay her hands over their wrists, “When put like that, it is quite pleasant. Just remember that when my meals make sudden reappearances or when I hunt one of you down to help with the...needs that arise.”_ _

__“Your wish is our command and I believe that our fair-haired rogue has already laid in a supply of ginger.” Ferox gave credit to the thoughtful and silver tongued emperor of the desire demons. The gentle rocking of the ship stuttered for a moment as the sea grew rougher. The dark rain clouds, lit by the setting sun, had caught up to them. Apparently Zevran’s design would have its first wet run. _’Speaking of children. Do you have the need to check out this one in action?’__ _

__Zevran sent quietly, _’Dassan assured me that even though this might get bumpy, the ship appeared completely sound, **querido**...and that Dulsanaya had also gone over it as well, whatever that means.’_ _ _

__The sound of a door opening, being slammed the rest of the way open by the wind, then being closed and then an intentional, purposely heavier tread in the passageway. After a moment there was a particularly distinctive knock on the cabin door, one that usually heralded Armand. Zevran cocked his head and went to answer it._ _

__From what Ferox could see, and hear, and understand through the amulet, the Crow had decided that it was time for one who was in Zevran’s care, to come down from her perch in the crowsnest, as it was dark and the weather had turned bad. Apparently the healer did not respond, so he had climbed up and carried her down, so that she could be brought in. The explanation was interrupted with an audible noise of upset and a justification in a mix of languages, through the amulets, which probably didn’t do Armand any good unless she was touching him. From what Ferox was able to understand, it sounded, after some kind of introduction or an insult, he wasn’t exactly certain, definitely something about Armand’s grandfather and an ‘espada’. After that, he would have sworn she said she was in the middle of a conversation when she was interrupted. He hadn’t been talking to her and it was unlikely she had been speaking with his assassin._ _

__Ushered inside, her silver-white braid was still tightly held together and other than being drenched, the little healer didn’t look like she had been in a storm. Her bronzed cheeks were flushed and emerald eyes flashing as if daring anyone else to mess with her. Running her hands quickly over her clothes and hair, she seemed to dry them and no longer looked like she had just been fished out of a lake. As with everything she did, no words were said, no hands were waved in a any kind of ‘spell casting motion’, it just was._ _

__Curious, “What was that all about?” Ferox hadn’t moved from where he was lying other than to prop himself up to get a better look of the door._ _

__The healer pulled off her boots and set them next to the door and hung up her cloak in a way that reminded him of his own puttering, as if she were memorizing the locations. _’As she just said, this one was speaking with **emma’mi**. **Asha** did not hear the **Cuervo** until she was being hauled down the ropes and it would not have been wise to do anything, as the fall would have been interesting.’__ _

__“You were talking to...Dassan, out here?”_ _

__The frustration of the moments before were blinked away and was replaced with frustration of another kind, as if Ferox wasn’t remembering something he had already been taught _’Yes. This one said she could still taste the others. If they can be tasted, they can be reached. Haf-cath can reach Avernus even now, why can’t you believe that this one is able to touch another less than a day away?’__ _

__Zevran lay gentle hands on her shoulders, jerking his chin at Armand to make him leave. “It is nasty weather besides though, _mushu_. Come, be inside, have some tea,” Ferox could see the flexing of tendons in his wrists, knowing his assassin was massaging her. “You can still talk to him in here while safe and snug, hmn? Dassan will be happier, you know this already, so do not give me that look or thought, as I see right through it, yes?”_ _

__An audible sigh of releasing an argument and a nod, she was interrupted by Zevran giving her a tight hug. _’It is difficult to speak and to hear as we are being muted, unlike previous times. It may be something there that has not been considered, but this one thinks that the layers are becoming thicker. So she did not move when the storm came, concerned that the connection would be lost.’__ _

__There was more than simple concern in the words, rather there was a renewed wash of fear, guilt and worry, something Ferox had felt from her since the idea of bringing her with them back to Denerim had been suggested. If she really didn’t want to be here, what caused her to agree? Nathaniel and Shianni could have been brought closer as he suggested. It would have cut down on the length of the trip, her time away. Why were they set on her coming to Denerim? Perhaps Moira needed more watching than had been said? She was, after all, fairly small for a human, and who knew what the mix of Zevran’s blood and hers might produce - it could be a small child, medium or a big one. Eyes slid to the lovely woman next to him with some concern as she was watching the exchange, as she tried to pick up the half of the conversation not said._ _

__Watching Zevran, Ferox wondered why, in the beginning, he had been concerned - _You were more than just ‘concerned’. You were scared_ \- that Zevran would want to leave him for Moira, when it was obvious that, while there was definitely love and care there, it was something they shared with him, but that Zevran’s strongest feelings were reserved for him. Yet he didn’t have that worry with Dulsanaya at all, even with all the touching. _She’s attached to the duplicate. But are you seeing what I’m seeing - the way she clings to him? Zevran said that’s because she’s lost, weren’t you paying attention? Well, but she has eyes, and we both know how compelling he is. Why is she always touching by amulet and in person? Particularly him._ Except when the healer went out to soak up the sun alone, she was always touching someone...an arm around a waist as she skirted around someone, when they were seated she would dance fingers across shoulders or crawl into laps…even when she was sitting, her foot would end up on a nearby leg or a knee. Her actions certainly made it appear that she used people as reference points. Still, she had eyes and ears, why was everything about taste, flavour and scent? He’d have to ask. _ _

__Musing out loud, “So you can reach him, but it’s harder.”_ _

__Moira lay her cheek on his shoulder, still holding his hand with both of hers, “Little sister, if you need, you can use my room to reach out to him if that makes it easier. I believe I’ve got a shift that should fit you nice and comfortably too if you need to be close to someone to be able to sleep.”_ _

___’No. Yes...no.’_ Again that tilting, shifting feeling in the amulet as if the ship were climbing a large swell. After experiencing this a few times, Ferox would say that she was trying to focus or clarify. Apparently she found enough to stay in Common as well so the translations weren’t unfolding in his mind along with a conversation. _’No clothes, this one has her own, thank you. Yes, contact when sleeping, especially when waking or being lost is longer. No, not her. There is no connection. This one is sorry. Please tell her.’_ _ _

__“ _Bonita,_ the offer is appreciated, but due to the fact that you contain no Taint or have exposure to it the way I do, her ability to reach and connect is not the same, so it does not provide her with the same anchoring she needs to maintain her ah...’place’? Place in memory.”_ _

__“Oh!” Sitting up, Moira leaned over to give Ferox a quick peck then climbed from the bed, kissing Zevran on the mouth briefly, then moving to give the little healer a hug which was returned. “Well, let’s get you settled however you need. I can go back to my room.”_ _

___’This **da’sa** does not want to move anyone, don’t do this. They want you here. Do you not see this, **asha**?’_ an open sending as if seeking support._ _

__“Well I just don’t want anyone to feel crowded,” as was so frequently the case, she was thinking of others’ comfort, and since his lover was not the sort to eschew contact and crowding, it was him she was worrying over and trying to provide space for._ _

__“There’s room,” Ferox said gruffly, not because he was aggravated, but because he felt stupid. _Didn’t see that before, did you? No, no, I saw it, just... She actually does care about you as much as she does him. Weird._ Sitting up he patted the space beside him, “Who’s going where?”_ _

__“Where do you need to be?” Zevran directed the question at both he and Dulsanaya._ _

__As he was juggling his answer, the healer was quicker, _’An amulet is required and this one might be invasive, but doesn’t mean to be rude...at all.’_ _ _

__Ferox touched his chest and felt that a hand was pressing firmly in promise, as the girl had done before when giving a promise. No doubt she was doing the same to Zevran. The feeling of falling through a sand timer accompanied the touch and he recognized the hold on whatever clarity she had was ending. _Scent, flavour, taste are important and then the few moments of almost speaking normally, except that referring to herself as ‘this one’ or ‘this woman/girl/small one’ those were still constant,_ adding to his list._ _

__Ferox sighed. “Me on the outside, because I’m the most likely to need air. Long as that’s acceptable, work out whatever the rest of you want, I don’t care.” As if to emphasize, he moved to the chair and opened his book. _You get to work this out without me. If they don’t, the hammocks down in the hold looked comfortable. No mattress, but there wouldn’t be any playing with sheets or having one’s mind rummaged through in the morning either. Well then, backup plan made.__ _

__Noticing that nobody said anything but just looked at him, Ferox turned the page, _’Zevran, put Moira between us and the healer on your other side. She seems more drawn to you anyhow. If that doesn’t work come morning, or if Moria wants to be able to check on the children, swap the two of them...I really don’t care.’ Yes you do. Shut up.__ _

__The women got situated, and Zevran made a last sweep of the room, finishing his tea and set away the cups in the latching holding box that had been built into the wall for just that purpose before he too gave Ferox a kiss goodnight. Much more intimate than the others had been, but that stood to reason. Or so that was what one part of his mind rambled, even as the rest of him cursed. Finding personal time would be difficult now._ _

___’Good night, **amora**. I shall see you in the Fade, hmn?’_ resting his forehead against his for a moment, eyes closed. _ _

___Don’t sigh, don’t...nevermind, too late. Why are we doing this again? At this point, I’m guessing. I remember the need for the backup plan, but this isn’t how we did it last time. Well there’s Nathaniel. But you had an idea about that. I know, that’s why it has to be Moira. I don’t like that reason. Come up with another one, hopefully a less frightening one. Maker, I don’t even want to contemplate what would happen...to her, to Zevran, to the - oh Maker \- the children. You have to come up with a better one. Uh...I’ll keep working on it then? In the meantime say goodnight, oh oblivious one._ Arms still tight around Zevran, _You could ask if he penciled you in his schedule. That sounds needy. Gonna have to dump the healer with Nathaniel when we get back... Wait, we are landing at Amaranthine. Maybe we could bring a few Wardens down to the Denerim Headquarters to move everything in and that would keep her busy for a while. Sic Anders on her. Oh that’s cruel. To which one of them...’sides they might like it. Are you trying to get in trouble with the duplicate? I don’t plan on going back to Kirkwall unless something has gone horribly wrong. Umm, hello? If you need help that badly, wouldn’t it be better not to piss him off? On the plus side, it appears that he is as surprised as you are regarding that sleeping arrangements. That’s a plus? You are grasping at straws. ‘It’s a date, love, you and me, in the Fade.’ That seemed like the best answer there was tonight.__ _


	29. Are We There Yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five chapters posted for initial [Zevathon](http://leviathanmirror.tumblr.com/post/113999414723/zevran-arainai-week-march-22-28) on _Fiercely Cold_. I think that more can wait until tomorrow. But check out [Dream a Little Dream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3594849/chapters/7929153) for more Zev and Ferox! I'll post three chapters of that tonight, making for eight new things in one fel swoop!

[Zevran]

Invasive - it was a very honest warning at least.

_Swooping over the ocean she snatched a large fish? small whale? out of the water and tossed it into the air, swallowing it whole. Strong leather wings push the air as she climbs to venture inland. High over farmland, the snow-capped mountains to the west sharp against the clean blue sky. Bubbling laughter from deep within begs for sound as she catches the reflection in a lake, she has taken the form of a beautiful dragon, so dark purple it’s almost black. Spotting the near the coast, she descends to look closer._

_A roar as a catapult rips through a wing, shredding it, she crashes into a tall tower and is surrounded by little men. It is not them that worries her so, it is The Warden. Gaze focuses to the little brown elf with green markings. They will both die here today, she can taste this future, but she will make the little Warden pay dearly to take both of their lives._

_More catapults, her scales protect her from most, but some strike her side wounding her further. She roars in pain landing on the little men, scattering them. The Warden has brought her best with her, two other Wardens are unimportant to the tale, but they give The Warden courage; and another that gives the dragon pause. This one is strong and she has dreamt of the sword upon his back, its name is known to her… Asala, meaning Soul._

_Her death plays out. With the fallen-star sword, the strong one charges, leaping onto her neck and strikes a blow that nearly kills her. She fans the shreds of her wings tossing her head before she falls. He is flung back and the others are buffeted, but not the little elf. She steps past the strong one, pulling the soul sword from his back and charges her where she lays. Without hesitation the soul sword is thrust through her spine and the world explodes with terrible magics._

Zevran repressed a groan as his mind swam with the after-effects of physical motion that did not belong to him. In the dream-memory there had been too much, leaving him reeling and struggling for wakefulness without startling anyone, least of all the delicate dreamer. Reaching for her mind, he nearly was sucked in by the violently spinning cyclone of memory and thought and dream, but held on to that spindle, finding a thread to grab while digging his own mental feet in. There was no hope of stopping it, nor did he want to, or aim to do so, but what Zevran was seeking was to slow it down, to give balance to the wobbling, violently twirling spindle, a place for it to be held upright and not travel hither and yon. 

If not for her sake, then for his own. 

Using the mental image of guide ropes and anchors, Zevran turned his mind to the task of providing context and building a place, albeit a likely temporary one, to house that mad whirl. _It is like a sirocco, or the cyclones that come in from the oceans..._ It covered a great ‘distance’, picking up everything in its path and flinging it this way and that. When the ropes and anchors did nothing, he built mountains and a valley lake, peaks high and snowy, too much for it to travel. That was what it took to finally contain the storm, leaving it going ceaselessly, but in a place where it could gain no fresh confusion.

_In the explosion, no one hears The Warden scream because the soft low voice is torn from her. She is dead, the child she carries within her is dead, Urthemiel the Archdemon, the Dragon of Beauty is dead._

_The Fade opens and The Warden can taste all of her selves at that very moment, she can see all in their deaths, or if they are not the ones striking the death blow, she sees them watching Alistair die, watching Loghain die, and watching them both live._

_With a gasp drawing in air thick with crushed stone, The Warden is brought back to mind shattering pain. One life for a life is enough, no more is required._

_She reaches out to those around her covered in the rubble from the dragon’s explosion. Friends and companions are nearby; using the waves of the magical explosion to extend her reach and amplify the results, she sends healing out to them. The vines that cover her body fade from green to brown as her resources drain, reassembling herself and those around her._

_Searching for the child, she finds the little life is gone, and cries with the loss. That is when she discovers something coiled within, melded to her in the violent detonation of demonic magic. Was it simply the vines that brought her back as Irving said, or was it this new thing? Afraid, she does not know what this means._

Zevran winced, stroking the arm flung over his waist, _I knew this, poor child. Both of them. It is little wonder she has not sought such a being with Dassan, but is so careful of other ones then._ Like a blind kitten, eyes unopened and not quite developed, Dulsanaya nestled in, nose working as it crinkled and nostrils flared, taking in scent, an unconscious moistening of tongue over his chest picked up his taste. In his mind he felt her questing without realizing her own actions, seeking the security of knowing. Opening his mind further, he shifted to slip a hand into the neck of her shift to give her more familiar contact, his palm pressing to the spot between shoulder blades. He began reciting silly children’s songs, stories that Ferox had told the children, meaningless and educational at the same time. Zevran hoped the sound of his mind helped, the content unimportant, just another beacon for Dulsanaya to use so she could find her way while in the midst of that storm. 

Beside him, Moira snuffed, face rubbing the side of a bicep, Ferox’s arm sandwiched between them. _You are apparently a pillow rather than her mattress, **querido** ,_ referring to the fact that the women were on their sides, while the men were on their backs. Glancing at the little healer, _Or sleeping on their stomach, I suppose, hmn?_

As if the sunrise were a Chantry bell or a rooster crowing, the disorientated consciousness began to surface from the deep ocean of dreams, although mental ears identified almost silent feet on stone steps, climbing uncertainly towards the sound and feel and scent of him. Just on the other side of waking, more sounds could be heard in the quiet mind, the clicking of tiles, stone, and glass pieces against each other, movement behind a closed door, wood sliding against wood. Although outwardly her breathing remained steady, the heartbeat increased before tapering back, as if a decision was made. Whatever it was caused the green eyes to open and narrow. 

Formally, _’You do not belong to this one. What do you require?’_

_’It is alright, **mushu** , I only require that you take your time and come back to the present, there is no one here who would make needless demands upon you, **da’len** ,’_ seeking to soothe and settling in for possibly a very long morning.

First one blink, then another, giving the appearance that she didn’t notice that he was speaking with her in the same manner that she would use. Another slow blink and the information was sorted or discarded in turns. Half thoughts tumbled and rose just within hearing but were quickly rejected before he could grasp what they were as he got the sense that they likely showed too much, _’What is **mushu**? Where is now? This one is not **da’len**. Where is the drunken dwarf who was touched or is this another ship? This **enansal** is not the one or the other.’_

Taking in the uncertainty, Zevran said gently, inviting her to look and check as needed, _’Oghren is in Amaranthine with his family. This is a ship, we are bound for Amaranthine, then Denerim, **mushu** , which also means, **da’len**. You are helping myself, Ferox, and Moira expand our family and studying Len. Your Dassan is in Kirkwall, safe. He is thinking, I believe, upon the task before him, and you are also assisting him by going on this journey, to find other answers and information.’_

She sighed and the bit of green that had pooled in the palm of her hand was reabsorbed. Subtle defenses were withdrawn that he had purposefully ignored. Although the link between them continued, her attention turned to call to Dassan, dragging Zevran with her. Her reach was further than the Wardens, the previously hinted at two day range, but the distance wasn’t the issue. He felt her difficulty in burrowing through what felt like cotton gauze, the different layers, trying to find the scent of Dassan amongst the flavours and scents of so many others. Lending his strength to her reaching, Zevran focused and pulled on his own mind, pushing her reach further, knowing that if he got a reaction headache, well, he wasn’t going anywhere, and he wasn’t using Ferox’s amulet at all, just his own mind’s strength. Once he felt them catch, Zevran basically tuned them out, turning his attention to bolstering the balance and plotting the route from one end of Antiva City to another, finding little cafes and such. Just a mental exercise to keep himself occupied. 

Several long slow minutes and the first clear and organized thoughts began to emerge in the link, name and purpose first and these things made accessible other memories. Then the connection suddenly slipped and the ground shifted as another layer and another entity intervened and the clasped hands separated as the link snapped abruptly. As they fell, the healer caught Zevran for a moment, and the scent of vanilla and pineapple mint filled him, quickly covering the copper tang of blood that had filled his mouth, repairing the damage incurred by increasing the range and in the fall as the link was severed. Distress echoed at him as she pulled back her abilities from their task.

_’Yes, **mushu** , I felt that. Someone severed the link, no?’_ giving her a tighter hug, he ignored the sleepy sounds of his lovers, curling closer to try and grant comfort to the small one in his arms. _’It at least means that tonight we can discuss those things that have been waiting, hmn?’_ He tucked her in tight, _’He is a strong man, he will be safe, as safe as any of us can be, yes? This much I do know - your Dassan will be there and he will be fine when you return to him.’_

A phrase said, as though it were repeated often, was started before thought met the words, _’He is not this one’s.’_ A crash of thoughts the loudest being, _‘If neither are hers, is there one?’_

_’It is whichever one you wish and allow it to be, no?’_

_’No. This **asha** did not favour one companion over another, so no choice was made on the first, and the second belongs to another and wants to return to that one.’_

Snorting at her softly, _’Little one, it is whichever you allow to be with you. The one you allow to be with you is the one you favour, long or short term, yes? It is a simple bit of logic, my dear.’_

Focusing on him, _’That would be rude of this one, Haf-cath./i >_

__’It is not rude to accept whomever is with you with a denotation of some form of possession. Moira is mine and she is not mine. The girls are mine, and they are not mine. Len is mine and is not mine. Ferox is... Tchk, in his case I certainly should hope he is mine, in full, hmn?’_ _

__’These words ‘yours’ or ‘mine’ or ‘some other’s’ have meaning there in the Setheneran. They denote what tale one comes from and have importance. There, you are the Warden’s, as is the Mamae and the **da’len’en**. This one has been there for much time that she has forgotten their other meanings. Here you are Gaeaf’s, he carries it proudly, the others are yours as well as they have chosen it...’_ _

_Interrupting her firmly, _’As yours have as well, hmn? If you do not see that, then sadly, **mushu** , you are being willfully blind as it is less threatening for whatever reason, yes? Yet this is something I doubt you and I can convince the other to their way of thinking, hmn? I will say one thing, you will refute and deny, but that is just how it will be then, and so I will continue to call him ‘yours’ and you will continue to deny. Both of us are set and firm in our ways, no?’__

_Bubbles of laughter popped and burst in the link, _’ **Emma’mi** says the same thing of the one he calls ‘hers’. What is it with **enansal** deciding who this **asha** will call her own?’_ _

_Replying with as much patience as he could muster, _’It is possible to have more than one, and to lay claim temporarily or for long term.’_ Sighing, _’That is an easy answer - we prefer to have those we care for claim us than to deny us. To say one is not yours when that is how they feel, it is denying their connection to you, and likely causes pain. As I say - blind, **mushu** , you are being quite blind.’__

_Returned patience, _’Sight is the sense that is easiest to fool and as this one has said time and again, for her own no words were said, no promises given. Not one above another. In the matter of the blade, he is Bonded to another. This **asha** is not  her.’__

_Making a face, as none of this was new information to him, _’Words need not be said, **mushu** for them to be  felt and believed in. Do you believe that I thought of myself as anything other than Ferox’s over the years, even without him? Hmn?’__

__’ **Enansal’en** need a new name. Umm **Cildyn** [obstinate, stubborn] or **Gwargaled** [stiffnecked, stubborn],’_ muttered. _‘You are trying to distract this one from worry and fear as there is no mabari to have left to guard that one. But, Atashi watches and she does not not sleep like the mabari. So this argument does nothing helpful.’__

_Kissing her cheek, _’Yes it did, **mushu** \- you are yourself and awake, and you have forgotten for nearly half an hour your worry, hmn?’__

__’You deserve berries!’_ Eyes laughing at him, _ ’But your laughter would wake everyone and,’ as if she is ticking them off on her fingers, _’the sun would be too bright even for your Winter, and a sleeping Mamae would be surprised to find herself in the hallway when she woke up, and **da’len’en** would bounce on the beds.’_

_’I can tell you are teasing, little one, as we both know that he would only scramble over to gain access, no thought for others nearby - if that was the first thing to wake him up and for him to hear, and that the door was locked last night, hmn?’_ nose crinkling at her.

There was a short snort, _’That was not information important enough to save. But you would have done so, as some things remain the same between you all.’_

.....  
[Ferox]

Balancing, occasional rising slightly to the balls of his feet, each moment brought them closer to the mouth of the Waking Sea where the open water of the Amaranthine Ocean would crash against the more placid waters. Ferox was not eager to be back in Denerim, but he wanted away from the confinement placed on him by the ship itself. From this spot on the prow he could urge the ocean closer, the winds to quicken, or at least play a balancing game and trick himself into believing the other things were true. 

Other than not being able to run, the children seemed to be taking the trip well, at least compared to their winter trek. But when one is cold, confinement isn’t, or wasn’t, so terrible. They, amongst others, enjoyed the night in the barn, however. _Present company not excepted. Well, I didn’t hear any complaints. Just lots of moaning. Hey now, that was you, not me. You are very distracting. No, he is. Oh stop it...where was I? In a barn. Right, I mean, no!_ Trips, traveling, ways of getting there... 

Zevran wanted to go to Antiva sooner rather than later. Something about a message, wanting Ferox to meet his mother, well the one who was his mother, oh, the horse master, and whatever other schemes he had up his sleeve. _Probably wants to see his daughter too you know. He hasn’t talked about that, how he hasn’t gone crazy... I try not to think about that. Makes you feel guilty? Shut up. It’s not like there isn’t room, or need for people in Ferelden. I know, they’re just so finicky when it comes to the weather. Well, that and a few other things._

Leaning on the railing, arms crossed, _How is that going to work? Because Zevran’s talking about going sooner rather than later? Nathaniel can get to West Hills and back. That’s not a problem. Well then, why are you worrying about it? ‘Cause I couldn’t see it. If he leaves right away...no, that doesn’t work. Who suggested using Nathaniel to return the healer anyway? Why not another Warden? Was he just a name picked out of a helmet or was it because Nathaniel would be the one to benefit? But if another Warden did it, the Palace Seneschal would be where he needs to be as we get ready to leave again. But what about Moira? Wasn’t that the reason we’re going to Denerim instead of having Shianni and Nathaniel meet us at Highever? Does anybody really tell us anything? I don’t think so. Look, all I’m saying is that it’s going to be hard for everything to work out timewise. Objection noted._

_Is it an everyone trip again? Will Moira want to travel? Will Zevran...no that’s a dumb question, of course he won’t be able to leave her in Denerim. Which, may I point out, makes you look like the worst Prince Consort ever, given that Moira goes and Anora stays. Ugg, you would have to share that. Like Anora would go...well, if she did, I’d stay home, there is no way on the Maker’s snow covered Thedas that a ship could possibly be big enough with her on it. So why bring it up? I didn’t, you were just calling me a jerk. Well, that part is true, as is the looking like one. I know, there better be an emergency. You know, Zevran’s going to want introduce the Zama-mama...did you just come up with that? Uh, I think so, but I may have heard it somewhere. I like it. Anyway, introduce her to Len and the girls and everyone he’s calling family. This trip just got harder, didn’t it? Pretty much. So what are you going to do? Um, what I always do. What’s that? Let him figure it out. You know, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks, I worked on it really hard. However, it’s just the accepting part I’m having trouble with. You mean the letting go? Accepting it, letting it go, it’s all the same._

_Healer’s in the crowsnest again. Well, she left you this part of the ship. Unless there are dolphins. True, forgot about that. You know it’s crowded at night. I really don’t want to think about this. Well, I’m just pointing this out so you don’t go thinking that this is going to end just because we arrive at the Vigil or in Denerim. No, no, I have a plan, remember? Invite all of the Wardens back to Denerim, make them work at the Denerim Headquarters, putting it to rights, get somebody to entertain her for a night so that I can sleep in my own bed with me, myself, and Zevran for just one night. Remember that plan. Seriously, I think you are delusional. That ogre really hit you hard, didn’t he? So, changing the subject, has she really stopped pinging the amulet? No. You’re supposed to say ‘yes’. No, sorry, can’t do that. What do I know that I...err you haven’t told me? Well, not that I’m advising this or anything, you could ping her amulet, but it’s probably safer just to listen. Why is whatever this pinging is, bad? She’ll think you want her and bounce down here to report in. Say no more, don’t want that._

Continuing his balancing game, shifting and rocking back to the balls of his feet, Ferox listened to the amulet, not exactly knowing whatever it was he heard subconsciously. Snapping of the sails, a lapping smack of the water against the hull, seagulls in the rigging, the scent of the water, and humming. Blinking, his vision was off slightly. _’Cause she’s borrowing. Borrowing what? What you’re seeing. How do you know that? Hello? She asked, you grunted, end of story. Well, that would be a useful trick. You, you just mastered walking and talking at the same time, now want to try both of those things and using two sets of eyeballs? Good point. So what’s she doing? How the frell do I know? You could look back. As if I knew how and isn’t that the multiple eyeball thing again? I think this hurts my head. It would be useful for scouting. Well, if one were Zevran perhaps, but I like not falling down, especially when wearing heavy armour. Understandable. And don’t forget the pointy things you like to carry around. Pointy? You ser are just...just. Just what? No, I give up. You could ask, I mean, ask her if you really want to know. No. That would be like whatever that pinging thing is. You sure it’s not like ringing? As in a bell? Pretty sure she said, ‘Pinging.’ Is that elvish? Nah, probably Tevinter._

_Let me see if I’ve got this straight... You just catching up again? No, err yes...well probably. If she’s not touching through the amulet all of the frelling time, it’s either because she’s not or...yes, it’s the ‘or’. Why me? Well, it’s not just you. Remember Zevran said that she could use him all the time. Let’s just say you may have volunteered. You didn’t? That would be telling - I’m kidding. You are the only Warden around. But Zevran said... I know. However, you too, have gotten used to having a Warden or two about. So if I start handing out Wardens in some kind of weird adoption service, they should always go out in pairs? Exactly. Separation anxiety. And when did you figure that out? Well, you were really lonely in Denerim without another Warden. True. Even when things were starting with Zevran. True. And it was better after he got an amulet. Definitely. But wasn’t that because things were...oh, you’re right, the constant checking in...must have driven him crazy. And? And so the link was left open. Bingo. Just remember to turn it off with her before he pulls us into a closet. Good idea - even a pantry will do at this point...if we leave the door open. You sure about that? Well, pantries are rather small and there’s not a lot of air in them._

After a few days out he just couldn’t take it anymore. _’Zevran, are you...busy?’_

_’Hmn? What is your desire, **querido**?’_

There were many things he desired - a bed that wasn’t crowded, space to breathe, a view that wasn’t the same open water, open water, and a bit more open water. Amaranthine wasn’t as close as West Hills to Kirkwall, so what had been a short trip from one city, was more like double the other way. Not to mention that the return trip was against the wind, so they were tacking and the favorite argument, at every meal taken in the galley, was what angle gave the best speed. So, amongst the many, many things Ferox desired, there was only one that could be gained. 

Simply, _’You.’_

_’The little healer is well occupied, and Moira has lain down for a nap, as her stomach has begun to bother her slightly, so I am not just all yours, **querido** \- I am all yours and  waiting, hmn? In our very uncrowded bed,’_ that rough edge that had been muffled revealed. _’Afterwards you are going to have to hold me for a very long time indeed, **mi amore**.’_

_Don’t run, you are on ship. Can I bounce? No, that’s somebody elses’ job. So it’s not just me? Doesn’t sound like it._ Across the deck and through passages, Ferox tapped a knock before opening and locking the door behind him. The worst thing about being outside, was the constant spray and wet. Slipping off boots and hanging up the wet cloak, Ferox turned to admire the room which felt so empty with only the two of them in it. And the bed, it was practically an entire estate without its ‘customary’ crowd. _Remember, I told you that isn’t going to magically change. I have a plan. It’s not going to work. Wha? Shut up._ “You look out of sorts. Did something happen?”

Zevran was already sliding to the edge of the bed, unfastening Ferox’s clothes, and pressing his face into his abdomen, the coarsely smooth cheek rubbing against the dark hair, “My flesh itches, _mi hermoso corizon_. Having you so near...and not a moment to ourselves... The children are restive, Dulsanaya is understandably needy, and Moira is seeking to be happy with her midmorning bouts, and you...you are so near and so far, _amora_.”

“Says the man so much in demand. I would have made an appointment with your secretary, you know, that one you share an office with, but he’s never in.”

Fingers crab-walked over Ferox’s sides, “And why do you think they come to me, _amora_? These confined spaces do you no good, the press is difficult for you as well, hmn? They sense this also, so they do not press more than they can stop themselves from doing.”

_You are lacking again. Limited. Can I fold the things he’s removing? Not yet. Soon? Soon. Hold still for a minute and remember to breathe. I can probably wait two minutes, as he’s not wadding everything up and throwing it about the room. Two is good, you keep breathing and I’ll do the talking, okay? Uh huh._ “And here I was betting on the reason that they go to you is because you’re much better looking. But you are right, I can’t stand being in small rooms with so many. One or two at a time is good. But when I’m mobbed, I can’t breathe. Outside is better and land will be better still.” _I am frustrated because I am driven out and when I take one child outside with me, trading them for another later, it doesn’t seem enough._ “Since you are the only one here, how can I help you?”

“Fold your things quickly, _amora_ ,” lips pressed near his belly button. “Then join me, hmn?”

The bit of him that was a dog who had been given a job, jumped eagerly to complete the task, so the promised treat or pat on the head could be had. However it was held back by the collar for a moment - _Probably just to show you can_ \- before he moved, the pull of the routine, difficult to put off. Quickly done, without leaving anything behind to rankle and disturb later - _You mean sooner_ \- Ferox rolled in next to Zevran to scratch the itches and smooth the rumpled fur. 

_’You are full of static,’_ making mental faces as he was shocked and snapped by the static electricity. _How is it possible to become this way when there is too much humidity? I’m betting there’s been too much mental activity. Oh really? You leave me to bet against something that’s a sure win? You ser, are a cheat._

“Hmmm, my apologies, _amora_ ,” rumbling and purring as he rolled around under Ferox’s travelling hands, pressing close while twisting this way and that. Of course he didn’t sound all that sorry, and his actions probably created more static as Ferox felt his hairs beginning to crackle. Zevran rolled once more, this time to kiss him, a faint arc of lightning connecting as lips touched. _’Mmmn, you taste good, **amante.** ’_

_If you didn’t want a healer pressed to your mind like a bad cold, you’d take those amulets off him. Tempting even with that horrible mixed up analogy. You say that now...but I think it’s rather apt - just try it and see. ’You like the flavour of ozone? I’ll have to bring you outside during more storms.’_ Scratching behind the cat’s ears as it rolled around and stretched in his lap.

Tongue licked against his, lips sealed together, _’Tchk, you are seeking compliments my quite handsome heart, as you and I are aware that you taste good all the time, hmn? I would remain like this if only it did not limit other things in life, equally enjoyable, no?’_

_I got lost. Me too. Oh well, he could talk some more. When was the last time he just talked on and on for you? I don’t remember right now._ A rumbling echoed and repeated in the link, _’I would stay as long as you were here with me.’_ The mental cat received a thorough brushing. _Thank the Maker there is no shedding in the mind. What? Nothing..._

_’Wherever you go, I go, **amora** , with you is the only place I wish to be.’_ Body pressed tight, limbs tangled with his, minds melding into a knot. _’The feel of you is all the safety and security I need, speaking with you is all the stimulation I require, the world, it can come tumbling down, and I would not notice, hmn?’_

Ferox felt a bit like his lover was trying to crawl into his skin, to climb inside and hide, turning his back on all else just for the joy of being with him. _’What little I have, what little I am, is yours and there is no need to ask. I am only here because you either withhold your hand or, alternatively, reach out to catch me. You know this.’_ The closeness, wrapping, winding, binding? - was starting to make him dizzy with spinning to keep up. _Breathe, don’t move. Let him settle for a minute. Good advice. I think I lost the cat though. I got it._

There was a shiver and Zevran tucked his face into the crook of Ferox’s neck. _’I missed you, **amora**.’_

“And I have missed you terribly, no matter that you are one Moira over, who also smells of you.” _See what he thinks. There might be another idea you haven’t thought of...that and he seems receptive. Receptive? He’s Zevran - he’s receptive to just about anything. True._ “I was considering having the Wardens accompany us back to Denerim. It would give the healer more people to bounce off of and give us some time to ourselves. Perhaps she might even find someone to latch onto and give us a night or two unaccompanied...because with Moira in familiar surroundings, you may be able to relax some of your vigilant hovering...and don’t go pointing fingers, because I’ll admit I’m doing the same. Do you think this will work?”

_’It works for me, yes, anything to be near you more often,’_ a hand stroked down Ferox’s spine without intent other than to touch, much like the arch of a dark bronze foot curling around his calf. 

“You are always near me, I have tried to see to it. Unfortunately the closeness is not always like this.”

Love and gratitude washed over him, lips mashed into his collarbone with a slight shift, _’I know that even I press to you too much, **amora**. I am just glad that you allow it, yes?’_ An image of the office, of Zevran randomly sitting on the arm of the chair, or in his lap, getting up to drop off a note or list or missive and running a hand over a shoulder or leaning in to lay a kiss on the temple. _’I appreciate that, **amante** , so very much.’_

Ferox growled, one with a hard edge to it, and the sound caught him off-guard, “Whoever has said to you that I ‘put up’ with any of that, that these things are pushed on me, actions which I crave...I will find them and that person will not survive the night.”

There was the edge of desperation to the mouth on his, the fingers in his hair, _’No one has, other than myself, **querido**. I wish to have this life together, yet I fear I demand too much, too often of you, you who has had so many demands placed upon you...’_

_’In your case, a reprieve, a pardon is issued. Think no more of it. Your demands are looked forward to, as they are not commands, but requests I want to grant, to give into eagerly. There is no need to wish for this life together, as it is already here, already true._ Gentle teasing, _’Now who is having trouble believing?’_

A huffing chuckle, _’I am not infallible or without flaw, **querido**.’_

_’And I think I am no longer someone who will easily shatter merely because something new is asked.’_

Zevran’s breathing hitched slightly, the memory of tattoos and the exploration flitting up before moving away, _’Ah yes, it is a pleasing development, hmn? No, at the moment I require being near you, anything will do, so long as you and I are touching.’_

_’Then I will hold you or give you a massage, if you would rather, and you will tell me whatever comes to mind. In that way, most of our itches will be scratched.’_

Satisfied purring, _’And what particular itch do you have need of tending, **amante**? Tchk, I cannot be the only one having a good time, yes?’_

“Just words, your words.”

_’In the mornings when I awaken, I have been going over maps in my mind, yes? Not of Ferelden, but of Antiva City’s streets, alleys, and byways... So much had changed between my first leave taking -’_

Interrupting as he gave Zevran a tight squeeze, “No, not thoughts, please. Words, out loud. I need your voice.”

“Ah, I am sorry, I did not understand,” tip of nose rubbing at his jaw apologetically. “Well, it has changed much, and yet, it has not changed at all, hmn? Shops have opened, moved, closed... Many are still there, as they are often passed down generation to generation, particularly the family owned ones, yes? Paint and decor seem to change the most, some years orange and yellow are all the rage, others, everyone must simply have blue lintels and awnings... I think it is to keep the dyers and painters in work, yes? However, it was strange, it still felt like home, not like trying to return home and finding it no longer the same as I remembered it.”

“Weathering. Fading of the sun,” as usual stuck on the why’s and reasons for things being the way they are.

Laughter that turned into another low purr as Ferox began to knead at the tight muscles of his assassin’s lower back, “Yes, there is that as well. There is a particularly splendid little shop, not very large, but floor to ceiling are shelves, packed tightly with glass vials and clay jars, a table with long bars for soaps and hard massage bars made from oils, wax and solid fats... The proprietress is a tall woman, tall for an Antivan woman, as they are usually my height at the absolute most, but she was just a little taller than I, she is not very pretty, quite plain, but she is an artist, yes? She makes the most beautiful palettes for face paints, the most lovely of scent to wear for man or woman, these pastes to soothe burns and prevent them, to soften thick soles of the foot or pads of the hand. I remember when she did not even have a stall, her goods carried first in a basket she strapped to her back, then on a modified wheelbarrow and finally in her own stall. To see the progression of her hard work yield such fruitful gains was soothing. The last I saw her, she had just gained herself her first assistant, an apprentice, yes?” 

Sometime in the middle there was a very contented sigh as Ferox’s eyes closed and satisfied rumbling began. His hands kept moving, brushing the warm brown skin and mental fingers burrowed through the thick fur. _Do words have texture? Texture? Would you shut up, I’m listening. Sorry._

Zevran nestled in, “The oil I use for your hair, it comes from her shop, there is always two bottles of it every time a ship comes in from Antiva, yes? Ah - then there is the man who has the rolling food cart. He has this...coconut custard pineapple bread, that is... You will have to try it, yes? It is a good and lightly sweet thing for breakfast, the smoothness and unassumingly mild flavour of the coconut custard, the way the bread has been made sweet with pineapple mashed with the juice so that it all dissolves on the tongue as you chew it... He wakes each morning and takes all he and his wife baked in the afternoon the day before and is often sold out before it is even an hour until the noon meal. Then he shops for what he will need for the next day and goes home as soon as there is no more. After _siesta_ he and his fat little wife make up as much dough as they can and bake and bake until it is time for bed, the process beginning again each day. In the mornings while he is out peddling the fruits of that labour, she fishes and smokes them, mixing them with ground olives for a paste to sell in whatever container you bring to her.”

_It’s not texture, it’s scent and flavour. He’s making me hungry. You know he’s trying to get us excited about going to Antiva. Or just make me hungry. No, it’s Antiva, so stop thinking of your stomach. Do you even remember why we’d even consider going? Uh, no, but if he’s going, you’re going. That’s true, never mind. I’m hungry. Has he imported a baker yet or is this the build up? I bet he helped the scent lady set up her shop. Okay, but if you’re thinking stupid thoughts you can stop right now. I didn’t mean that! He isn’t some tom cat sniffing females in heat! But I bet she smelled good. Maker, don’t ruin this. Just shut up and be nice._

Images came with the words, drifting through streets, some no wider than three men walking shoulder to shoulder, small balconies only wide enough for a planterbox at window sills, lines of laundry weaving and attached to nearby buildings, fluttering an array of colourful garments and bedclothes. Cafes that would set up around a ‘shop’ that was no more than two carts and several portable brazers, with people standing and eating, or sitting at low tables and stools, sometimes with a triangular awning over it if in a more open space. Fountains tiled and children splashing in them, fresh water spilling from pumps that brought it up from the aquifers below the city, guarded by young adults who took a copper or two for each large jug filled. Apartment buildings holding rain barrels atop their roofs, pipes also taking the runoff into the basements for more barrels - for cleaning and washing. Every small thing had a purpose and a place, even though each thing was beautifully formed. 

“The luck symbols that are made into oil lamps, hanging from posts,” an image of a giant, stylized phallus, “will not likely be seen as ‘appropriate’ in Ferelden, hmn?”

“There are plenty of them, Fereldens just look at them differently.” Ferox cracked open an eye, “You might call them ‘Towers’. It’s lack of imagination, I think,” a grin quirked a cheek. “Yours... I mean, those would be too blatant. Why make such a fickle thing into a representation for luck?” 

Zevran laughed at him, “Because luck is fickle, _amora_.”

Basking in the sun’s laughter, Ferox’s eyes closed as his ‘petting’ continued. “A very successful war leader once said, I’d rather have a lucky man than a skilled one, because skill I can teach. I’d have to say I agree with him.”

“I do not know, _querido_ , but I do know that some would consider me lucky, and I know that I have been quite lucky to have stumbled into a plowing shoulder, hmn? For if I had not, I would not have all that I have, yes?” this was accompanied by much face rubbing and a bit of twisting in his arms.

“You see, with you, coming with both luck and skill, I was the benefactor because you just happened to have a fondness for slow, steady, plow horses.” 

“Rock farmers,” he was gently corrected. “With broad shoulders and large hands, yes?”

“I ‘as been corrected, ser...an’ sheep. ‘Cause they kin knit an’ all. You Antivans, sucha cold lot.”

Rather dryly, “It all depends on one’s definition of ‘cold’, no?”

Ferox continued as if he hadn’t heard, “Always buyin’ Ethel and Shorn outta their sweaters, an’ ‘at’s, an’ scarfs, an’ cloaks. Comin’ in for’a bowl of soup. Cold an’ ‘ungry. Don’t know what ta make of’a place tha’ can’t keep’a man warm ‘n fed.”

More laughter, “No, I just prefer the austere and wild beauty of Ferelden and the beauty of my family, hmn?”

“I’d have to say that most of them are quite attractive, you have found a beautiful mother for your fine looking children.” Brown eyes opening to the brilliance, _Chasind eye coverings, please._ “I’d have to say, looking at the father, you’re rather handsome yourself. Must make those inbred Ferelden nobles want to eat their hearts out with jealousy.”

A hand slid down Ferox’s face, fingertips brushing over his temple, as Zevran’s expression turned firm even with the dancing eyes, “And a beautiful father for them as well, our children have the best parents there are, no? The three of us, yes? We love them, we will love them even more with each day, but it is you who makes me wish to stay.”

“Do not wish, do.” 

There was a bit of a grumble, “You will not change my speech patterns, _amora_. Wishing and doing are the same thing to me, yes?”

“Old cat, new tricks...” a chuckle rumbled. “Yet you seek to alter this old man. That is very audacious of you. The little healer tells me you try the same with her, and, although I cannot believe it, she said she’s older than you. You are a very brave man, if this is true.”

Zevran rolled his eyes, “She is a child, no matter her age. Act like a child, think like a child, blind as a child - get treated like a child then, hmn?”

“So it’s true then.” Seriousness descended. “It’s probably short-sighted, but I’m glad that Morrigan got what she wanted.” When the healer gave them the recipe for the runestone, she had made odd patterns on the ground. He had asked what they were for and she answered that because he had slept with Morrigan that he didn’t feel the Archdemon’s death as much. Indicating that the damage to her mind and memory was because of it. “Although the girl doesn’t seem unhappy...I don’t think...” _What? That you could have weathered that explosion? Riordan was quite clear on what happened to Wardens that killed the Archdemon and the healer confirmed it. Could you live like that? Well, it’s what’s going to happen eventually, we’ve talked about this. You’ve just put it off for a few years._

Zevran’s own face clouded and he rolled Ferox onto his back, “As am I, _amora_. However, I believe you have misinterpreted what I said. She is childlike. She is centuries old, and likely was childlike in many ways prior to her slaying of the Archdemon, hmn? For those who live so long, development is slower in many areas. She has her own wisdoms and insights, but there are things that are downright childish that I would expect from Elissa. The purposeful misunderstanding of the layers of meaning in a word, just to prove one’s point is a good place to start.”

“I’m not arguing, I was just wondering if what she said was true. But it certainly sounds like you have been fighting with her or not getting enough sleep...probably both.”

His Antivan sun sighed heavily, “She wakes with the sun. I wake just before, many times it seems, earlier than that. Her mind requires context, a framework of time and place and self, yes? ‘Sound’ means little beyond tone, scent, taste, touch, these she requires to find herself, hmn? It is exhausting, as my mind resists being pulled in by hers, there would be too much clash, no? There are limits to what she can do, and what I can do, which leaves us both floundering. It is good that I am here, you would go mad from it, as reliving the death of the Archdemon from both perspectives...is...difficult. Then there are the hours between when she awakens and when she is herself enough and secure enough to leave the bed, then there are rambunctious children to coral into clothes and full bellies, an ill Moira to worry over, making sure that you are as at ease as you can be, seeing to the flock, and then feeding myself and bathing how I can, limbering and practicing, all with two open, but separate links.”

Worried, but he managed to keep the tone light, “Do I need to order you to rest in bed? Or I can wring the neck of your secretary, if you like. He sounds rather incompetent, scheduling you for so much.” 

Zevran dropped his head on Ferox’s shoulder, slumping into him further, “Moira usually takes care of the children’s morning needs, unfortunately... I had not thought she would be so queasy. It is due to the ship’s rocking, yes? And to the rapid changes in her body. It is odd, I was told that my mother - she had no illness but for three or four days. What little I gathered from my mother’s clan, was that her mother was the same. An easy thing, yes? Moira said the girls gave her no problems other than some discomfort and a little food sensitivity... She thinks it is a boy.”

“If it is due to seasickness, which she did not suffer from previously, you would think that could be healed?” Seeing the look, “But you have already thought of this...”

“It is mostly due to her body changing, making it more sensitive to things that had not bothered before, yes? Because it is caused by the child, Dulsanaya cannot heal it without...removing...the cause. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Another fretful sigh. “Elissa gets herself dressed as does Eleanor, but Len wishes to ‘help’ and can be a bit much to handle. Add in the fact that their bellies are ready for food, the new day, and such, it... Give me difficult functionaries, please. Them I can yell at and show frustration with. I cannot do the same with the children - all four of them, as I am the always calm one.” 

“Sounds like it’s time for change and for you to sleep in. What else is rolling around there in your mind, causing you frustration?”

“Lack of time with you, _mi hermoso corizon._ That helps me regain my own grounding, yes?” 

Arms tightening around his lover. “New plan. You and I in the middle tonight, females on the outside. As long as I’m not a mattress, there will be no need to feel trapped.” _I hope._ “You will then sleep in or snooze back to sleep. I will go play the part of the grouchy father and get everyone to breakfast. If this doesn’t work, we’ll come up with a new plan.” Pausing, “You hide things from me until you cannot take another day. I am not very observant and when I get set in a direction, I don’t vary from my routine. When you _are_ driven to such a point, my first reaction is always one of anger. Yes, admittedly, a little at you for not telling me, but mostly at myself for not noticing.” 

“In the Crows one does not complain when something is...no, not unpleasant, else we would not have any fun bitching over food or heat or cold or a bad lover or noisy neighbour... But when things are...difficult.” A sound of frustration came from his assassin as he searched for words to put to the concept, “One _never_ complains or shows any signs of duress. Ever. Else they throw you into whatever situation would gain more of it for you until you learn to simply...cope. Or at least not react, yes? I have had more than your lifetime with that training sitting upon my shoulders, _amora_. The fact I tell you at all is...tchk, bad form and utter dependency, displaying weakness to be exploited.”

“I think they already know that. However, last I checked, it is in your _job description_ to tell me these things. I need to hear them long before when you usually wait to tell me. It is not complaining, if it is your duty to do so. Understand?”

The look Zevran gave him could only be considered ‘crotchety’, “While I understand the sentiment and context, putting it into action is not quite the same, yes? First and foremost I am a Crow, no matter what, by more than training, and unless I am collapsing from it, then it cannot be so bad, now can it?”

“No. I think that you have misunderstood, willfully,” added with a growl of his own. “The job you have been hired to do, is to tell me when things aren’t working after a reasonable time. Shall we now define what reasonable is? If you are going without uninterrupted sleep, it is no longer reasonable. If you suddenly feel the need to shout, guess what, no longer reasonable. If there is no breathing space for you to hear your own thoughts, not reasonable either. No time for your sparring, still not reasonable. It is your job to tell me first before it becomes unreasonable, or just after. I am very happy to beat back all comers and have their attention and anger focused on me, but because of this rather thick helmet, I can’t always see the dragon.”

“You are very stubborn and quite sexy when aggressive and growling, _amante_ ,” vague amusement. “I will seek to do as my job requirements well...require, but I am like you in that I too have my own habits and failings, hmn?”

Rumbling, “So you have said, old man. Just don’t forget who your shield is and,” giving Zevran squeeze, “that he gets upset when someone’s moving in on his job description.”

“ _Como desees, guapo._ ” 

As Ferox had been the one doing evenings previously, after story time and goodnight kisses and hugs, the adults were off duty and Lightning with a scratch behind her ears was posted inside the children’s cabin. After the door closed, Ferox gave a look to Zevran, “You have a moment to yourself before we all try to cram ourselves into bed, that did not come out right, but you know what I mean.” Nearly sticking his tongue out at Moira who snickered and he instead settled on a crinkled nose and pursed lips. “Water is heating for a bath...or at least a sponge bath for both of you and I’m going to climb the ropes to find us a healer. Now, fly be free.”

His lover shook his head with a laugh before darting off and making good on that freedom. Moira was not far behind after a kiss to Ferox’s cheek. 

No, Ferox was not about to mess with climbing ropes, so instead he called up to her through the amulet. _’Stories are over and children are sleeping. It is nearly time for bed, will you come join us?’_

_’If you like Gaeaf. This one will come down.’_

He had not watched the healer climb before, or perhaps hadn’t thought about it, but she was very agile and unafraid. Most mages would not have thought about sitting up there. Perhaps it was an elven desire to climb a tree and thus be able to see more. Swinging down, she wrapped her arm around his waist as they walked back to the door, and he informed her, “Zevran and Moira are washing up, so you’ll have time to get a bite to eat, you forgot to come down for dinner.”

_’It was sunny and this one was in a good spot in the story she was reading. Food can always wait.’_ As if she knew what his next words would be, _’As a Warden you need food. **Emma reth** , Alistair, has said the same. This one has always needed sun and sleep, food is third. But she is hungry now,’_ given as a peace offering.

“Fine, galley first, but I want to see food being eaten not played with.”

She snorted at him, _’This one is not Len and as she said, there is hunger.’_

As they sat in the galley and she picked through her plate finding the bits she wanted to eat first, Ferox had a slice of bread and cheese and questioned as to what she knew of the Vigil in her own story/layer. Apparently Loghain was spared and was the Warden Commander at the Vigil. Alistair had left the Wardens after she arranged for him to marry Anora and be king - as a result, he wasn’t speaking with her. Loghain and Riordan were in regular contact with her however. She knew of the Architect and the Mother, but hadn’t had personal contact with either, as those events occurred after she left Denerim with Sten. Ferox listed the names of Wardens at the Vigil during that time and she was aware of the core group, Oghren, Nathaniel, Anders, Sigrun, and Justice, but of Velanna, he was met with a brick wall of a blink. Either Loghain didn’t let the elf take the Joining or there was something else. Varel was known to her, but again, other than those who were companions during the Blight, she did not know them personally. 

To keep her eating, Ferox ran through the names Wardens at ‘his’ Vigil and advised of what they had done to make use of everyone. He told of his and the Wardens’ actions during the attacks of darkspawn and for some reason was rather pleased that his own actions were very similar to Loghain’s. The Architect lived, something they both regretted, and learning of the Mothers changed many things. Neither Riordan nor Loghain would seek their deaths in the Deep Roads either. Ferox was disappointed that he could not have spared Loghain at the Landsmeet, but at the time, the Warden he could control and make happy, was better than his hero who would make things difficult, and already had done so. Uncomfortable choices, but as Duncan was so fond of saying - _Maker damn him_ \- the Wardens will do, would do, had already done, anything to overcome a Blight.

As the little healer stopped eating, and eventually stopped picking at the plate, only drinking her tea, Ferox finished his story. Gathering a tray for more tea, he followed her back to the cabin, as she opened and closed the intervening doors. Keeping the girl ‘entertained’, his purpose was to give Zevran time to coo over Moira, _Or whatever you would call that not falling over himself thing he did...’course he wasn’t falling all over himself. Zevran is graceful and very coordinated. And butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Jealous? Of what? Of the butter. No. When I could do that, I didn’t like who I was then and besides that he makes me melt in his mouth. Especially after he’s had a nap. I like naps. I know. Be quiet - there won’t be any of that until at least tomorrow. Sigh._

Entering the cabin, noting that as predicted the ‘cooing’ was going on, he set the tray on the table and poured the tea before toeing off his boots and settling in his chair. After refilling her mug, the healer sat of the arm of the chair, _’You should join them, Gaeaf._

_’Why?’_ Watching Zevran kiss Moira’s stomach and when he wasn’t doing that, he was whispering while rubbing his hand over the same spot. _’It will be soon enough for my turn.’_

The eyes turned on him, _’Because you don’t actually take your turn. Yes, you hold her when you sleep and you breathe in her scent, but you do not show her that this **da’len** is a good thing. Your caring is different from his and always will be, but yours does not include the **da’len**. The Mamae knows this and it worries her. Worry is very bad for the **da’len** and upsets the Mamae and her stomach more.’_

_Don’t sigh. Don’t, oh frell. ‘Fine. I will include the **da’len** , as you say, but I will not do it now. It is also good not to be crowded and for them to have time alone with each other. They were together before Zevran and I. Before you go off on that, I am not saying that makes it more important, just that it is okay for that time to be separate.’_

She matched his sigh, _’As long as you have your own time, this one will leave it alone. However, this one would point out that it would be easier to believe, if you turned the page once in awhile. This **asha** has read it twice and is bored with it.’_

“This part,” pointing at a section to do with plants he was not familiar with that were used to keep away particular types of insects from the actual crop with was planted with the others, “was particularly interesting.”

_’Uh huh,’_ reaching over, she turned the page. _’Dill is good for this too. Marigolds...there are many. It depends on what you want to keep away. Drunken slugs are funny, but a waste of beer. Other plants grow well together, like basil and tomatoes. Or the three sisters.’_ At what must have been a very confused expression, she explained, _’Corn, beans, and pumpkin or other squash. The corn is planted in a hill of three or four plants, the beans climb up the corn so they keep clean and do not rot and the pumpkins grow underneath and keep the bugs away. Also the pumpkin and the beans provide things that the corn needs to grow better. This one was not always a Warden.’_

“Or lived in Ferelden. Corn doesn’t like having cold feet, which is why it is difficult to grow here...there. Which is why we have barley, clover and beans. But I was reading that coffee and peppers are often ‘interplanted’ like that too.”

A shrug, _’There is more than just one kind of corn. Some grow faster than others, some are sweeter than others, some which would grow very well in your cold Ferelden during your very warm summers, field corn. What the squash does is to shade the roots of the corn to keep the water from leaving so quickly and to keep the weeds away. The beans must be eaten with the corn or the people get sick and it gives good things to the corn when it grows. This one observed coconut palms, bananas, ginger, and other herbs in one interesting planting. That one was done by layers...how tall everything was, and protected those things which required shade. But corn is difficult on the soil and too much is not a good thing. More time is needed between growing it...other crops. Although planting it with stinky fish is good. Although dogs, and mabari, like to dig it up and roll in it.’_

“Fertilizer? I suppose it makes sense. Although we would just eat the fish. Even though catches are good, every bit is smoked or put away for the winter. There are always parts that are not eaten and could be used this way. The other is interesting too...planting in layers. An orchard could be put to better use and plants could be put in that would help the trees.” Ferox’s mind eagerly pulled the information in and but instead of his usual run off to start planning, he set it aside for his next balancing game, as it was something to look forward to to entertain his mind. After drinking his tea and putting away his book, Ferox got up to kiss Zevran and Moira and to arrange everyone for the night...especially since they would be trying the new sleeping arrangement to see if it would work better.

An armful of Moira, his lover next to him and sometime in the night Ferox’s arm pillowed Zevran’s head pulling his shoulder back to half lay on him. Ferox slept contentedly. It all went rather well, until the darkspawn entered his dreams and he roared awake, sitting up, and then suddenly couldn’t move. Adrenalin pumping through the bloodstream, his mind was very quick to assess the situation. He searched the room to find one Warden, then widened his senses to find nothing else, no darkspawn, no Archdemon. But he saw them, tasted them, knew they were here, they were there. The healer had flung herself over Zevran to cling to him...to hold him still, to paralyze him. 

Her eyes were the size of dinner plates as she repeated, _’ **Ar’abelas. Elle est désolée. Sie ist traurig. Lei è dispiaciuta. Ella es lo siento. Is est rumex**. She is sorry.’_

Moira, startled had pulled herself out of the way so he could get to the door unimpeded. Zevran had rolled from the bed and yanked the sheets away with a snap so there would be nothing to tangle Ferox’s legs. Everyone was safe, there was no danger. 

He had been told that the healer’s dreams were of the Archdemon, Zevran had also said that she was slow to wake up. But this was very fast, until he looked in her eyes and saw that really nobody was home. The action she had taken to still him with was either not her own or was a kneejerk response to danger. However, considering it more closely, it was calculated, planned, she hadn’t paralyzed Zevran or Moira, she did it to him. The one most likely to react negatively to an attack - _Maker!_ \- to a dream of the Archdemon. Mere moments had passed and the entire picture and puzzle was laid out before him, complete. 

Interrupting her, through gritted teeth, “Let me go.” Her apologies began to repeat. “Warden Dulsanaya, I will not hurt anyone. Let me go.” 

A blink and she stopped talking and the hold was removed. 

Ferox fell back to the bed and she fell with him, a rag doll, a puppet whose strings had been cut. Eyes, ones that usually twinkled and laughed at his ignorance or saw right through him were blank and the the emptiness in the link between them, in her, was frightening. He felt like he was looking into a wide and bottomless chasm with no features other than the impossibly huge gash in the ground that filled his entire vision. _Maker._

Another automatic responses came, _’What can this one do for you, Warden?’_

“Nothing. I don’t need anything. What was that?” he gasped.

Confusion rolled in the link toward him, a massive wave with an undertow threatening to drag him under. _She doesn’t know what you’re talking about!_ As another crash was about to envelope him, without thinking Ferox tore the chain from around his neck up over his head and let go of it. Silence, blessed silence. It felt good, until he realized how very alone he was and that a quick glance towards Zevran to see pain flit across the familiar face. The healer had covered her ears and the same anguished hurt was there but not concealed in any way. She lurched as if struck and scrambled backwards off of his legs onto the floor until her back was against a wall and her legs folded beneath her. Ferox’s head felt as if it were stuffed with down as his ability to hear, see, taste everything had been muted.

Turning to Moira, someone who looked almost normal to his senses, Ferox’s mind was still on high alert.Was there something he had picked up from her because she was an eligible candidate for the Joining? Because even his perception of her was slightly different. Was that possible? Softly, gently, “Moira, nothing is wrong. I just had a bad dream. Just close your eyes and doze, I have to fix this...or at least try. We won’t be loud.” As he spoke, Ferox covered her back up with the blanket and kissed her forehead and cheeks, a hand against her stomach rubbing lightly. Soothingly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Everything is okay.” When she nodded and closed her eyes, he kissed her again, knowing she was only settling in to give them the privacy and to let him know in her own quiet way that it was alright.

Picking up the amulet that was above his head on the mattress, he slipped it over his head. The change was immediate. Everything was brighter, clearer. This preserved thimbleful of blood enhanced every sense, adding colours and scents, and awareness to such a degree that he felt blind without it. Moira smelled delicious, sweet and peppery, he hadn’t noticed that before, not the intensity of it or the thickly enticing musk that inspired possessive and protective reactions with the arousal. Looking down at her he wanted to bury himself in her, wrapping that scent around himself, tasting her, hearing her cries, to cause the peppered sweetness to fill the room. As these thoughts nearly took hold of him and the desire to fulfill and do all of this was suddenly stilled only by Zevran’s relief and worry in the link. 

Ferox turned to to his lover and a greater wash of emotion, with even more intense need to answer the cravings which pulled at him, wanting the flavour of him, the texture of him, Ferox’s hands raised to pull the leggings from Zevran, to swallow him whole, desiring the hot brown skin, dark markings, yearning for the heat of the sun and to go blind with it... Looking up to the amber eyes, searching for the responding hunger, those eyes were not on him. Following the elf’s gaze to see what had captured his attention, Ferox was dragged into the healer’s swirling emptiness that was as deep and dark as before. Flinging up his arms to fend off the living shadows, he dug in his heels to avoid tumbling into what he recognized to be the Dead Trenches. Grasping for anything to stop the fall, flailing he clasped Zevran’s mental hand and found himself in the middle of a one-sided conversation.

_’ **Asha’len** , it is safe, let me hold you, I am right here, you can smell me, yes? Smell us, you are not alone,’_ his assassin was approaching the little healer slowly, no sudden movements but exuding an air of security, until he was sitting and gently tugging her into his lap. With a sure hand, brown fingers splayed out over her heart, _’It is alright, **mushu**. Take your time, Dulsanaya, I am here and will help you, yes?’_

She was stiff in Zevran’s arms, shrunk in on herself, bringing to Ferox’s mind that of a frightened and crouched rabbit, thinking that if only it kept still enough nothing could touch it. 

Zevran was splitting his attention, that much was obvious, _’You are safe, **querido**. She must have sensed your Taint in her sleep and sought to touch you and push it back, hmn?’_ Even as his lover spoke to him, he could hear him speaking to the elven Warden, two separate streams of thought, nearly confusing as it was almost like having the duplicate in the room - if the twisted mirror were impersonating Zevran’s more liquid flow rather than his usual terse and gravelly speech patterns. _’Go back to sleep if you can, **amora** , I will watch over you, yes?’_

_’That’s the bridge, or where it would have been, when we saw the Archdemon at the Trenches...in the Deep Roads and the river of darkspawn underneath the dragon... Maker, all of those torches. But the perspective is all wrong, she’s not looking from the ledge we stood on.’_ Muttering aloud, “That was a tower and a half.”

Zevran’s gaze slid from where it had been focused in his attempt to soothe the healer up to Ferox’s. _’Yes, as I said, **querido** , two perspectives. The soul of the Old God had to go somewhere, yes?’_

_’She’s not pregnant. Morrigan said...’_

Lips thinned, _’Morrigan was not the one to strike the blow, **amante.** Dulsanaya was, and yes, she was that as well, no, I will not go into further detail without her permission.’_

_You wanted to know. I’m sorry I asked...although, it wasn’t actually a question. True. But he knows us and probably didn’t wake up all that nice either so went the ‘expedient’ route and answered before we asked. What did he answer? Uh...she was pregnant, she probably lost it, she’s got an Old God’s soul inside her, and Morrigan had a baby rather than become...whatever the healer is. Okay, good, translation was necessary. I try to be useful. Do you realize what that means? Uh...I know it’s a bad thing. You have an extra demon in your ‘layer’ or whatever it is. I’d ask if we could go home right now, but I don’t know where that is anymore. Did you forget? It’s with him, them, all of them. That’s good, except for the wanting to go home part and already being there. I mean, where do you go when you’re already home? Archdemons scare the frell out of me. And darkspawn. Oh Maker... Ogres, I really hate them. Move. What? Move your feet. Go help. HOW? It doesn’t matter how, just be there. Where I’m here? You are the stupidest rock farmer I have ever met. Stand up, move your feet. Go help._ Slipping off the bed, Ferox sat on the floor behind Zevran and wrapped his arm around him, pulling both of them into his lap. 

The healer still had a hold on him, so going back to sleep was not an option. Thankfully, she wasn’t sharing, but that didn’t stop the vision of the deep dark hole playing out for him privately. _‘So this dream happens every night?’ Asking questions is not what I mean by helping. Sorry._

_’Unfortunately yes, **querido,** it does,’_ head lolling back to rest on his shoulder.

_’My plan isn’t going to work then.’ Time for a new plan then. What new plan? We were going to have the Wardens come with us so there could be sleep and bed without anybody else in it. Alistair would...oh Maker. Okay, okay, what about someone who didn’t see the Archdemon. I said Anders at the beginning. True. Oghren would be straight out, well duh. Someone optimistic? And self-contained? Uh, other than Zevran we don’t know anyone._

His lover had probably picked up on some of his thoughts, _’Sigrun, Anders - if warned, Nathaniel also would work. Those who have not dealt with the Archdemon, or those who have, but have sufficient...distance, yes? Sigrun is the best candidate overall, and Oghren would not be so bad, but she would constantly be ‘drunk’. And we would have to convince Felsi that nothing was going on, no?’_

_’Not to complain, but I’m pretty sure Nathaniel nor I want a drunk healer working on either of us. We might be the ones who wind up pregnant. Fun as Moira makes it sound. And Felsi, she’d kill us, no doubt about it.’_

_’ **Asha** would not do that...it is difficult.’_ The voice in link was almost slurred, as it had been in the basement of the embassy, when Ferox woke up drunk and she was singing...loudly. 

Zevran grunted with faint amusement, _’Just as well then, yes?’_

With a drunken roll to her head, the healer looked up at them, eyes still mostly empty. _’Ships are bad, you are not this one’s own, and he is a Warden with Morrigan’s touch, a different one, not this one’s own. These things have already been said, here in this place. It is night.’_

_Was she reviewing what she knew? ‘Warden, you were having a bad dream. Can we go back to sleep now?’_

_’Sleep is first with sun.’_

Ferox whispered, “I’m going to take that as a yes. Please tell me that’s a yes.”

_’Go back to sleep, **amante,** , I will watch you both, yes? Rest,’_ face turning to kiss him. 

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” A momentary realization, “You do this every night...no, not like this.” His mind was slowing down, the fight or flight reaction was wearing off. “The difference was I touched her...or she, me.”

Dulsanaya answered, _’The amulet was touched - you touched his. The stronger pull is a Warden’s Taint. It was not prepared for, no tray set aside...no memory to hold onto. But one has been made now, yes?’_

_If any of that’s a good thing, and this doesn’t happen again, then I hope so._ Isolating Zevran, _‘So, how do you do this...every night... I mean, you were there, you saw these things too. This is stronger than just a nightmare, it’s like the ones during the Blight.’_

_’I am able to break free of it, distance myself, contain it and give balance to her,’_ a faint shrug.

Fingers rubbing the mental cat’s chin, belying his words, _’You know, instead of sitting around being bored that entire time, you might have actually been useful, once or twice.’ Every single night._ A tight hug, _’If she’s only been with us for a short time and we’re already coming up with alternatives, how the frell does the duplicate do this and apparently **has** done this for years?’_

A good natured chuckle, _’Perhaps once or twice if I could have been bothered. Hmn. I do not think much of anything frightens Dassan, yes? It is also seeing into his future, rather than looking behind, no? He will take all that information, catalogue it, and squeeze every last advantage that he can from it. He will not let this go to waste, yes?’_

_’That is, would have been, very useful. Disturbing and sleepless, but yes, I can see where it would have been very helpful for planning purposes. Perhaps it also would have been wise to find out if there is anything that makes her sleep without dreams.’_

_’If there was, it would have been mentioned, no?’_

_’So it was either a complement to your skills that you could, of course, handle this or find a way out of it. Or, and I must admit this one is my favourite, it was his clever ploy to get some much needed uninterrupted sleep.’_

_’Perhaps it is so, hmn? And I say again, **mi hermoso corizon** , you should probably get some sleep, hmn? You will be having to play ‘grouchy Daddy’, as as soon as she is up and on her own, I will need some rest for myself,’_ sighing.

It was a dark rainy morning and ‘playing’ ‘grouchy Daddy’ wasn’t difficult. Ferox left the sleepers to their sleep, scruffy and pulling yesterday’s tunic over his head. Hearing the chattering, he spoke to Lightning through the door before opening it and releasing her to run outside for a minute. Grabbing Len before he bolted out the door too, he put on his best grumpy face. “Ser Len, clothes on first, then breakfast, then a wash up.”

Big eyes were looking up at him giving their best innocent look, along with the hefty squirm to try and get out of washing behind his ears, “Daddy - pway?” 

“Pway, what?” blowing on Len’s brown belly while pulling off the nightshirt over his head. 

A giggle and squirm, ‘helping’ with the ties for his trews, “Pwaaay! Wun awound und pway! Paddycakuh?”

“Nope. Clothes, potty, wash hands and face, breakfast, and wash after.”

_That is a seriously grumpy look,_ as he watched his son work it through. “Pway laturh? We wun? Jumpies? _Donde estas Papi No mi gustho..._ ” [Play later? We run? Jumpies? Where is Papi? I don’t like this!] 

The ‘r’s still seemed to give his son problems, as well as the ‘l’s following a consonant. And Ferox didn’t even want to think about translating toddler-speak-Antivan beyond wanting Zevran, who was probably less ‘grouchy’. _Oh my boy, if you only knew._

“ _Il dort_. He sleeps. You’re stuck with me for now, _mon fils_ [my son].” 

“ _Non!_ ” clearly gearing up for a cranky day himself.

“ _Oui_ , no more arguing or you get a time out.” Girls were throwing clothes on under the covers even as Ferox’s back was turned for their privacy. “Lightning is going to be waiting for us, wanting her breakfast and she has been a good dog. We do not make good dogs wait. Pants on, first right leg then then left.” Popping Len’s tunic over his head before more ‘no’s’ could be given regarding who should be dressing him, Ferox offered a choice, “Boots on? _Oui ou non_ [Yes or no]?”

“ _Non!_ ” 

“ _Comme tu le souhaite_ as you wish, _mon garçon grincheux_ [my grumpy boy]. Girls?” over his shoulder, “Are you ready?”

“Yes Uncle Fox,” Elissa was already out and brushing her hair, while a still sleepy Eleanor leaned against her sister’s back, dressed at least.

Lightning was outside the door waiting to escort the girls, while he took Len in hand. ‘Grumpy Daddy’ distracted and praised and did not live up to his title until it was time to wash. Tired, the squirming and fussing during the wash did get a growl, “Len, hold still to _lave toi visage_ , wash your face. Your hands are clean now - twice is enough for the ‘ABCD song’.”

“Daddy - MoiMoi _y Papi no me haguh wavo! [Daddy - MoiMoi and Papi don’t make me wash!]”_

“Uh huh, which is why you are always so clean, especially behind your ears. Does Light lick them with great big slurpy kisses?” _You remember? I remember, he was in a bucket. That’s what earned Zevran that Remigold apron. Don’t even crack a smile, else the boy will think you are giving in. Good catch._

Len growled then woofed and giggled, pleased with himself.

Second ear cleaned, he tossed the boy over a shoulder for a piggyback ride and went in search of the girls and Lightning. The girls were fairly independently gathering their breakfast, and Light, who had made friends with the cook, was daintily eating hers with a great deal of grace rather than eagerly wolfing it down, instead she picked which part she would eat first and then move onto the next morsel. Taking directions over his ear, Ferox assembled breakfast for Len and himself and they met the girls at a table. 

“Scooch over, Len,” setting the dishes out before returning tray. 

_Coffee and sugar and milk. Mmm. Happy? I suppose...why are you asking? No reason. May I remind you that Len would like to play and it’s raining, dare I say pouring, on deck. And we weren’t stopping either. Oh, for a sunny island. Well, didn’t Zevran want to go to Brandel’s Reach? Yes, but he was combining that with the Antivan trip. Agriculture, mild marine climate...well on the Waking Sea side next to the other smaller islands. The ocean side can get rather wild storms coming off the water. Back to Len. Right...let me have breakfast and you think about it. Jump-rope. Dancing and music making, uhh...been awhile since you’ve done this, eh? Possibly. Fergus and I played out battles and hunting, swam in the ocean, cold as it was, skipped rocks, climbed trees, jumped out of the hay loft...and got your bottoms spanked for that...tag, of course, sand castles, ‘Get away from the Orlesians’ - lots of sneaking around in that one and ‘fear’ of being caught and put to work by the adults, err ‘Orlesians’ - not really a game we want to teach when trying to make nice with them...or pretend to make nice as we can._

“Len, eggs in the mouth, not behind the ears...no wonder they need washing. Elissa that colour looks very nice on you. Thank you, Eleanor, I would love another piece of toast.” _This reminds me of trying to keep up with Zevran. Didn’t know it was actual training, did you?_ “Elissa, Eleanor, what would you like to do today?” Hearing the beginning of a repeat of what Len wanted, Ferox reminded, “Ah-ah, Len you already said and I have heard you. It is the girls’ turns, then we will talk and decide, yes?” 

___“I don’t know, but I’m bored Uncle Fox. We’ve played Wicked Grace until we’re almost as good as Papa,” Elissa thunked her chin into her palm._ _ _

_Eleanor sighed too, another forlorn sound. “I don’t want to use up all my pages.”_

“Umm, have you done a play? Acted out a story or a faerie tale, written the lines, found costumes, assigned parts? I can drum up an audience to watch it tonight. We could have refreshments. Or I overheard that the cooks are baking today, something about a good brown bread, churning sweet butter, and gingerbread cookies. Or you could publish a newsletter with what things are happening today and tomorrow. It could be posted by the galley so that everyone could read it to find out what is for dinner, count down the days to Amaranthine, track the weather, maybe even interview somebody on board or could make pictures or maps. I have more paper for all of these things, Eleanor, do not be concerned.” 

What followed started off as a slightly listless idea that gained speed, until they were all embroiled in the planning. There would be a play the next night, and little refreshments made that the children would help the cook with. Of course it helped that the treats would focus on fish, as the Crows tended to find fishing as a nice way to pass time, taking out one of the row boats and having it trail with a long rope, allowing them to stay close enough and, of course the side benefit, to fish. _And probably to get away from the rest of the people. Smart little bastards._ So fresh fish based treats would be had and other little goodies to go with the play, and it would all be posted up in the galley. The girls ran off to find people to ask questions of, Len trotting after with Light herding him. _Exercise, imagination, writing, learning...I dare anybody could find fault. Cranky...err Grumpy Daddy is on duty and doing a damn fine job._

___Tuckered out, Len fell asleep and Ferox carried his loose-limbed sprawling body to bed while the girls trailed behind talking of the plan. As the the girls wrote and drew, with Lightning posted at the door, Ferox joined Len for a nap. Listening to the soft chatter, a hand on the boy’s back after he had nestled in, all was very peaceful for a time._ _ _

As the small body stirred under his hand, Ferox opened his eyes to find Len looking at him. _Enjoy the moment, that’s how long this will last._ The curiosity, the ‘oh it’s not Moi’, all written plainly on the little face. Ferox loosed a sigh as he heard what woke them however. All was not well at the table. 

Keeping a hold of Len who would either ‘help’ or ‘not help by helping’, “Elissa. Eleanor. Stop now.” As the reasons came, ‘But, she...’ ‘But I...’ Grumpy Daddy growled. _Bound to happen. They need a day to run screaming on shore. What they don’t need is another day trapped inside. Me either._ “Snack time, I’m hungry. Eleanor, you hold Len’s hand. Elissa, you’re with me, please.”

As Lightning, Eleanor, and Len skipped ahead, Uncle Fox engaged Elissa and asked about the fishing and interviews, occupying the older girl without the interference of the younger children. As they sat down, he kept Elissa next to him and Len across from her so it was less likely that the girls would irritate each other. _You ser, must have had a brother and a few cousins. Don’t bite, stay calm. You never let me do anything. Not true, you got to yell last night, woke me up even. Not fair, I was asleep. Me too. Is this a snack or lunch? Don’t care, there’s no fighting and they are happy for the moment. Okay, I can live with that. And it’s not sweets...’actual vegetables’, as Zevran would say._

“Hmm, something smells good,” Zevran entered a bounce to his step, leaned in and kissed Ferox’s cheek. “Yes, you smell good, but no, that is not the good smell. Hmmmn, is it you?” a kiss to a Elissa’s temple and a quick sniff. “No, no, you are sweet, but not it... Hmmn...is it _you_ Eleanor?” Another smooch and a sadly shaken head, “No it is not you either...Hmmn...what could it be...?”

“Papi! Papi!” Len bounced up and down a few times to get noticed.

“Oh? Do you think it is you, _mijo_? Let us see, hmn?” and the assassin curled down to hug the boy, peppering kisses all over a giggling face and neck. “Auck! No, it is not you! Sweet and tasty as you are!” Sniffing, nose in the air, Zevran ‘searched’ until he got to the cook. “You - it is you! You have what smells so good...” batting away the playfully aimed swat of a wooden spoon, Zevran lifted the lid on the soup pot. “Be still my beating heart! Taro - purple yam pudding, give me a bowl!”

“It’s for tomorrow’s breakfast!” the cook protested with rolled eyes. “It’s not even done - I haven’t put in the milk yet.” 

“Do I look as though I care? Some rice that you have on that I see, some other vegetables on a plate, whatever, hand me that, but give me a bowl of this first,” gesticulating with the lid. “And keep a good portion aside that has no milk, the flock and I will not touch it after you ruin it with your Orlesian inspired need for milk in such a naturally fine dish.”

Swarmed on his return, Eleanor and Len ‘made room’ for Zevran. _Did it just get brighter in here? Yep._ Touch, everyone had to touch him. _Look, even Elissa stretching out her foot to touch to his knee. Even you dummy. Hey! What - you didn’t notice your foot shift to press against his? ‘Good morning.’_

The children had forgotten their previous bickering and unhappiness and were all talking at once, telling about their day, the great plan, the play, the paints, paper, fishing from the boats. Taking another slice of bread, he recognized that he had just stopped watching Zevran and was instead watching the reactions of the people around him. Ferox knew what Zevran would do, the question was, what way others would act in response. This was not to say that he was bored, not at all, it was just that he had discovered another depth, a slightly different angle through which to watch his lover.

_’Good morning to you as well, my handsome husband,’_ a bare, brown foot rubbing up his pants’ leg to touch an ankle. “Oh that is exciting, hmn?” Each person was acknowledged, more than one conversation going on, and not at all appearing as though he were missing any statements, able to reply to all. As well as touching, touching more subtly than the little healer, but just as much of it. “Auck, Len your face, it is so clean, hmn? How very handsome you look. Were you good? Elissa, Eleanor, that is an extremely good idea, Ferox you were genius to come up with that one, yes? Light, you look so sleek today, the rain did you some good, I take it?”

_How does he do it? Juggle so many? No idea. One can be too much for me. Which is why Len would rather not see you in the morning and everyone tiptoes around. Oh shut up. It’s true. Raincloud - you mean snowstorm - makes the sun look better. Liar. He looks much better than you do. Okay, I give, you win. Now go away._ Ferox couldn’t keep track of all of the conversations and had to focus on two then one because for each response there was another chorus. No wonder today had seemed quiet, _they_ had been quiet. _Look, just because one way is good, doesn’t mean another way is bad. ‘You appear to have slept.’_

_’Yes, and well enough in spite of it being alone, hmn?’_ merry gold eyes blotted out the memory that outside it was steel grey and dismal as there was a blast of sunshine in the galley. 

_’Alone? I left you with a woman under each arm. Few would consider that lonely.’_

Snorting, _’Dulsanaya was quite awake, and went up to a perch atop a large pile of rope, watching the skies, yes? Armand is watching her watch nothing in particular, so she is safe, no? And Moira only remained for a time, retreating to her room to embrace the chamberpot vigorously. I had offered to remain with her, but she did a fair impression of yourself when pushed, **querido.** Tchk, the growling must be a Ferelden thing.’_

_’’A Ferelden thing?’ I assure you my good man, had you left the ice coating on, your ‘helpfulness’ would have just skidded off, no growling required or even necessary...that said, Moira’s coating is warm and good natured and, unfortunately, very thin.’_

_’So much growling, snarling, rumbling, snapping - are all of you animals, hmn? It is as though I am in a menagerie of happily rumbling animals all waiting for a pat and a foot to sleep on, **querido** ,’_ amused and completely serious. 

_’Says the cat looking for a mattress and a great deal of rubbing.’_

Stabbing a large chunk of oddly coloured...thing...that looked like a potato and dipping it in some sort of garlic and red sauce, _Chili - he calls it chili paste. Oh Maker I remember that stuff - ugh, better him than me! I told you he was crazy,_ before biting into it, _’But a cat is quite a different thing, **amora**. Cats do whatever they please with no one able to tell them what to do. However, Tigress used to love to play fetch. Or if you said ‘Tigi where is your baby’ she would go get her little stuffed dolly and clean it. Quite endearing, no?’_

_’Sounds obedient to me.’_

_’Pfaugh, no. She stole things all the time, and she would either lead you to them if asked, or she would look at you as though to say ‘you find it yourself, for my amusement’.’_

_’Let me guess, in Antiva, they teach bears to wear funny hats and dance wearing frilly dresses for the amusement of the populace, too?’_

_’I never did much care for bear baiting, but yes, they do,’_ more food was consumed, second helpings were had, and a third much smaller one followed, nibbled slowly as the first was probably to sate hunger, the second to get enough and the third was to actually enjoy it. 

_Let it go. You, too, are low on sleep and snapping is bad, not to mention that it would surprise as he is being playful._ “Elissa, while you were interviewing, did you find someone to play music tomorrow?” 

___She perked up, “Yes! Alois and Tyronne know how to play drums and flute.”_ _ _

___Remembering her carefully kept notes, “Eleanor, did you find anything else that might be helpful?”_ _ _

___“Armand knows how to sing, so do the sailors, but Armand said those songs wouldn’t be good,” tapping her chin in thought as she sipped from her little cup of tea._ _ _

___The play had bought some distraction from literal cabin fever, as Len got himself worked up for an actual one, which was healed, but on the other hand was still leaving him tired and a bit miserable. Zevran had got it into his head that sleeping in shifts would work best, even if it did not afford much time alone for he and Ferox. But at least it meant that if Ferox came in for the tail end of Zevran’s shift when Moira would finally be steady enough to take the children for an hour or so entirely on her own, that he could have a nap or some quality time with his lover, fulfilling both their needs for closeness without interruption._ _ _


	30. Choose Your Battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two of the Zevathon! [Dream](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3594849/chapters/7929153) receives it's first 'real' update for public view, in, like, EVER, and Briala's [Crumbs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3601389) which she wrote for the [People of Thedas](http://peopleofthedas.dreamwidth.org/) Sugar and Spice challenge several years ago, has been posted. We are now coming to the point where things posted will likely be a little rougher if the whole 'Hey, Rhion, flood Ao3 for the Zevathon' thing is to be maintained.

[Ferox]

A bad squall had come up, forcing them to take shelter at a small natural harbour on the island closest to Amaranthine in the archipelago of Brandal’s Reach. As bad as it had been, the children, Lightning, Zevran and Moira had all wound up piled into Ferox’s cabin, quiet as mice for the worst of it, with their lanterns doused, they had waited in the dark. Dulsanaya had been half attached to the mast, checking in with Zevran or Ferox periodically, but she had been focused on doing _something_ , communing with the ship he supposed, and had had no interest in joining them. Once the squall had broken, the ship limped to Brandal’s Reach for new canvas and more rope, revealing the port to be a lawless place for the most part.

Zevran had seemed half at home there.

Meanwhile it gave them all the respite to free themselves of the ship for a few days while fresh water was restocked, and non-essential, but pleasant additions of more fruits and vegetables, grown locally for the most part, to their stock. Also a tidy profit had been made, turning the loss of coin for those additions and repairs into a null. Ferox had looked over the town made his assessments, knew that some sort of military presence would be needed to bring the island into the Ferelden fold properly, but how to go about it, when for so long the people had considered themselves part of Ferelden but not accountable to the laws of the country? Or, more importantly, the taxes.

When Ferox mentioned that to Zevran, his lover had suggested letting it be a tax free port, a place for naval training and maneuvers, and to eventually put builders in place so that actual, sturdily constructed residences and shops could be had. Due to the harsh seasonal storms, Armand had suggested building homes into the mountains, much like his native city of Bastion had, in steps down towards the harbour, and tiered farmland as well. Fresh water irrigation would be an issue until enough runestones were made, but that could all be seen to later. The ‘best’ news, at least as Zevran had put it, was that the area was good enough to produce coffee, cocoa, and sugarcane if the land were tended appropriately.

The real relief came when they landed in Amaranthine. Dulsanaya, after advising them to check the belly port side for weakened timbers, had scampered off like a child as soon as they got to the Vigil, exploring everywhere, touching all the Wardens, pulling them to stop and talk to her. Her ‘pinging’ came hourly instead of every ten minutes or as the worst days had been, constant, allowing the buzzing in Ferox’s head settle into some semblance of order. The first thing he did was haul Zevran off to the bath, letting the children find their own haunts within the Vigil, Len attached to Moira’s skirts, and the flock going straight to the training hall to ‘check’ and make sure any Wardens and recruits were still ‘up to snuff’.

Halfway to the bath, Zevran spun Ferox to a halt, pressing him against a tapestry covered wall, and yanked him in for a kiss. Parting with a relieved groan, _’I have been wanting to do that for hours it seems like, no?’_

Ferox had to gather his wits under that blast and remind himself they were _still_ in a hallway. _’Days, weeks for me. Or was it months? Even with the ‘naps’.’_

A chuckle, and Zevran pushed him back on track, a hand on his shoulder the only warning before the lithe body was leaping upon his back, face pressed into the side of his neck, _’Alone, we are alone, yes, to the baths my beautiful steed - and make haste!’_

_’Plow horse with an imaginary cactus...all alone...this is the Fade...all we are missing is a whale and a bowl of petunias. Please tell me that there are not forty people sleeping in our bed already or anybody in the tub. My kingdom may be small, but give me bath and bed with only you for the evening and I’ll be at ease.’_

That earned him a rolling purr and nuzzle followed by a light nip, _’All you have to do is get us to the bloody bath, **amora** , and then we shall have what we so desperately need.’_

Chuckling, _’Now, love, if you have begun to collect and bathe in the blood of your victims, I don’t know if I can officially condone that. However, if it helps with your forever youth, perhaps I can be bribed to look the other way. As they say, every man has their price. I warn you though, mine is just rather high.’_

_’I am not some Orlesian countess, **querido** , so do not fear, hmn? I bathe only in your glory and attentions. And water. Or the blood of your enemies, hmn?’_ one hand was rubbing Ferox’s chest, the other in his hair, rubbing at the scalp, while a very contented yet demanding growl was breathed in his ear. “Why are we not at the baths already, _amante_?” came with that growl, tickling every single auditory nerve on the way to his brain.

Ferox nearly twitched, _You did. Nearly. Nope, you did._ “Probably because you distracted me when I reached the stairs and I had to turn around. This, I am certain, you did on purpose just to see if you could. Typical.”

“I will have you know, good ser, that I did no such thing, you are simply excitable, hmn?” teasingly.

“You have no idea,” muttered. “Wait! I take that back! I like going up the stairs, not falling down them.”

A low thrumming chuckle, “Then you had best hurry before what little patience I have left flies the coop, no?”

Huffing up the stairs to third floor, “Patience the hen. Good idea. Did you gain weight on our trip, lazing about? I think Dassan would be pleased. Either that, or I need to climb more stairs.”

A very displeased sound, “I should hope it is the latter! Being Consort is terrible for your muscle tone apparently if carting my slender self around is so trying.”

“Well, having lazed about on ship myself, I’m caught up on my reading for the next few years...or until I refill my bookshelves when we get back,” reaching the top of the stairs.

_’Stairs are a splendid thing, as is climbing castle walls, no?’_

“No. And if you tell me you climb the Fort, I don’t want to know about that either.”

“But it has such lovely toe and finger-holds,” protesting laughter accompanied by a tightening of arms and legs in a backwards hug. “Though yes, you are quite right - you and heights should not be friends, _amante._ ”

Drawling, “Oh we’re friends alright,” opening the door to the bath, which was close to the Commander’s Suite, meaning his bedroom and office. _And a such lovely hike up the stairs. You forgot the excellent view of the training yard from that room._ “Kinda like the kid in the village that yer mother warns ya ta stay away from, ‘cause he always gets ya into trouble. Never a good idea, but ya just can’t seem ta say no.” _You are not fooling anyone. Wasn’t trying to. Okay then, carry on._

Zevran only grunted, busy trying to worm himself out of his clothes without separating from Ferox. Which was a rather difficult, if somewhat amusing endeavour. One that was also hampering Ferox’s own pursuits.

“So what’s her name, the elf mage who makes the runestones...I know, not Dagna...give me a minute. She made a few of little ones, nothing as intricate as what the dwarf is making, and put them on the pipes. So with the tanks on the roof, and our usual plentiful, dare I say generous, amounts of rain, the Vigil has hot and cold gravity fed water.” Ferox recalled the name, finally, “Ambassador Cera, from the Circle. I figured we’d keep Dagna working on her pet project.” Looking down at his lover, who, although was making progress on his own clothes, kept getting in the way, “Not to complain,” stealing a kiss, “but when I have, as Len says, ‘fool hands’, I’m just not as fast as usual. You might actually have to let go.”

It was a decidedly grumpy sound that his lover made, but Zevran relinquished his possessive death grip. He was working on folding clothes as soon as Ferox had them off, setting them aside in the exact spot Ferox would if Zevran had only waited but a few moments more. _Impatient, isn’t he? Yes. And you’re not at all impatient either? Take a long walk off a short pier. Very generous of you, we’ll survive. Was counting on it._

Everything off and put where it should so he could be free, arms and hands were back around and on each other. In a swaying dance, Ferox steered Zevran backwards to the room where a fire had already been laid to keep bathers warm, “Bath first and you’re going to like this, scads of hot water and the stone tub I had them put in, is large enough for three and a child, a party which we will _not_ be having today.” _Now if only we could find a hot springs that could be used to heat the place like the Peak. However, then Denerim would not be able to hold me, which might cause problems._

Zevran in his arms was nearly as squirmy as Len in his need to get closer, nipping and licking at his chest, _’That is good, yes? No shows for others, hmn...’_

Laughing, “No exhibitions, I assure you.”

His lover tugged him to the bath, not paying attention as Ferox fiddled with the knobs, _’Good, I do not want them looking at you, **mi hermoso corizon.** You are mine, yes? Not theirs.’_

“Ah, so you are just keeping me safe from ridicule, then?” After the proper direction to turn the valve was found, the water, hot as promised, began to fill the deep tub. “It is good of you to protect me so.”

Zevran looked up from his ‘inspection’ - which really translated into rubbing his face all over Ferox’s chest - to pin him with a look, hands framing his face. “Believe me, _guapo_ , no one would ever ridicule you for performance or looks, hmn? I assure you, I have _no_ , complaints about either, _amante_.”

Turning his face to kiss a palm, “If you are happy, then so am I. I’ve said before, and will say again, I want nothing more than you. Now, come and dip your hot house toes and tell me if this is warm enough for you.”

There was a hiss as a brown foot sank in slowly, the second following quickly, and his assassin eased into the tub gingerly, sweat breaking out on his upper lip already. With a long groan, “Oh yes, this takes me back to the bath houses...”

Pouring two mugs of cool water and setting them within reach along with the pitcher, Ferox joined him - _Hot hot hot hot hot!_ “Tell me about this thing that you have said Fereldens would rather die than enter.”

The sloshing of nearly scalding water up his chest as Zevran scooted closer to him, almost made _him_ hiss. But his assassin quickly distracted him with words and images, “Ah, there is one every few streets, some are small, some are quite large, yes? Bathers are not separated by sex, or age, though there are some areas set aside for those of a more...shall we say, ‘amorous’ age, while there is often another area for those with small children who cannot swim yet. Sunken tubs, artificial pools - ah, there is one that has what appears to be a lovely grotto, waterfalls, plants, polished stone seats to look like boulders, quite beautiful, also, very exclusive and expensive, yes? - steam rooms, cooling areas, with icy water for your throat and feet. Everyone is nude, or mostly nude. There are slaves who can give you a massage, younger ones - pretty youths and maidens, yes? Some Crows too I may add - pass by with scented oils and soaps for your use, or platters of snack and drink. Or to provide other services, hmn?” 

Eyes closed, head resting against Ferox’s shoulder, a hand stroking his thigh, “There is always someone to help wash your back or hair, be they paid or patron, stranger or friend. No one cares about the lack of attire, we are all equal in the Maker’s eye, as the saying goes, it is not some scandalous thing, some shameful thing. Nudity is also not sexualized the same way I believe as it is for you Fereldens. Understandable I suppose, seeing as that is just about the only time any of you remove your clothes... Wynne was horrified when I told her adults and children bathe at the same time, she had the audacity to tell me that that was sick. Do you have any idea how many minutes it took me to come up with _why_ she would find it sick? And then to my horror I figured it out, and then _I_ felt ill that anyone would even _think_ that way! Ugh. Yes, as I said, Fereldens are touched in the head on such subjects.” There was an extremely indelicate and put out snort, “And she always said that _I_ had only one thing upon my mind! I believe she was just titillated over such frankness and honesty, as it was _she_ who came up with that sickness, ugh. I will not say such things do not happen, but not in such open areas, as it _is_ a shameful thing for an adult to do to the vulnerable, and not well tolerated by society.”

“Wynne is herself, and thankfully, in most instances, helpful. Although why you brought up such a topic with her, other than wishing to shock her into a heart attack, I will not profess to know. However, it does explain why every Antivian on the island was itching to get undressed, yes I notice some things, but only when I have to. Don’t tell anyone though, I have a reputation to uphold. But let me see if I understand...aren’t there bathing facilities at the individual houses or just this community bath? And isn’t that rather vulnerable for a society where anyone could be a Crow, Ferelden’s current situation notwithstanding?”

A waved hand, “In homes and apartment buildings yes, but the public ones are much nicer, no? It was because I went to bathe when they did, because it is... I am accustomed, or was, hmn? to communal things. To be alone is...unpleasant, yes? Alistair thought I was staring at him when we bathed, Sten would growl, and Oghren would make drunken overtures and give insults left and right, which meant that I could not bathe with _them_ , so I went to the women, yes? And when she said that I was being...’preposterously invasive and lecherous’ I said that communal bathing was the norm, from children to oldster,” he shrugged. “She fussed and yelled at me for several long minutes, there was even a threat of a spell, while our fair Bard was laughing, and the lovely Witch was rolling her eyes, as neither of them seemed to care about my half-undressed state all that much.”

“Oh!” Ferox laughed. “You ‘came too close’ when she was bathing! I do remember hearing that yell of ‘Zevran!!’” continuing to laugh. “When you called back that all was well, I did not go further to look.” Imagining Wynne’s face, that disapproving frown, he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Yes, well, it left me bathing alone since I had been so vociferously shoo’ed away.” Zevran was clearly nonplussed, “The worst punishment the Guild would give us was to lock us in a small or very large space, alone. Food would be given through a box, no interaction, completely solitary. No room for anything other than our own thoughts. Depending on the Crow being punished, that could mean we were given pen and paper or books, or simply nothing but a hard floor to sleep upon, or even luxury, hmn? To be alone is...unpleasant as I have said, _querido._ There are some whose minds crack after only a day or two, some it takes longer, and leaves different scars, no? To be utterly isolated from the group... It is akin to dying and being forced to remain walking the earth anyway, no?”

“Which is why you were always within hearing? Yes, I noticed, or rather, Horse noticed, but as he didn’t react, well...a deer or Zevran, and a deer would have been dinner in short order. Since you weren’t talking, a rare occurrence then, I didn’t care.”

Lips tilted, “He was a good friend to me during those days, and he let me wash _him_ without protest, as I did not slather him in suds and saddle soap, hmn? Just a good sand scrubbing to get off any mess from the day.”

“Dust bath, chickens, wolves. So, company both intimate and otherwise is a reason to go to the baths, of course being clean...what else? Food, oils, drinks...sounds like a tavern, brothel, and a family picnic in the park all rolled into one.”

“That is not too far off, and a rather apt description, no? We are social creatures, we need others to help us maintain context, partially a holdover from old ways, the large population and how central it is, and bits of the Qun, hmn? Antivans see someone walking alone or sitting alone or eating alone, their first instinct is to provide context, company, yes? ‘If a tree in the forest falls and no one hears it, did it truly fall?’ That is the logic, that if one is alone, is one truly real? It is how our society must work, else we would be at each other’s throats, and there would be nothing that was ever done.” 

A splash of now cooler water as Zevran ducked down, “Pack a dozen Fereldens into a small room and quickly blood would be spilled. Pack a dozen Antivans in a room and quickly friends would be made. It is survival, no? Our coasts are our homes, our plantations and arable land are close together, the Weyrs, Drylands, the Arlathan jungle - these are populated, but by closeknit clans, as those places are not suited to cities or farming in the same sense. Even for them there is much of a hive mind, for them it is also survival, no?” His lover waved a hand, encompassing all of Ferelden, “Here...here it is not this way, it has no need of it. People spread out, people do not have to put themselves in another’s place, another’s pain is not their own. It does not affect the whole. At least, not at first, the sickness and lack have to affect much of the population for them to even realize that something is amiss and worth caring about. Community is meaningless on the main, empathy is weakness, survival is paramount, strength is all one actually requires - who cares if a neighbour’s home burned down? It is too far away to bother anyone. And they do not ever question ‘What would happen to myself or my family if my house or fields burned? Who would help me?’ It is distant and of little or no import, no? But eventually it does affect the whole, eventually it does come crashing down, and many wonder and cry aloud that they do not know why no one will help them, wringing their hands, not even realizing that their own cultural callousness has left them in such a state. To me, it is pitiable, which they would not understand, yes? Such sad, overly proud creatures to cut off their nose, or chop a limb away just to simply spite the face and body.” A mirthless chuckle, “It is why Antivans, Rivanians, and even the Qun’ari often look at other cultures as lacking and inferior, ignorant and truthfully...pathetic. In need of educating, the difference between the Qun’ari and the rest of us is that we do not wish to take the time, knowing that if we did, there would be...issues. War, yes? It would not be worth it.”

Words, again, his favourite. _Why didn’t you like them before exactly? Because they were interesting and made me think of other things. Ahh, yes, couldn’t do that then. Nooo, that would be straight out. He kept trying though. I know, and you kept snapping and growling letting it drive you away. Afraid it would thaw you before you had a chance to freeze solid. Exactly. That would have been bad...or at least, wasn’t in the plans. Well, it started out as trying to save their lives, while at the same time not caring about them. Becoming interested would have meant caring about something...someone. Which could then be taken away, just like everything else...everyone else. You could have just left. You know, I thought of that, and I mean beyond the Towers...even suggested it right after the fiasco at the beginning. Thought Alistair was going to hyperventilate. So why did you stay? Duty. To what? It wasn’t duty to the Wardens. No, duty to see a promise through...pater familias. Do we really have to talk about this now? I was just curious. Curious? You were there, you heard it, you saw it. You stopped listening. To what? To him. When, then or now? Both. Fine, stop arguing with me. Wasn’t arguing, was observing._

“Lead by example, export knowledge as often as possible, encourage trade, yes? Soft invasions, no? While the Crows main purpose is to keep Antiva safe - even from itself, one of the more...shall we say...esoteric and proselytizing Guildmasters, had at one point done her damnedest to put a Crow or mage or scholar in all the countries, near seats of power,” Zevran rolled onto his side, wrapping himself around Ferox. “That was before my time, however, I should think she would be proud of me, yes? Cultural upheaval is a fine way of keeping eyes away from Antiva’s own lush resources of all kinds, no?” 

“Ferelden has enough to take on within her own borders and of course, protecting against her most recent invader...no I don’t mean the Orlesians, although most would leap to that conclusion. I do not believe that the darkspawn are done with us. However, attention needs to be inward for a time, without becoming isolationist...which is easy, for someplace considered at one of the ends of the Thedas, to become.”

“Census, we need a better one, yes? Deep interviews with the Wardens, Anders would be ideally suited, no? Set his healer and scholar’s mind to it, he will find us enough candidates, future, possible ones, yes?” Zevran hummed. “The little healer might help him pick up some of her smaller tricks, this ‘tasting’ she does of essences, patrols of Wardens or Warden trained individuals... Also, I hope those missives to Velanna’s clan got through, and the ones to Aeryn’s, I know there will be some upon your desk from Lanaya when we return. Since the Dalish travel so much, they must see and observe things, hear things, some may have even noted where clusters have been sighted...”

“For organization, Anders isn’t the best...he’s more creative, jumping from one thought to another. But if the technique can be learned...to have someone on the ground, without having to send samples up to Avernus, using her backup method, it would be much quicker.”

“His organization may leave much to be desired, give him an assistant, one who is good with such things, and you might be surprised. Anders did not become a healer simply because he is selfish, _querido._ There are many other schools of magic he could have taken up, but no, he wishes to help, yes? Give him a solid purpose and you will no longer fear him haring off to the trap of Kirkwall, or causing any...unpleasantness, yes?” 

Putting on his ‘official’ take a letter voice, “As our Warden ambassador, we’re sending out our most lecherous individual, pardon me, excuse me, hope you don’t mind, but at least he probably won’t reproduce.” Laughter shook him. “We’ll either have potential recruits breaking down the door to get in or never get invited back.”

“Ferox, you would be surprised, if he is left to his own devices with a goal, an assistant and not treated as a child, he might actually show professionalism, yes? He acts as he is expected to, how he is treated. It is a...vicious circle, no? I think in this he would be more concerned about the good of all, if it is put that way. ‘Anders, you are the best person for this, and this is why...’ Just do not say he is the _only_ person for it, or the best that we have, no matter if it is _true_ ,” the stopper was pulled and let the water recede before turning on the hot once more. “‘Anders, you are the best healer and an intelligent man, this will help everyone, and further not just the betterment for Ferelden, but also for mages in Ferelden,’ appeal to that side of him, and he will beg to do this.”

“Zevran, I was joking to the only one who would let me do so.”

His lover blinked rapidly a few times, consternated, “I apologize, _querido_. You know how I get when I warm to a subject...tchk, you Fereldens are a bad influence upon one so impressionable as I.”

Shrugging, “I know that Anders would be the best one, I just hate to send our only healer away from the Vigil. Granted, Dagna’s healers are nearly everywhere now, thankfully I didn’t recognize any of them in Kirkwall...they didn’t go, he did, does... If he gets a wild hair and decides to run off to where so many Wardens are pooling...I don’t know if I would recognize which one to grab by the ponytail and drag home.”

“Let me be blunt then - we tell him what is in store if he goes. He becomes possessed by Justice, willingly, a martyr for mages, blows up an entire city block, rains hellfire and damnation, causes religious war and destruction. These are not the actions of a healer, _querido._ If we tell him it is a trap, that many Anders have known it, and still gone on to that...situation...he is not foolish. We tell him we need him, value him, we wish for him to stay here, with friends, family, worth, that it is here where he can do much good - that it is only up to him just _how_ much of it he can do...”

Ferox stared at the tub’s farthest rim, “Those run from the Wardens, just like the Alistairs who run, claim that they have stopped because it was better than where they were. There’s no un-drinking that cup, but what they’ve succeeded in doing is to cut away the support structure that keeps them sane.”

A kiss was pressed to his shoulder, “We give him no reason to run, we give him the choice of how much he wishes to do, to stay or to go, but that we honestly prefer on the whole, for many reasons, that he remain. It is like with children, you sometimes have to give them the whole truth, even if it is slightly beyond them, yes? For when one has had little power and choice, to give it and options, is the best thing to do, rather than have the person you are seeking to protect, wrest those choices from the situation.”

“I know.” Ferox sighed. “The pieces are starting to move and I have difficulty with that. In my mind, they should be set in their place, static in their positions until they, or rather, I, move them. Not realistic.” _You are falling, sinking again. Sorry, what caused it this time? When did it happen? It wasn’t sudden this time, it was a multi-step process. First you considered your duty, which is your core and cannot change. Second was that the darkspawn are not done with Ferelden or the Wardens for that matter, and you have a plan for that at least. Third, when you made a bad joke about Anders there was a misinterpretation, which was an accident, but you had already started to sink. But the last one, the thought of moving an important piece - Anders - and not being able to keep an eye on him, that one will have to care for itself, himself, for the first time without your full protection - there will have to be a plan. Let these go. Return to the surface._

“Urges and mindsets are not always realistic, _amora_. We all have our failings, difficulties, knowing them and how to confront them, while taking some control, however small, is what we do to survive it, lest we become locked, focusing only on the bad ‘what if’s’ and probably eventualities and forgetting to at least find some peace in the now, yes?” this was said with Zevran tucking his face tightly into the side of Ferox’s neck. 

Soaking in the intensity of his sun and the renewed heat of the water, he nodded attempting to shake off the darkness, his own Deep Trenches. “It has just occurred to me that the reason why Antivans don’t run out and kill each other is because you bake, err, par-boil your muscles and brains until you can’t move. Perhaps, if Ferelden were less cold, the people wouldn’t feel the need to fight all of the time in order to stay warm.”

Zevran chuckled, “Perhaps, yes?”

Leaning back, Ferox snagged one of the soaps that was preferred, along with a washcloth and a sea sponge. After his lover dunked his head again, Ferox untangled the braids and worked a bit of the soft soap into the moisture dampened locks, massaging the scalp to happy sighs. As always he was taken aback slightly by how soft and just how much of it there was. Zevran wiped suds from his face, turning to get in Ferox’s lap, scooping water over his head, until all of his own dark locks were wet, a soft gleam in the slitted gold eyes. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” another sigh, quite content, as Zevran treated him to the same action, causing Ferox’s hands to pause in their massage of scalp.  
The line on his skull, that nimble fingers preferred to trace, was caused by the ogre’s blow, which unattended would have meant death on the second tower. _First? No, second. First was in ruins, sinking into the Wilds. Oh yes, the visual representation of the entire journey._

“Mmm yes, it is, _querido_ ,” lips deftly nipped a quick kiss. “In the baths, many of them are waist or chest deep, so this would not generally be so intimate, no?” the knees on either side of his hips tightened in demonstration. “Some are like this, for relaxing and lounging, with a line of carved or moulded seats along the tub or pool’s walls, hmn? Tiled in mosaics and images on the floors, throwing back the glass lanterns’ lights...”

“I am convinced that you could take the most benign activity and make it intimate. Ah, I see that arguing look - do not give me the false modesty, because you know it to be true as well. I have watched you for too long.”

“Oh? When do you watch me? I wonder, hmn? Where has this watching been and when did it start, hmn?” thumbs rubbed at Ferox’s temples before the hands passed through the long dark hair, working the soap in.

“From the beginning to now, until the distant future. At first I was interested in how you reacted to the environment in which you found yourself, running into minds set in their particular ruts, what tools you would reach for to change those things, the words that would be used either in frustration or to persuade, the signals you would give, or not give, before an action was taken.” Scooping a handful of water over Zevran’s head to begin rinsing, “Lately however, I admit I’ve stopped examining you so closely. Not to say that there aren’t any surprises left, but that I have determined enough that I can now focus on others’ reactions to whatever it is you are doing. I’m not explaining this well enough, but I’m watching you from a different perspective, a third set of eyes.” 

A pleased hum, “Ah, so you cannot take your eyes off of me, no? But what is so interesting to you? How do they react, and why is it of any importance, as the only eyes I care about are yours?”

“You are unexpected in many ways, or was especially when I began to watch. At that time, however, you were not the only one being observed, but most are not so intricate. Wynne and Oghren for example, their goals, needs, and desires are fairly straightforward. Sten was a bit more of a riddle, giving his responses and hiding of what he was thinking, Leliana appeared some days plain and uninteresting and others more complicated, not because of fickleness, but a puzzle needed to be unraveled. Each one different, requiring that their wants be identified so that needs were met and they were in their best form for what was to come. But you were different. You asked for nothing, looked for nothing, _expected_ nothing, even when you needed something. And even so you still were willing to give your all to the task, no matter that it wasn’t yours.”

“Ah but a Blight is everyone’s task, _amora_. And there is no such thing as an Antivan who did not grow up knowing how easily we could be sucked down to the Deep Roads and rock. Crows are not Wardens, but as I have said many times, protecting Antiva is at the center of what we do. From within, without, and beneath, yes? That too is part of why I am allowed to be here, yes? The worst stirrings are here, the easiest way to get to those stirrings are here - I could show you the missive that says keeping an eye on things is also part of what I am to do here, _amante_.”

Grunting, “And back then I would know that how precisely? Considering the fact that they sent you, when a Blight is supposed to be more important - unless they _wanted_ it to fail... Or to position you close by. Did - “

Zevran cut him off with a firm tug, “Warden secrets, _amora_. I _was_ encouraged to remain after the contract would be completed, yes. But the Warden Commander, Crow she may be, but she would not say or mention the fact that it _requires_ a Warden to slay the Archdemon permanently. They thought Loghain the best man for the job when I took the contract, _querido_. His experience and power as well as his ability to know when a stand is useless or useful, they knew that. _You_ on the other hand were a complete unknown, _amante_. One that might damage the chances for survival, yes? That you proved otherwise was acceptable to them, no? Else no matter what I do, you would be dead. In some ways, you are just as much their pawn as I. Though, more like rook or knight, yes? You are in a position of power, and that is useful to them, as they know you will gain the country enough stability to focus on the darkspawn problems that were still here, and still are, and would have no interest in expansion, too busy with protection. Even if there is a faction that argues for your continued survival and cancellation of the contract due to what you _have_ done, they are idealistic and young. Too young to see the more practical matters of what Thedas needs. The rest, they hold the contract in abeyance, so that it can be brought forward as a bargaining chip if you become...troublesome or do not see to your own house.”

A film of ice formed over words which were said every time he heard this, “Still the stupidest ‘kept’ secret I know.” _Ho, thought you were going to get out of that dark hole, eh? Actually I’m surprised I’m still in the bath. I was going to compliment you on that showing of self control. I wouldn’t, it’s a little too soon to say. I don’t want to talk about this. He believes that not doing so is childish. I can’t change it so why talk about it? Next he will reassure you of his faithfulness, which will cause you to doubt and make you angry because you doubt him, worse because he attempts to restore your confidence. How did I get in this conversation? I told you, duty, darkspawn, and Anders. But I thought I changed the subject to watching him, which I love to do. Yes, but you said that you were watching him during the Blight. I meant... But I... Damn it._

His lover shrugged, “Because yourself and Alistair survived, _amante._. Enough Wardens began to ask questions that now it is more widely known. At the time though, Indira could not say without risk of the First Warden coming down upon her head, or so I should think, yes? Tchk, I have had enough of those pesky letters with their useless questions, seeking information I will not give, let alone allow _you_ to give. I have half a mind to go and deal with him myself, no? No matter, he is already succumbing, his writing has become more and more shaky. Soon he will be out of our collective hair, and his successor will hopefully keep his or her trap shut else I may call in a favour or three until the point has been made, hmn?” Zevran paused in his growling to look at him, “Simply because I have to listen to what they say and prevent any threats to Antiva’s sovereignty and security does not mean I am disloyal to you or Ferelden, _querido._ Whatever methods I use to ensure those things is up to me. If I use one that benefits all, then that is good, yes? Since wherever you are is where I wish to be, for myself, not because of the Guildmaster’s ‘request to remain near to hand’, that is why I have stayed, all other ‘reasons’ are just ways to ensure it was feasible, _amora._ ”

_And there’s that anger from the first time we talked about this. Still as fresh and biting as it was the first time you ran into that boulder on your path. Amazing that. How many years later? Well it’s not like the situation has gone away. Even if you got to go back and do things differently, some things won’t change. That is one of them._ “I am certain all is as you say.” _Hello? I know. I don’t care. Remember why I want those Chasind eye coverings? It’s not just when I’m blinded by the light. Can you get an extra pair, just in case? What, will one will be labeled ‘for use in the sunlight’ and the other labeled ‘everything you don’t want to see’? Pretty much._ “I think I’ve had as much fun here as can be found and I believe I hear a mattress calling our names for sleep.” _Can’t run away again. You remember what happened then. I haven’t gone anywhere; I am still right here. Uh huh, might want to open your eyes. Kinda dealing with the ‘surprise’ knife in my gut. I know it’s coming but I can’t ever seem to dodge it. Burn all the puppet strings all you want, they’ll make more. This is why you give choices to others. I know, thank you for that little reminder. I’ll keep it in mind for Anders. Can I just be sick now? You really aren’t helping. Maker, let me out._ Separating himself, Ferox ducked and rinsed his head again.

Zevran looked at him, expression turning sad, “As you say, so will it be, _amante._ ”

Completing a brief wash, he continued to argue with himself, unable to stop what he knew had to be a low growl. _There, now you’ve gone and done it. Done what? I agreed and said I am finished. This is never a good conversation. Shall I schedule it again in a few years? Shut up. Let’s try having it at the Peak for variety. Shut up! But the Crows, the contract, the power over you, over him, this is part of your reality. This is the part I cannot change, it is the landscape, the sky, the ocean, mosquitoes...I don’t care which you choose, I can’t change it, I am only required to live with it, therefore I don’t want to talk about it. But you might have to go around that mountain? Then deal with it when you have to. Right now, I cannot do anything about it. Let me out!_

His assassin - _Literally, how nice_ \- was quiet, finishing up himself. All through getting dressed, not a word was said, so quiet that Ferox could almost forget that there was that hanging over him, waiting to strike. _Yet you want him to be the one when it’s time. That’s different. Same result. Still different - la la la shut the frell up I’m not listening to you and I can’t hear you. Besides that, armour is really heavy and sinks really fast. No fuss, no muss, no cleanup after a tower. It’s why I have those heavier, plain sets for sparring. Take a ‘pleasure cruise’, step off in the middle of the ocean, tada! You are really frelled up. No, it’s cleaning up the damn campsite better than I found it._

A hand slid into his briefly, “I am sorry, _mi corizon._ I was not thinking of how that might upset you, forgive me.”

“I am not upset or angry with you.” _Don’t sigh and please, stop growling._

“I am aware that you are not angry with me personally, _amora._ Still, what was said has upset you, that is what I am I am apologizing for, yes? I spoke without thinking first, an unwise thing, no?” 

Patiently, but it and the calm quickly disappeared, slipping rapidly from his grasp, as he spoke, “What you say is the truth, sitting in the path, a large rock that is impossible to ignore. Why should I shake my fist at a massive boulder I can’t move? There is no useful action I can take, nor is there anything I want from it now. It’s not going anywhere. Yet it seems to sit on and hide other things I wish to ignore, as if it is at the mouth of a cave and smaller things can slip out. It is not a direction I need to go. Yes, I left a path unexplored, yes, there are creatures in the cave who can come back to bite me in the ass, treasure in boxes that beg to be opened, but I don’t have the tools to do any of it. So I’ll get back to it or leave it unexplored. For now, I want to leave it alone.” At the end, just as last time when he tried to explain the difficulty, he had degenerated into snapping, biting, growling, and begging for a fight.

“Of course, _querido._ ” Zevran remained quiet until they got to their room. “You do at least realize that due to my actions of deposing the last Guildmaster and cutting a swath through at least seven Crow Masters that those that remain are unlikely to ever do anything unless you prove an actual threat? It is a problem that is there, yes, but it has been dealt with as surely as it possibly can, _amora._ Perhaps I could have remained and taken the Guildmaster’s seat, thereby removing that boulder from your path permanently, but I did not.” With that he fell silent as he sat, book in hand, legs crossed. 

Ferox didn’t move far from his escape route. “I didn’t ask...I mean, I don’t want...” _Remember when you wanted to walk away and I said don’t? Yeah, maybe that would have worked out better. Little late to reconsider. It’s never too late._ “Zevran, I don’t want you to go anywhere, if you don’t want to go...” Grasping at straws, “And as I said before, your followers would be hanging on your legs.” 

He didn’t look up, “If I were Guildmaster you would not be able to remain near me, none of you would. Attacks or attempts of various things or threats would be far more easy to carry out if any of you were near, hmn? I have no ambition for such a title, nor have I ever, as hard as it is for my fellows to understand, no? I could have been a Crow Master more than twenty years ago and declined that opportunity. With status comes responsibilities and demands, and for someone who had had everything dictated to them for so long, even being the one telling others what to do and commanding them, it holds no value or importance for me, _amora_. Even if that might actually make me ideally suited to such a task, because I would do whatever it took to get something done properly and as expediently as possible, just for the promise of five minutes that were my own, hmmn? The only reason or way I might be pressed to such a thing, _amora_ , is if it was the only way to protect you. And I would have to do it alone, no shield, no baggage, no risks, as unpleasant as that sounds. You would all make the easiest targets if I were to even hint at having interest in the politics of the Guild. Enough. You do not wish to speak on it, and anything I say seeking to comfort you, will not do so for whatever reason.”

_Hitting your head on the rock will not help. Really? This close it doesn’t look so big, gotta be granite, look at it, all black and white. The quartz bits are pretty. And hard, really hard. So why do the reassurances work backwards and do the opposite of what they are intended to do? I hope you’re kidding?!? No. Trust. Belief. You’re okay until you look at this thing. The damn rock is harder than my head. Well of course it is, it’s older than your head, it’s hundreds of years old and had plenty of time to get good and impervious to people banging their heads on it. Why are you here? I am here because you told me I couldn’t r-u-n-n-o-f-t. So you let me stay here and continue to muck about? Well, if you put it that way. Can we please just shove the monster in the cave back in?? This was not how today was supposed to go. Now you say that. So what do I do? Well, there’s the old standby, you are leaning against the door. You could stay in here and stew...that’s not working either. Stomp off I suppose?_ Ferox would have sworn that someone was pressing against his chest, trying to smother him, and that he should be gasping for breath because of the difficulty of of speaking the words. “I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“Neither do I. Tell me what you desire of me, and I will do it, _amora_. Without thought or hesitation, I am yours, _querido._ ” 

Ferox slid down the door to sit on the floor. He may have been a man who was easily pulled into despair, something that perpetually lurked on the fringes of his vision, but it usually took the form of an inability to act or anger and bitterness. Today all he wanted to do was weep. Their hands were tied, either by their actions or inactions, their devotion to each other and his apparent lack of trust. _Was there another path? Always. Was it better than this one? I don’t know, we’re long past that point and there’s no going back._

Dinner, having been set up in the dining hall and was a large, loud affair, the Silver Knights, Crows, and Wardens were seated at the long tables. There was talking, laughing, bragging, and exuberant comparing of the tactics used in the mock battles in the training yard. Both Anders and Dulsanaya looked exhausted to Ferox’s eyes, apparently the winners and the losers both had needed healing. The tattooed vines that wrapped the little healer’s arms were very brown, almost black in places, easily observed since her elbows were on the table, her cheek resting in her hand. The same thing had happened when she was pushing back the Taint from him. _’Zevran, she’s been healing the Wardens...and not just the injuries from sparring.’_

_’You expected otherwise? This is something she cannot stop herself from doing with any ease. It hurts her to not heal when she sees damage, **amora** ,’_ Zevran was clearly pestering her to eat through the amulet because she kept glancing over at him as though she were going to stick her tongue out in protest.

As the tales of the battles continued, he watched her pick at the meal in front of her as the Wardens inhaled theirs, each moment becoming noisier with their boisterous shouting and reenactments. Dulsanaya’s voice was heard in the amulet and he watched every Warden in the hall go silent for a single moment. _’This one wants to play too.’_

Laughter poured out of most of them as if it were a joke she had just told. Ferox felt and heard the concern from others that she would get hurt, after all, she was a healer, an excellent healer, as she had just demonstrated time and time again today. 

“Naw, don’t yah worry girly. You’ve got a job and yer damn good at it,” Oghren slurred. “Ya’ll ain’t gotta prove shit ta the nughumpers.” 

After that came encouragement intermixed with caution and opposition from the Wardens. 

“We need you healing us.”

“You’re too little and would get hurt out there.”

Watching and sensing intention, Ferox felt the moment she rejected their words. 

From somewhere in the room, “Anders has other spells that aren’t just healing, he’s actually useful.”

Beside him, Zevran began to rise, scanning the hall, eyes landing on one of the Templar trained Wardens, a ‘volunteer’ and in some ways, Conscript. “Ser Jordan, if I recall the name correctly? That is your name, yes?” Jordan hadn’t been around long enough to know when he was playing with fire, and had been tossed at Ferox and his request and somewhat levy for new recruits that had been put forth to the Chantry, Circle, guards, military and general populace. “There are tones, words, and manners one uses when dealing with others, it is obvious your education in them has been quite...lacking. That will be remedied, after I am finished with my meal, hmn?”

The small silver-haired elf in the meantime, lurched to her feet as if she had been if struck. Broadcasting so the Wardens could hear, her eyes focused sharply on him, concentrating. Formally, _’Warden Commander, this Warden requests permission to join the sparring tomorrow.’_

He silenced the derision with hand. Listening, Zevran gave a suggestion through their link, which Ferox echoed, without quite knowing the reason why. “Yes, on one condition.” Privately to her, he sent the requirement that the tattoos be lush and green before she partake of any sparring activities.

With a nod she answered, again so that every Warden could hear, _’This Warden agrees to your terms. **Meravas** [So shall it be].’_

The meaning of the strange phrase was unwrapped in his mind like a Saturnalia present, revealed itself as a sword pulled from its sheath, or unfolded like a tablecloth pulled from a drawer. Without another word, she sat down and picked up her mug of tea. Alistair on one side of her and Sigrun on the other looked like they were trying to talk her out of it. Ferox knew that expression on her face, had felt it on his own. There would be no convincing her otherwise. _Well, you wanted to see what she could do and not just by what she fed you in visions._

Truth be told, with the Wardens who swarmed him after dinner, the discussions of who wanted to come to Denerim to set up the Warden Outpost there and keeping an eye or an amulet on Zevran, Ferox lost track of the healer. It wasn’t until just before sunrise when he realized he had forgotten about her, probably because she was snuggling into bed with them, squirming up under the blankets between he and Zevran. Moria was snuggled at the elf’s back, _Well, we had a part of a day and night alone. Which you wasted by fighting. Maker, don’t start with me. It’s way too early._

For it being morning, the little healer was surprisingly awake and alert. Granted, for anyone else Ferox would have said that they were stunned and half asleep, this however, was an improvement. Privately to Zevran _’Is it just the proximity of so many Wardens? Or not being on board ship? Both?’_

_’Both,’_ an arm snaked around the healer’s waist after sliding under her shift to keep the flesh of his forearm against her belly. _’Context, **amora** , that is what those with amulets give her.’_

_’Sending her back with just Nathaniel isn’t going to work. And if the rocking of the ship makes it worse, overland is a better, if longer option.’_

Zevran shifted quietly, the arm beneath his pillow pushing towards Ferox’s face, _’I was going to say ride to West Hills, then it would only be a day or two to the islands, in fact I thought that was the plan, **querido**.’_

_’If it wasn’t the plan, it is now. You are the most clever man in this entire room, dare I say, oh yes, I dare, the most clever man in this entire bed.’_

_’Flirting and flattery? You? My, my what have I done to earn such, so that I know to do it again, hmmn?’_ amused teasing. 

_’I hope nothing, because if that were true, I would never ‘earn’ anything good.’_

Interrupting, the little healer nestled and squirmed slightly, reminding him of an overgrown Len, _’Love is not earned, Gaeaf.’_

>“That was my point, but I just woke up,” Ferox growled. 

His lover groaned, _’Go to sleep, both of you, hmn? The day will start soon enough to torture us anew, yes? Sleep, rest.’_

_’Nope. This one needs sun, there is much to do today.’_

Ferox thought he would whimper, he certainly _wanted_ to. _If she isn’t sleeping, then why the frell is she here?! I don’t know! You ask her! Too frustrating. Too early you mean. That, yes, that’s exactly right._

_’Ser Jordan is first on your menu, **mushu**. Anders healed him up quite nicely for you to take him apart on your own all over again, hmn? Such an ignorant ass.’_

_’He is sword and shield or just sword. This one could not decide. But it does not matter, he will be too tired in that armour.’_ Twisting in Zevran’s grasp she kissed his cheek. _’Gaeaf is right, you are smarter than the average **cath**. This one is going out to have something to eat in the sun. **Ma serannas** , for waking this one up.’_

_’Yes, he will be slow, but that is why it is fun to vault over his head and kick his legs out from under him, hmn? His armour made such a beautiful cacophony as he fell.’_ He felt his lover give her a squeeze, _’Soak up all the sun you can, **mushu** , and give them hell as our stout and smelly foul friend would say, yes?’_

___’Yes, it will be nice not to pretend, but he is no Arishok...at all. This one would like to play with a Crow while she still has energy today though. It has been a long time.’_ _ _

She squirmed out after planting a quick kiss to Ferox’s cheek, to which he muttered, “Thank you for coming, close the door on the way out.” As the door shut behind her, he finally whimpered, “Why?” 

_’To heal you, **amora** ,’_ it was very patient. _’She used some of the last of her reserves to touch your Taint and press it back, just as she has been doing every day for at least five minutes. Just because you are unaware of the process does not mean that it is not going on, hmn?’_

Checking to make certain he wasn’t sending a wider signal as he did earlier without thinking, _’No, why the coming in for just a minute and where was she and...no wait. Please don’t answer any of that.’_

___’Sigrun and Alistair hosted her, but they have not learned the wake up necessities yet, I reached for her due to the fact she had not, similar to you or I walking past the nursery and poking a head in to make sure all was well, hmn? She still requires context from me until the others learn how to give it best, this place is new for her, no? New minds, new tastes, new sounds, new everything, and much Taint for her to touch.’_ Zevran burrowed back into him, _’This is not a finishing academy, and a certain amount of... **mierda del toro** is to be expected to fall from minds and mouths of nearly anyone, but there are certain protocols that should be adhered to... The Chantry recruits leave much to be desired in their treatment of non-warriors, even those with rogue leanings are snubbed, if I had realized it was getting to such a point, ah, but Sigrun, she is more used to such things because of her Legion training... Faugh! However that was much for Dulsanaya to handle on her own... Braska!’__ _

___’I was pleased you were there to take him down last night. Subtle and off the record, as it were.’_ _ _

___’Better me than you, as your unofficial Second, certain parts of training and discipline are what I do. You cannot be seen to play what might be perceived as ‘favourites’, no? However, it was extremely gratifying to demand his extra amulet from him, and hear his less than stellar thought processes and insults... And then feed him his own gauntlet. Several times, hmmn?’_ darkly chuckling. _’As for subtlety...no, everyone with half a functioning brain knew what he was in for. Some of the recruits sent your way leave...much to be desired, **amora**. The Chantry is giving you a crop of mediocre, at best, potential recruits, and the testing of the blood for suitability further cuts the quality...’__ _

___’Sounds like we should take her around Denerim and a few other places while we are here, perhaps pick up a few that stand out. Well, and there’s training Anders, if it’s possible. I wonder if Dagna’s crew wouldn’t be better, as Dulsanaya’s not exactly Circle material. Even if they pick out the old, their children will bear watching, or the too young, there’ll be siblings, parents, what have you. Might get a jump on the census you...we want.’_ _ _

___’If she likes, yes, but we already are gaining much from this entire transaction, **amora** , it feels wrong to ask too much of her, hmn? She is only one person, one very small, fractured person,’_ Zevran kissed his neck once. _’Who is very easy to manipulate or ask things of, so long as one’s name is ‘Zevran’, yes? I do not wish us to push or pressure or take advantage unduly, **querido.** It would be too easy and too cruel.’__ _

___’I’m not changing my name. However, for the first time since Kirkwall, she gave us a night of uninterrupted sleep, together. I have not forgotten and I am not ungrateful.’_ _ _

__Zevran only sighed, a hand in Ferox’s hair, the other holding Moira’s hand that was wrapped around his waist._ _

___’Tell me, what is churning in there and bothering you.’_ _ _

___’You are the only person where I do not have to be perfect all the time, **amora** ,’_ lips pressed over his jugular once more. _’The only person where it is safe to not have to constantly think about each action, yes?’__ _

___’And yet even I can snap, on a certain topic. The action and the subject I regret and am sorry for.’_ _ _

___’As I said, I apologize, here I am, bringing it up again, even obliquely,’_ Zevran tucked his face down. _’That is enough of it then, in this instance, leave me to my churning, hmn? It will work itself out, yes?’__ _

___’Only if you tell me straight out before you go do anything about whatever it is, which, at this point, I can only believe is something I’m not talking about today. Otherwise, you might as well say it all now and while you’re at it tell me why she’ll gladly be manipulated by a Zevran and what else leads you to this path of agitation.’_ _ _

__Ferox got the distinct feeling his lover was withholding an outright ‘no’ with that sort of extreme finality that was rarely ever expressed. _’Some say the elves of Arlathan lost their immortality through exposure to **shemlen** , Quickening to match, or because the Creators turned Their gaze from us. Others, older ones, stories that are part of the oral tradition of the Antivan Dalish and the horseclans, say that the Quickening happened due to love, that the fall of Arlathan was because of that first rather than the destruction and enslavement perpetrated by the Tevinter, hmn? One caused the other, yet were unrelated. Just as that statement is, and is not, to the churning, yes? Enough, you will be displeased whether I say or do not say, leaving both of us in further upset. However, even that has to do with why she would allow a Zevran to make requests she is nearly incapable of denying.’_ There was a pause, eyes on him in the dark, the area that Ferox had felt through the amulet that had indicated the faint flux of agitation was quickly put into check, _’It is the same reasons I hold for you, hmn?’__ _

___Eye coverings. Some sort of covering for the ears. Muffs, yes, that’s the word. So, since you desire to block out of most of the world, what will you do with the remaining senses? Go back to sleep. I have no need for your advice today. Then why reassure before hiding? Hello? Happy now? No, not really. So close your eyes and let it go. You make it sound so easy. But if you keep picking at this, today will be like yesterday and you will only become angry because you are facing things you can’t fix and aren’t ready to look at. And do me a favour, don’t sigh._ Kissing the forehead pressed against his mouth, _’Sleep if you can and dote on Moira. I’ll catch the dressing and feeding of our personal petting zoo.’_ _ _

___’Thank you, **amante.** ’_ _ _

__Later, Elissa was practicing at the archery range under the watchful eye several Wardens and a Crow or two. Len was playing with several young children in the courtyard running around the statue of Andraste and the well in a figure eight, some game made up on the spot and carried out enthusiastically with extra hoots and hollars. A laundress was watching the children that day, and with Lightning and a pair of unobtrusive observers, Len was left to her care. Eleanor had not followed them outside, having met Varel at breakfast who went about his now long customary fielding of her questions._ _

__“A belated Saturnalia gift.” He gave her a book similar to his own, but embossed with a seal complete with dyed leather binding, little ribbons with brass clasps on the end with a ‘coin’ for the money, a broom on the red staffing ribbon, a sheaf of wheat for supplies and a small Cousland seal for the ‘family’ business instead of Warden._ _

__Looking over the young girl’s shoulder Ferox had nearly snorted seeing the inverted Cousland wreath held in the beak of a crow. _Fitting._ _ _

__She had hopped up and down before remembering to curtsy and then gave him a quick peck on the cheek along with an exuberant hug along with thanks and a polite, “May I accompany you on your rounds, Ser Varel?”_ _

__Which had of course garnered a, “That would be wonderful, Miss Eleanor, shall we?” with a hand held out for her to clasp as the furthering of Eleanor’s learning in the guise of ‘fun’._ _

__The archery range had been expanded from its original two targets into a much larger space. Every Warden touched the bow and at least a dagger or a staff regularly, even the mages. It was possible to become too tired to reach for the Fade, and they should be able to at least defend themselves until someone could come to their aid. And the flexibility of thought that was required by changing from ‘favoured’ weapons prevented the favoured weapon and mindset from locking in and causing more problems later, including, but far from limited to, giving the understanding of the shortcomings and abilities of others and their own styles. Zevran had also touted it as also a method for keeping the mind strong, forcing the brain to forge new connections to the body as well as within itself, which would be vital to keeping Wardens and Recruits in particular, sharper, healthier of mind and body longer._ _

__Ferox called out using the amulet, _’Dulsanaya, the Wardens are gathering, will you join us?__ _

___’Not yet and do not ask this one to play with bows until after she meets your Nathaniel.’_ _ _

___’Why? Everyone else is here.’_ _ _

___’If this one sees someone worth learning from, she will come down early, but that is expenditure of energy, Gaeaf.’_ _ _

___Her tone indicates that this is obvious. What are you missing? I think I’m still trying to figure out the question. It’s probably a good thing she put Loghain in charge of her Vigil because everyone would be sitting around for a long time scratching their heads wondering what the frell she just said._ _ _

__Zevran came over, done with trouncing Templars with their own shield and one-handed sword style, wiping sweat from his brow, snagging the waterskin beside Ferox. “You look like an ox who has come upon a fence with an open gate and is unsure of what it means, _amora_.”_ _

__“One word. One person. And the gate is closed. I’ve just received a polite demur that archery is out of the question unless there is someone worth learning from...or she meets Nathaniel.”_ _

__Cocking his head and an ear slightly, “Ah, the skills are not remembered, _amora._ She requires time to regather the pieces of knowledge to make them into a working whole. Like when I have to remember how to use a shield, yes?” Rubbing the faintly blooming split in his lip given by Alistair, “Yet I am not so fractured, nor aged, that I have so many memories and skills to recall, yes?” Gaze flicked inwards a moment, _More like outwards. Hush!_ “Also, her leaves are not fully green, _querido._ She requires more sun before the match, hmn?”_ _

___’What is more interesting is the continually reorganized list of who needs to have her ‘attentions’ to the Taint. Not surprising that Alistair heads the list, right after that Orlesian whose name I can’t pronounce. I keep stressing that he’s visiting and very close to his Calling, but you know where that gets me.’_ _ _

__Zevran motioned for him to help remove all the chainmail he was wearing, even making Ferox wince at the weight, _’It is her skill, her energy, her ability - let her expend it how she chooses, hmn? If a person has only a single drop in the bucket to add, let them decide which bucket to deposit it to, no matter how full or empty it is, **amora.** ’__ _

___’I know, I have not forgotten the importance of choice. I have refrained from arguing, well admittedly after the first argument, which of course, led to other gates which were closed. After that, I have only made suggestions when asked for an opinion. How many sets of chain is this?’_ _ _

__A relieved sigh as the metal skirting and leggings were tugged away, _’Silverite layered with red steel, hmn? I asked Wade for something heavy that still could grant mobility, yes? No plate armour for me, not even against Alistair, **amora**. Too limited of movement, fit only for rushing forward, no dodging, or slowing. Even using shield and sword and submitting myself for such punishment, only to lull the others into a sense of complacency... Ah that felt splendid, but Anders has downed two bottles of lyrium already dealing with those bigots, which is even more amusing to watch them try and not lick their lips hungrily as he does that... Such simple pleasures, **querido** , such simple pleasures, yes?’__ _

___’You just enjoy the feeling of almost being able flying after all of it is removed. Or, and this is the reason I’m leaning towards, you can convince me to undress you in full view of the entire population of the Vigil without fussing.’_ _ _

____Amber eyes danced over Ferox’s features, _’Tchk, do not rob an old man of his simple pleasures! It is bad form, no?’__ _ _ _

_____’Possibly. However, I believe that the old man has made much of an impression upon the Templar and his friends. But something doesn’t feel right there...as if a challenge were made rather than a lesson learned.’_ _ _ _ _

____Teeth flashed, _’Of course, and just like the earlier Recruits and other Wardens, I will insure they are properly educated, **querido.** ’__ _ _ _

_____’And enjoy every moment of it?’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Why Ferox, tchk, to think such a thing! I am shocked, shocked I say,’_ head thrown back with bright laughter._ _ _ _

_____’I am certain that can be arranged, after another lyrium potion in Anders. I am concerned that someone ‘wishes to play’ and would be a potential target afterwards with that group. True, the worry probably stems from the fact that her abilities have not been assessed, except for the healing, and frankly even those are unknown. I merely said she could play, I didn’t say with whom, you did that.’_ _ _ _ _

____Zevran snorted as he leaned against the railing, _’She will wish to face off against her detractors, **querido**. It is the nature of those who wish to prove themselves - either shove your abilities in the faces of those who malign you, or you find something even they are afraid of, and destroy it, yes? People are very simple that way, **amora**.’__ _ _ _

_____’Perhaps you are right. But again something bothers me. I’ll continue my ‘unobservant’ watch. Hopefully it’s nothing. You should see Anders when you are finished however, otherwise Alistair will continue to worry because of that split lip you are currently sporting. Granted, he’s limping...’_ _ _ _ _

_____’Ah, I got ahead of myself and slipped up, that kick to the knee was outside of the skills I was supposed to be using,’_ tutting. _’Let the others be healed up first, then I will have Anders do his magic ‘boo-boo kissing’ to make it go away,’_ describing the method the healer had used on Eleanor the year previous when she had broken her arm, giving the arm in question a light kiss as the magic had flowed in to repair the damage._ _ _ _

____Growling, _’He best not be doing any kissing of your boo-boos or there’ll be a private training session with me.’__ _ _ _

____His assassin perked up, _’Oh? Such promises you make to me **amora** , I do hope you can fulfill them.’__ _ _ _

_____’I didn’t mean a training session with you, I meant one for he and I where he ends up with the injuries,’_ rumbling._ _ _ _

_____’Faugh, spoilsport,’_ fingers entwined with his briefly._ _ _ _

____Amusement, _’It is educational to learn what old men daydream about however.’_ Looking over, _’Has Elissa come off the range yet?’_ Finally spotting her, _’Ah, there’s our little huntress.’_ As practice had ended on the range, she was assisting in arrow retrieval and sorting ones that needed repair. _ _ _ _

____Elissa came running towards them and Zevran scooped her into a hug, “Marvellous, _mija_ , next thing I know you will be demanding to go out hunting with the local rascals to gain us dinner, hmmn?”_ _ _ _

____“Papa!” a protesting laugh. “You’re silly! They’re too noisy to catch anything!”_ _ _ _

____Ferox nodded sagely, “Yes, this is quite true, it’s a wonder anyone can stay fed without your quick and silent feet on the prowl.”_ _ _ _

____Elissa stuck her tongue out before giving him a hug too, “Uncle Fox you’re silly too.”_ _ _ _

____“Remember, everyone can be useful, even noisy ones can be very helpful when hunting. Use them to drive the prey to you as you watch and wait.” He hugged the girl back and kissed her cheek. “I saw when you struck the bullseye.”_ _ _ _

____A cheek pinching smile and her arms tightened with glowing pleasure, “First try too! I wasn’t sure I could hit it though since they moved it back so far.”_ _ _ _

____“Nathaniel will be sorry he missed it, but by the time we get back, you’ll be placing the arrows in the target every time. Then, he’ll start teaching about grouping your shots.”_ _ _ _

____Ferox sought to hide his trepidation as the little healer finally made an appearance, and he went over the rules a third time, hoping to drive the point home. “Remember - no powers. No Drains, no Stealth, no Smites, no Feasts, no Poisons. This is skill only.” Sending to her privately, _’You don’t have to do this you know.’__ _ _ _

____Green eyes met his, showing him an image of Sten and Zevran, the unfolding knowledge of who she would copy, _’ **Asha** has heard your words and knows what she has to do. However, if asked, she would say that you have too many rules.’_ For the first time in Ferox’s recollection, she was wearing all parts of the dragonskin armour, which had received a repair and a glowing review by Master Wade the night before. The Master Smith pronounced it to be something he would have like to have made, much to her amusement._ _ _ _

____Zevran sensed his disquiet, _’Armand and Alois are up high, ready to snipe with blunt arrows if things get out of hand, **amora**.’__ _ _ _

____There was a tense moment before the match settled into its rhythm and was done quickly, Sten’s two-handed fighting style clear and concise, but unable to deliver power due to her small size against the heavily armoured Ser Jordan, and was quickly switched into the fast dancing grace of Zevran in a flash. A dagger was pulled from her boot, the sword smoothly shifted to her left hand as she became a rogue. Under the quick onslaught of the two-handed style, the Templar was unable to stand for long. Disarmed, helmet knocked off kilter so that he was nearly blind, there was a ringing clatter as two soft booted feet launched into the charging form, causing Jordan to land poorly and with a great deal of noise._ _ _ _

____The healer waited for the Warden to get up, and when he did not, Ferox watched as she slipped a hand under his armour at the back of his neck, apparently to check on him. After a moment, she withdrew from from the fallen warrior and Jordan began to moved and groan before removing his skewed helmet. Beside him Zevran raised an eyebrow, lips quirked up on one side in a not quite smirk._ _ _ _

_____’You’re very funny.’_ Ferox gave Zevran a side glance. _’How long did you know?’__ _ _ _

_____’I touch her most nights, feel her memories, knowledge, **amora**. Her abilities are unconventional, true, but effective, no?’_ His lover watched the little healer depart after having proved her point, _’Truthfully she fights like a Crow, yes? No, no, I know what you are thinking - the style and actions. I mean the method, no? To mix and match as needed while judging the opponent, anything to throw them off and gain the upper hand, yes? Trained in it though, either by herself or others she has learned from, hmn? Remember first and foremost - she is a Warden, she must know how to fight no matter the means of it.’__ _ _ _

____Ferox nodded seeing the truth of it. _’However, it is no wonder she complained about having too many rules. Although her markings are not as green as they were at the start, she burned through her available energy somewhere, and I would guess rather quickly. Either the rules were broken and we...or rather they could not taste it, or if something was cast prior to the match starting, it was understood by her not to have counted. Rock armour cast prior to the match would be similar, I suppose, and Anders certainly uses that spell wisp on his staff.’__ _ _ _

_____’Then I believe she was still working within the constraints of the rules, hmn? As it was in effect prior to the bout...’_ _ _ _ _

____Later Ferox was ensconced for a family nap, Len sucking on the usual index finger and drooling in his sleep, Zevran dozing, with the added guest of Dulsanaya at the foot of the bed, leaning against the post, a foot touching Ferox’s calf while she drew. She had informed him she would stay until Len awoke from the usual afternoon nap, then take him to the sunny nursery and leave he and Zevran alone. ‘So the _cath_ can sleep,’ as she had said with merry green eyes. _ _ _ _

____He supposed she was there pushing back his Taint, doing whatever it was that she did to make it so he would be able to make the back-up plan a reality. _You probably should stop thinking of him or her as ‘the back-up plan’. Probably, but nothing else comes to mind - I’m open to suggestions. I’ve got nothing, sorry. Damn, you’re helpful. Not like you are going to get to choose anyway. Anora might take a suggestion, however. If it’s a girl, I really hope the Royal Harpy’s mother wasn’t named something awful, on the other hand, how many historical figures’ names can one child bear? Poor Len. You know I don’t think he even recognizes the name ‘Calenhad’ as his own... Probably because it isn’t - Len is his name, no matter what those documents say.__ _ _ _

_____’You surprised me out there today, Warden.’_ _ _ _ _

____The response was distracted as if she were concentrating on something else and he was interrupting, _’This is a good surprise, yes, Gaeaf?’__ _ _ _

_____’I think so. I was concerned that you were unable to protect yourself. Anders isn’t too big on learning other techniques, and I have no idea what you are used to.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’This one did not fight, until she found Duncan’s things at Ostagar and began to learn from others. There was a time that she was skilled in her own right, but that has been lost. It is likely that it will not be recovered.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’How was it lost?’_ _ _ _ _

____She hummed as if trying to recall, _’Much time, lack of practice as other abilities manifested and became more valued by others, the last bits were lost in the breakings at Kinloch Hold, deep in the Fort and up on top of it. You also lost things, Gaeaf, even protected as you were. **Asha** catches these things and tried to put them back, but not everything is put back right or caught in time to be saved. **Abelas** , she will not be here long and these things will be lost.’__ _ _ _

_____’I don’t like the sounds of that.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’It would be possible to meet in Kirkwall with enough warning. This one...this **da’sa** is not yours, or his, or anyone’s here. She cannot stay. So this one does what she can while she is here. Some things will never be fixed, others only given more time.’_ _ _ _ _

_____’How much time have I gained?_ _ _ _ _

____Dulsanaya paused, the bit of graphite rubbing against her cheek. Ferox felt that she was weighing and measuring him, judging him as Zevran would a horse. _’It is hard to say because you are not someone this **da’asha** touches everyday. Those have, will have, more time than you. It is easier to do little bits instead of everything at once as it does not work as well or keep as long. It is perhaps two decades at most, these are in addition to the decades you were given at first. You have already spent nearly half of the first thirty. As this one has said, the mind is the first thing you will notice, losing time, losing things...they will shatter, glass on stone, if there are pieces large enough they will not fit into places and will startle and slice. This one knows this harm, this hurt very well. Other things will fail, but they will not be noticed by you. The damage twists the heart, the liver, everything that is needed...everything that **lin** , the blood touches.’__ _ _ _

_____’So thirty-five years.’_ _ _ _ _

____As she returned to her drawing, Ferox again felt the warmth begin as his calf and remembered then each time the healer said she was working, that the heat accompanied the touch. The communication, her voice in the link returned to a distant, almost dislocated note, _’To live, yes. To be productive, no.’ _____ _ _

_______’How long for that then?’ Don’t flinch. Don’t growl. You need this for planning and to know how long before you’re a burden. Didn’t know I had to ask about every little thing. Would have thought that live and be useful were pretty much the same thing._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Each mind is different, Gaeaf. Yours is bolstered by Haf-cath. But it is not a perfect link. These things probably never are, but it is very good. You were also the one to kill Urthemiel, this also quickens the harm. She does not mean to scare as this is guessing and tiles are not set in mortar. **Asha** would say that the last five would be nothing to you...you would not know much, only routines done all of your life, only faces you know best, and eventually those too will be gone. The same amount of time before would be hard, very frustrating, you will be angry because of the breaking. As she has said, it is difficult to say; this one has only pushed back the Taint, she has never observed a Warden through to the end. She may know more later.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Twenty-five years of useful time, where I can take care of myself?’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______’It will not be a sudden loss. It will be gradual...little things at first. Already you have lost the pathways to names that are not said often enough. You have found other ways around to find them, but those will crumble, this has been said. At first you will notice and be angry, then lost and sad. Stay to your planning and routines, to make your mind follow familiar paths as well as to locate lost ones. But nothing will stop this...she cannot wave a wand and fix it, but no one Circle trained can either. There may be other choices **asha** does not remember...and what is not remembered is too much.’_ _ _ _ _ _ _

______Again Ferox tried to pin the answer down. _I need to know. Yes, there is a backup plan, but that is not the primary one. To have him do this, to be that backup plan to remove me, kill me...Maker, forgive me, I asked entirely too much. ’Erring on safety then, twenty years from now, I would be still able to make my own choices.’__ _ _ _ _ _

_______’Likely. Ferox -’_ His eyes opened once again, she had never called him by name before. Her need and urgency in the link to gain his full attention was unmistakable, a moment of focus and clarity gazing back at him. _’This one does not rummage, but she would recommend leaving a note.’__ _ _ _ _ _

______“Hrm.” Beside him Zevran made a small noise, that Len echoed as he rolled closer with a grasping hand in his assassin’s tunic. _’Good advice.’__ _ _ _ _ _


	31. Accompanied Isolation

[Zevran]

Zevran peered over her shoulder, watching her draw Light with Len. “You are quite good, _mushu_ , it is as though they leap from the page.” 

_’This **asha** tries to draw only what she sees,’_ a pause in the graphite scratching of paper to flip back a page, displaying a heart-shaped trio of himself and Ferox with Len between them. 

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the sharp pang, could only muffle it away before Ferox might sense it. _’They are beautiful, my **shemlen**.’_ Tracing the line of Ferox’s chin, the messy spill of Len’s dark hair, and the tattooed ring on his own finger, _’Everything is there...’_ Leaning his cheek against hers for a moment, _’It is good to see it from the outside, even briefly. Thank you.’_

With a familiar twisting motion, the blade hidden on her forearm dropped to her hand, and the page was neatly cut from the bound journal. _’This one can make another. You need this now.’_

He hadn’t meant to press, taking the page and hugging her tightly, _’I am sorry, **mushu** , but I am grateful for your kind heart, yes?’_ Turning around to keep their backs together, to prop each other up, he stared down at the drawing, the sweet ache welling up. But he had a plan, a selfish and far-reaching one. _’I am sorry.’_

_’Sorry for what, **cath**? This first came from Gaeaf...your first trip to Kirkwall. He showed this **da’sa** this thing, although he did not know what it was.’ ___

_’It is difficult to put into words, **mushu** that do not sound ignoble. But it is an idea you yourself would have entertained if you had thought of it.’_ Neatly he ordered his mind for her, books of facts and sensory information and experience, large and small, not a detail spared that could be recalled, allowing it to slowly flow and seep from him to her. _’You gave me the idea, protecting his memories like that, yes? All that are important to this I will keep.’_

Guardedly, _’It is possible, yes. These will need their own space, own room._

_’A bit of practice,’_ gently pushed the bound books of information at her. _’Yes, it does need its own area, else it is easy to be confused, no?’_

_’This one would ask why you use such material, but it is the same so far for each of you.’_ Finding an empty room in her mind, _’Loghain was maps, is maps with many notations. Leliana was music, Sten...oh...that is very hard to explain.’_

__Selecting a mental book for her, he opened it, the experience unfolding as crisp and real as if it were her in his shoes. The tenderness, the exuberant joy, the way the air had sharpened around everything, the way his senses always perceived things. To see a large and frozen man with an infant barely the length of his forearm, sprawled on a floor, the new life with a rising and falling stomach, atop the adult rising and falling chest, a hand that dwarfed that small thing, curled protectively around it... To know without doubt that the world began and ended right there, and to see that the little one’s need would be seen to by the man who needed him just as badly - peace._ _

He shut the book slowly, letting the memory fade from how it took hold, _’A library of more than skill, **mushu**. Of more than experience or thought. A library of precious self, no?’_

_’This one still gathers her own, but there is more than enough space, provided she stays away from the cellars...things don’t keep there long.’_ She shrugged as though everyone had that problem. _’ **Asha** will keep them for you until they are needed.’ _

_’They are not for me, they are for you, **mushu**. You will want them in the long run, yes?’_ He knew she would need them, just as he would need what he was gathering. 

Confusion in the link, _’Why would you say this...give these things of yourself, Haf-cath?’_

_’Because I will not be able to be what you need, but this way, you can still have me, yes? Do the same to the others, set them aside for long from now. Make a place for them, take in everything - good, bad, ugly, sad, happy, boring, as boring as putting on a sock or boot, yes?’_ Looking down at the picture, the only time he had seen himself and the center of his existence through the eyes of another. _’It is all...infinitely precious.’_

_’A good night kiss and calling uncle.’_ The laugh she gave was nearly audible.

Chuckling, _’Yes, exactly! Just so. Something more than old worn love letters and memories that are your own - sometimes they do not seem as crisp, no? Another’s, one who matters, that is where the vitality is, yes? Request it of them if you must, but of myself, I give it without the need of your asking.’_

_’What have you done that requires such a gift?’_ curiosity.

_’It is thanks for what you have done, it is practice for what I will do, and it is an apology for what I cannot do for you, small one,’_ saying softly. _’Perhaps we are all the same in this, or perhaps we are not, hmn? I think we reflect the ‘Hero’ we come in contact with, their needs and how they meet ours and how we meet theirs. Just because I cannot be what you need, does not mean I cannot give you something, yes?’ _

_’It has been true so far. The **enansal** are matched to their Wardens, even in the stories of ones she has not met. Not all stories are of storybook endings, but faerie tales are not truth. This one is interested to see how her own will turn out, as she knew him before most did.’_

Shifting to grab one of his books, he put the beautiful drawing away. _’Taking your effect on others into account, the things that have crossed through in our touches, I would say that while it will have its share of miscommunication and difficulties, it will have happiness. If you allow it.’_

_’This **da’sa** is not certain, but things will happen as they always do.’_ The thoughts are released like birds from a cage, _’This place is different from her own and the Wardens are different. You and Gaeaf have cared for them; they do not search for lost purpose. When they lose focus they are pointed again in a direction where they can be useful. This one does not, cannot manage things so closely.’_

_’Practice, a core trio of minds and several orbiting ones to manage the peripheral things, hmn?’_ Ferox was shown as the shield, drawing attention and pounding away with hammer blows, Zevran himself sliding in from behind, hamstringing and delivering coup de grace, Nathaniel snipping the far targets. _’Power, the head of state in many ways, yes? The tactician and thinker. The deliverer of details. Then there are the others,’_ Sigrun, fast and agile, keeping spirits up as she ran the Warden end of things in Amaranthine, Varel the politician, Alistair the odd authoritarian. _’Three is the most stable number in all things, **mushu**.’ _

_’The Keeper said that this one had five...a star shape, **durgen** , **enansal** , **nuvenin** , **lath** , and the mabari._

Shrugging, _’Do you recall ever seeing a tripod? For an easel, yes? Or a camp stool?’_ Making the shape of the three legs for either item on the floor, _’Three legs can find stability in any terrain, rocky, sandy, solid, dirt, loose...hard packed...it matters not, it will remain rather level and quite stable, no matter what footing it is set upon. Five is a good number, but it will rotate and shift and break, growing pains and shrinking pains, hmn? Three, the members may change, the result is still the same for versatile stability.’_

_’It is rare that they gather at once, but the Keeper did talk of primaries and secondary supporting ones. As this one said, the story has yet to begin, she is still in Kirkwall as far as anyone knows, and the others are at their tasks. Perhaps this throws Morrigan and the First Warden off the path, another thing to wait and see.’_

Tilting his head in a sign of half agreement, _’Might I ask you to draw the girls for me? Perhaps one with Moira or some such?’_

Teasing, at Zevran’s choice of words even as the request was heard. _’ **Ma nuvenin** , you have only to ask._ It struck him that the reminder was similar to Ferox’s ‘Do not wish, do.’ 

....

[Ferox] 

The time spent at the Vigil was longer than Ferox had originally intended. Every time he opened his mouth to bring up the subject of heading to Denerim it felt that the little healer hand a finger on that particular sentence in his mind and before the words could be spoken she would ask a question and send him in another direction. Eventually he would return to the subject, usually after another day or two had passed. 

His continuing anger at what hung over their heads persisted to vex him, knowing that it easily destroyed the trust he was continually struggling to build. The idea that strings were held ate, at his belief in Zevran and in himself, just as a river wears away at a sandy bank, undercutting it until the path above crumbles into the water. Each time the subject of the leashes and hostages held by the Crows was brought mind, the shore collapsed into the swiftly flowing river and Ferox had to begin again. What other choices were there? Again and again, he slammed into the stone in his path and watched the effects, nearly cursing and vowing to regain the mask he had given up. If he didn’t care, then these things, those that he loved could not be used against him. They would no longer be vulnerable to those who threatened them. Foolish, he knew and although he searched for the mask, even if it was found, Ferox knew that he would take a step off a Tower before putting it back on. 

And still it rankled. Moments of peace were found, when he forgot for a time, when the mind was engaged in other activities. A particularly satisfying practice bout, an afternoon of weighing in on a land dispute between banns, or a ride to Amaranthine to discuss matters with Bann Delilah Howe, drove the thoughts of those who threatened that harmony into near silence. 

Every morning, the healer rose as dawn lightened the sky and squirmed between he and Zevran for a few minutes of strange disjointed conversation. They had noted, on most mornings the vines laid on her skin were nearly black, as if she had been working all night. A touch laid on each of them, then she would be off to soak in the sunrise. Another few minutes of dozing and Ferox would rise, leaving Zevran and Moira behind in the early morning quiet, to insure that the children were dressed, washed, and breakfast was eaten, and not worn in Len’s case.

During the day, Ferox kept busy, anything to avoid the thoughts which ate away at the sand, anything to avoid being alone or being alone with Zevran. It was impossible, as the link was always there, but as he had taken to working in a corner of the large kitchen, which was always bustling, food being made or consumed, it became unlikely. Only very late at night was the kitchen finally quiet, and those hours would find Ferox seeking the sleeping company of Zevran and Moira in his own bed - so very tired. Closing his eyes for a few hours, hoping that he was exhausted enough so that the dreams of destruction would not come, the day would begin again with the healer.

At first, Ferox kept a constant watch on Zevran’s location in the amulet, but as the time passed and he became more and more tired as each day went on, eventually he stopped looking. The healer would come to the kitchen and sit next to him, supposedly to work on the Taint. A foot or a hand would rest on his leg while she ate, or drew, or occasionally read a strange tome she had discovered in the Vigil’s library. Just as she redirected him, when he wanted to discuss continuing their journey, he would do the same to her when she tried to ferret out the reason for his ‘accompanied isolation’.

Having requested to ‘play again’, Ferox watched as Dulsanaya coordinated a rather interesting battle between Wardens and the Silver Knights. Sending pictures and words, she stood at their center, directing and, on a rather sudden and vicious blow, lent strength to another to block. The communication in the link was fascinating. He listened and watched, learning all he could. Her tactics were not the best, she was not at heart a fighter, but she had learned by watching others. Ferox knew then what she was attempting to show, she was not trying to teach them the moves, but of the link itself, of how she felt and saw everything through them. Close by, he knew that Zevran felt and tasted this so much more, how she caused the Warden to raise his shield, bolstering one person or causing another to duck, just by coordinating their efforts. It was as if the entire display was in slow motion just for their benefit.

He considered what she could do with the amulet. It wasn’t that she had mastered it, but that she used it for things that Wardens didn’t think of by themselves. To them it was jewelry, until she spoke to them, showed them how to use it to amplify their skills, speak with others, use it to see more than just darkspawn, and to see each other. When others learned the small foothold she had on the skill, they quickly moved beyond her, rapidly conforming it to their own uses, expanding it...then there was Zevran who was the true master. But none of it was possible without her patient teaching of the littlest bit she could do, the showing, giving, and slow examples, repeated until the thing was understood.

As a fighter, she could be that for brief time, it being a borrowed skill that could be used for only as long as she had energy. Whatever the power was that the vines contained faded rapidly, used more quickly than if she was just healing. When she did ask to play, the girl preferred to do it outdoors in the sunlight, so she could refill even as she was expending, but never keeping up. Figuring that she learned from the core companions who traveled with him during the Blight, Ferox put her up against ones other than Wardens, ones she couldn’t sense. Testing them on their weaknesses and stopping before her vines became tinged with black after he learned that pushing her past that caused her to collapse. The strange thing was, she never learned beyond what she already had. Faced with a strike she couldn’t block or a swing that every time would strike her, instead of making the companion’s style she borrowed do what she needed, she reached for someone else, who might have a chance. Shifting between styles, she disconcerted her opponents. He saw when she crossed between one to another and when she mixed them, her favourite, probably because she had most recently traveled with them, was Sten and Zevran. She was the strangest thing who would have been an amazing weapon, except that she ran through her available energy within a very short time. Opponents had to be taken down quickly and she used everything to startle and surprise, as she had no staying power and she could not seem to learn new skills herself, as if there was no functioning short term memory.

Ferox had discovered this unfortunate thing when trying to teach her a block to a particular strike that kept hitting her when she had made the mistake of staying in one style. The sun was low on the horizon, her vines were brown and dull, and a growl had crept into his voice, instructed again, “Up and block. No do not switch. Learn this as you are.” Her muscles moved sluggishly, never as he had positioned her and never as he had repeatedly shown her step by step. 

A flicker of rage flashed between them. _’This **asha** is not you, she has said this, but you do not hear her words. Let her block like this.’_ At the word ‘this,’ she touched him, freezing him in place. He heard her call out, _’Haf-cath, this **asha** has had enough. Gaeaf is in the training yard.’_

Turning on her heel, the longsword slid smoothly into its sheath on her back and she left him there, paralyzed, growling, and nothing to do but wait it out - _Just when you thought you had her all figured out. Oh do shut up. But we’re a sitting duck now. Oh Maker. Perhaps if you tried to move it would break it faster. Let me outta here._ No matter how much he thought he told his muscles to obey him they didn’t and he couldn’t move.

Not until Zevran touched him. 

Even through his armour it was warmth at his shoulder, a forehead resting on it from behind, “Will you spend more time working in the kitchen tonight, _amora_?”

“It is warm and I am easily found there. Why?” _Perhaps you shouldn’t ask questions._

“I miss you _amora_ ,” it was a sigh. “Very good then, if that is your wish you will do as you will,” absent of any recrimination but for a flash of disappointment masking loneliness between them, his assassin moved within his mind, quickly freeing him of the hold. 

“Zevran, what would you have me do?” 

“Stop running? Stop pushing me away? Stop not trusting me? Hmn? That would be good, yes? Why you feel the need to make yourself and those who care and worry over you, hurt and be lonely and reject us and our presence, our need of you...” His lover stepped away, “It hurts. It confuses. It makes me angry, yes? We, you and I, we are mortal men, fallible, we make mistakes. Say the wrong thing, no? I may ask for those things of you, but I cannot force you to give them if you are unwilling, and if you are unwilling then _I do not want you to give them._ Because it would be obligation or guilt rather than love, and not a thing of any worth.”

Protesting, “I have not rejected anyone. Every day, every night, I have seen everyone.” 

There was a fast crackle, “If that is what you choose to believe, then certainly, choose to believe it, and be unconvinced by any other! No - no, no, no but you slink in in the night, then away at the dawn. You know _exactly_ what you do. You avoid, you hide, you do not trust anything. Not yourself, not me, not anyone. It has been the same with just a different mask put forward as you search for the old one. As I said, if that is what you choose to believe, then, that is all that can be said, _amora_ , other than I love you and you know where to find me tonight.” 

__Hooray! We found a mask! Uhh? I don’t think that’s a good thing. Oh damn, that means it’s Tower Time, doesn’t it?_ There was the clatter of hooves registered distantly, but Ferox was still frozen, if not because of the healer’s magic, then from his own inability to move. _So you were paying attention then when we discussed it. Is he complimenting us on consistency? Umm, no. About that not trusting thing though, I thought that’s what we were trying to fix. Apparently you are too slow in the repairs. Well, he’s dodging the questions and admitting things you don’t want to hear. And nobody got you eye coverings for your birthday. I know...but it’s not like you told anyone when that is either. This is a stupid line of thought. You are going to screw this up, aren’t you? What? You’re going to be disappointed in me as well? Is it even possible to be disappointed in oneself? Why yes, and I’m very good at it. How nice._ _

“I...umm?” Zevran was not in sight and according to the amulet, not in the Vigil and heading for the nearest beach. “Oh Maker.” _You know, I wonder if Oghren has anything. He always has something, but you aren’t having any. Armand? Bringing out the heavy strikers? You betcha. No, you can’t have any of that either._ Tentatively reaching out for Zevran, _’Are you - ‘_

__’I will return - later, **querido**. But I have no desire to speak to you at the moment and hear platitudes,’_ it was said rapidly but patiently and then the link went quiet, any reaching rebuffed beyond the constant presence. _

_I wanted to go back to Denerim, several days ago...a week? I don’t think that would have helped. Are you sure - well, there were more places to hide... Really? Yeah, you know how much you like the Fort. So, whatcha gonna do? Do? I have more paperwork, letters, a whole packet that came in yesterday. I’m not bored. I mean, what are you going to do? I don’t know. You never know. Well, not like you ever help. I can’t build a path on the sand. You could go around it on a boat. But the rock is still there. You could go back to ignoring it, you’re really good at that. I want it gone. Not gonna happen. Fine. Letters it is then. Kitchen or office? Damn it, shut up! Fine, I’ll go back to the office, but if you say a word, I’m back downstairs._

A few hours later, Zevran’s amulet was in the stables, then pausing outside the office for a long time. Ferox’s pen had stopped as he waited, still undecided himself of what he would do or say. His assassin finally took the first step, as it seemed he usually did, strength, need or impatience driving him forward first instead of locking him up, entering the office and closing the door. Features stilled, his lover approached then went to his knees slowly before him, pulling out the chair, to lay his head in Ferox’s lap.

His voice cracking, “Please don’t do this. You shouldn’t. I am the one at fault.” Unable to stop, Ferox stroked the silky hair before tracing his favorite pointed ear.

“It does not matter who is at fault, _amora_ ,” eyes slid closed, cheek rubbing against legging for a moment. “It does not change the fact that tempers were lost, unkind things said, or that both of us fled for a time. Justifications, excuses, ‘reasons’, empty things, none of them change the action.” An arm curled around Ferox’s calf, “My head is too heavy, your lap is comfortable, please hold it up for me.” 

_Maker, how did I get here? You really don’t want me to go through that whole thing that again.You’re right, I’ll shut up._ “I would hold more of you, if you are willing.”

Forehead pressed itself into his thigh, _’I will take whatever you can give, wish to give, willing to give.’_

The ever present sigh was released. _You are so unexciting and monotonous. Thanks. Still can’t figure out why he even likes you. I told you why, meal ticket. I am not listening. Oh, back to that already?_ “Then come closer, I have missed holding you as well.”

A slow push from the floor to be in his lap, a hand curled around the back of Ferox’s neck, head on shoulder, tense and wary, as though expecting to be shoved away. “Why does this happen, _amora_? Why do we fight?”

_You’re still trying to figure that out? What? Gonna tell him you pick fights with me? I would say it’s the other way around. There you go again._ “I find myself in the middle of things and, not saying that I don’t know how I got there, I do but I don’t know how things got turned so upside down and I really wish I could take a few steps backwards, because I’m about to do or say something really stupid. And of course I do, because if I don’t then I’m utterly furious and end up leaving so I don’t do any of that.”

“It would be better if you just relaxed, _querido_ , say the stupid things, no matter how bad they hurt. I would rather know what I am fighting, than be left guessing,” he was limp in Ferox’s arms. “Sometimes the only way to learn an opponent’s weakness is to submit to their blows and watch from the inside of the fight, hmn? How can it be combated if it is unknown? How can we stop this? Might as well rip the amulets off without warning for as much as it hurts to be separated, _amora._ ”

Slowly as if weighing every word, “I do regret that... But to say the things my mind comes up with, I would, beyond all doubt, be a monster...I have been ashamed and horrified at the latest. You would be better served taking another ride than hear them.”

“How then can it be worked upon, _querido_? I have done everything else I can think of, other than treat you the way I do all others - to think before every word or action is taken, to walk upon eggshells for fear of triggering some trap that causes your anger to snap... Instead of finally being myself, not having to know, to not have to seek or pretend constant perfection, to slip and know that it is alright, for there will be no harm or attack...” 

“Is hearing my doubts and accusations, preventing harm? It’s what I try to stop. It’s what I walk away from.” 

“Hearing them will be bad, painful, yes, I will not lie, _amora_ ,” accented words fell slowly. “But how can an enemy - within, without - be thwarted and understood without information? You do not...you do not have to say them to me, but to someone, anyone, who would be willing to help you take this burden from your back, so your shoulders no longer hunch as you watch for flickers in the shadows... Or run away from one who loves you. Oghren, Anders, Alistair, Armand, Anora, Moira, Light, Nathaniel - I do not care _who_ or what...but someone has to help cut this enemy down as you can barely hold it back on your own.”

“Armand would gut me where I stand, but that’s funny. Light’s the best choice except she can’t talk me out of it...bite me certainly. I’ve considered asking for some sort of barrier or net or something, so I just don’t go there...I don’t like that person and don’t want to be him. And now I’m sounding like I’m crazy.”

Lips pressed at the juncture of jaw and ear, “You are not crazy, _amora_. Very scarred, yes. A war veteran learning how to walk again after a long convalescence. Not healed entirely, yes? But on the way. It hurts, it is uncomfortable. But it is choosing life or unliving breathing, no? It does not need to be done on your own, it is best not done on your own. Please, let me help, let us both heal.”

Another sigh, _Where do you keep those? Always a fresh supply._ “Fine. I know, you don’t like that word. Give me a topic and you can have everything.” _Everything? Oh you really want to die today, don’t you? Why not? Paperwork’s done, except for signing that letter and he’ll do that for me later. Good to know._

Zevran took a moment, “I am out of practice, _amora._ I was never much of a mind healer, hmn? But for you, I would do anything, please forgive any clumsiness on my part, it is...unintentional.” A deep breath was released gradually, steeling and ordering from the way muscles flexed and relaxed. “We know that this current bout happened the first day we arrived, yes? In the bath. It triggered the decline, so, let me have it, what do you think of this?” 

“What do I think of the argument or the sinking that happened before it? All of it, just start at the beginning?"

“Whatever you are willing to do, _amora_. I am here, you can tell me any of it that you choose, without judgement, anger or fear, yes?” He lifted his head long enough to tilt Ferox’s face to look into his eyes, as though trying to impart all the secrets of the ancients to him, “I am here for you. It is uncomfortable, but how can we move forward if we are always being dragged back?”

Brown fingers stroked his temple gently urging him to speak, “I was trying to work my way out of the darkness caused by thoughts of duty, darkspawn, and losing an eye on Anders. I wanted out of that pit and changed the subject, but was not careful and we ended up speaking of the Blight again, which led to those that hold strings and threaten what we care for and what you probably do to keep them at bay, because I don’t know what that is. The first time this came up, it also caused many doubts, which were repeated and have been made worse by time.”

“What doubts might those be?”

“The argument is whether or not you are here, still here, because you really want to be or if other things keep you here. Do you stay because I actually mean something or because life is simply easier and I allow myself to be manipulated?”

He had to give his lover credit, there was no corresponding flinch, hiss, or sign of pain or anger, taking the time to think it over. _Well, you didn’t say it as bluntly as ‘he’ did. THAT was YOU. Was not - THAT was YOU._ The other side of himself huffed, _Well, he’s not stupid, he probably figured out what you didn’t say. You were horrible!_

“There is no logical reason I remain other than my love for you and our family, _querido._ ” Words were picked carefully, “I have more than sufficient holdings and monies and businesses of my own to run. I have slaves, I have work. Properties. I am not a poor man without means who must beg to be in someone’s good graces to get luxury great or small. The Guildmaster is quite aware the position was gained only because I did not wish it, leaving them to squabble over who sat that chair. I did not have to vacate Antiva to leave the Guild’s political system. It would not have been very difficult at all to remain a silent partner doing jobs directly for the Guildmaster of my own choosing, held neatly away from the rest of the rabble. _That_ would have been an easier life. Empty, but easier. There is no logical reason stemming from that for me to manipulate you.” 

“Okay there we go. That sentence right there. That’s right where everything is about to go very wrong and I’m going to get in trouble because if I wait, I’m not going to like what comes next and already I’m ‘horribalizing’.”

“Because you think then I must stay because I was ordered to?”

Repressing a shudder, “No. Because taken in reverse, there are other logical reasons stemming from other things to manipulate.” 

Zevran shifted in his lap, head rolling, “Like what? There are many possibilities, yes, but I do not know which you are referring to specifically.” 

“If what was said was that ‘there was no logical reason to manipulate’. I could live on without doubt assailing on that subject. But that isn’t what was said and everything that could possibly be thought of as a reason will be put in my head as soon as I stop talking.”

There was a low hum, faintly frustrated but not with him, Ferox sensed, “I was seeking to set aside that reason and work on the next. It is unlikely you will care much for the other reasons that will come forth. But we are having a council and I am seeking to show you which paths you are seeing are either not feasible or not even real. It was meant to close that point. Does that explain the phrasing, _amora_? It was not intended, not ever, to imply anything else, other than to move to the next set of possible logical reasons.” 

Squeezing Zevran closer, growling - whether at himself or his lover, he wasn’t entirely sure, “I hear the clarification. However, it is that which causes me to doubt...and you don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to watch and be careful and I don’t want you to be guarded. Which is why I had suggested, thought that there might be other ways to change me. No one else is upset by your words, why would I be?”

“Because there is much scarring over the part of your heart that can accept things at face value. Some from what was done by a longtime, loyal, family friend ripping your world from you, then the constant pressure of leadership.” An elegant hand waved, “The mask did its own damage, put you in the place of manipulator, seeing just how easy it was to deconstruct and fabricate and do whatever was necessary to attain a goal. Which would leave you then quite aware that someone else could easily do that if they were of that mindset, yes? That part would not believe, not truly, that if I had said ‘no logical reason at all’ and would find some illogical one, hmn? Or doubt the truth of the statement, searching for other small things that were hidden or left unsaid, seeing them as proof that all was naught but lies. In fact this conversation and reassurances will not make everything ‘all better’, it will not magically heal the damages, and will need to be repeated, eventually, in time, healing may be complete. It is something to work towards, yes? So I hope and pray, _amora_ that you find it worth working towards.”

Tucking his cheek to his assassin’s, he groaned, “I get so tired of constantly pushing back these suspicions and the lack of trust, even now they sit on my chest and try to smother me, I am gasping for breath in this darkness and I do not want to hurt anyone because of it. What is worse is that the words I normally love listening to, fall into the wrong places, through no fault of your own, and I am overwhelmed with them. So I get up and leave before I say, or, Maker forbid, do anything. I leave because I love you, not because I don’t care.” 

“An impasse, then. We cannot tackle that today, but we will, yes? May I give you the rest of the information and reasons why the only logical reason I remain is because I personally _need_ to, else I fear I would die of missing you?”

_Breathe normal. Don’t sigh, please. I’m tired of it._ “I am here and listening.”

“I justify nothing, other than to say as unpleasant as these items are, they were undertaken so that I could be selfish and remain as near your side as I could possibly get.” Zevran reached for Ferox’s hand, holding it. “I gave them Vigilance. I stole the dragon blade from you, and this bought some goodwill. But first I had to slaughter my way to the old Guildmaster, while you were here first, yes? There have been no contracts for me to fulfill these years as I hold yours still. Technically I am the only Crow of my cell, of my old Master, remaining, so the contract is mine, since the Guildmaster’s copy went...missing. So the only contract that I can be given is this one that remains unfinished. Side jobs, yes, those can be given, and yes, those have been done. A bit of spying on Anora, merchant information, slanted to gain Ferelden the best trade, while whatever Antivan or Rivanian or Navarran or Orlesian merchant thought they too, got the best end of the deal. I am nominally under Ignacio’s eye, and when he dies, they believe I will take his place, but the short-sighted issue with that is that I would then be considered returned to the politics.”

The tone remained flat, monotonous, a recitation of deeds done without emotion or pride, imparting no coating of sugar to them. “Politics I had sworn off of formally, giving up my right to seek the Guildmaster’s seat. The thing is, is it was not a promise I made in good faith. They are empty words given to gain those I truly wish to protect, that needed protection. If, for any reason, they show any threat, I will rescind that so called promise and I will take down those in power, once more replacing them with those of my own choosing, with myself at the head. There are...people in place who owe me a great deal that has little to do with money, friendship, or much of anything other than simple debt, who will carry out my orders and strike if commanded. And they know they will be well rewarded for paying off those debts, far more than what they gain from their current positions. Periodically someone goes missing and is made an example of, ones that have had their loyalties go lax or proved an impediment to a rapid overthrow if it became necessary. To plan for the worst, while blithely praying for the best. Those are the things I have done to keep them at bay, far away from our family, from you. As I thought when Alistair said he did not wish to be king, ‘it is better to rule from a throne than be chased by it’, hmn? In effect that is what I have done. To tell you these things would have angered you or confused you, so I did not, believing it would not become a problem. Foolish, as I relax and let bits of it slip, enough to breed doubts. So the Guild has either allowed itself to be pressed to a mould of my choosing, or I planned well enough that it truly believes that it has the upper hand and that it was their idea to order me to return after the old Guildmaster was dead and replaced. Either way, the advantage is mine for the time being, and has kept all I hold dear safe, while also allowing me to remain where I wish to be.”

A nod as the landslide of words swept him off the mountain. _Upside down again? I think so, but I’m a little buried. Could you get this rock off of my chest? You know that he’s reassuring me that he’s not manipulating me by telling of other manipulations? That is the most bizarre logic ever. Maybe...now, this might sound strange, maybe we should, you know, point that out._ Managing to clear his throat of the thick dust, “You’re trying to reassure me by...” 

“To show you where I have done those things, yes. To show, hopefully, that yes, I am...selfish. The only place I want to be is where you are, _amora_ , and would stop at nothing, to get there or remain here. If I wished to manipulate you, I would not tell you of what I had done, I would tell you that there was no reason to question, would never slip, would never relax, would not do what I have done, yes? There would be no need for convoluted logic or any logic at all, just a swamping of positive things to wash away fears, rather than truth, hmn? You deserve truth, even if it is unpleasant, _amora_... To make your decisions properly informed, even those pertaining to me. I must come clean so that you know what you are dealing with, yes?” 

_Now would be a good time to roll over and show your belly because it doesn’t matter what you say...well it does, because it’s either really wrong or right and you wish you were wrong. Could you shut up? You know, if he ever heard what goes on in this very echo-ie place you call a brain, we are all really frelled. Well, then stupid, be honest. Is this the next spot I get in trouble at? He told you to just tell him... Just remember, if I’m dying, I’m taking the rest of you with me._ “Zevran, excepting, of course, the things which as you expected would make me angry, it sounds good on the surface. Why did you go after them in the first place? Why not just stay away?”

“They were coming for you,” there was a thick swallow. “At first just some initiates that I handled in Denerim and the like. A few decent ones, again, one even managed to get in the hallway leading to your room, but not close enough for anyone to be alerted as I killed them before they got that far. It would only be a matter of time, yes? The problems at the Vigil were a boon, it gave me time where you would be surrounded by many Wardens, many very well-trained men, I did not know, no one could have, that the issues would have been so bad, yes? By then I was already long on a boat, and heard nothing until I landed. More Crows were sent to you while I was busy, but not very good ones, the finest were...occupied,” brow twitching in that manner that indicated he was grossly understating something. “I could not stay away from the Guild, it had to be handled, else there would have been no chance at all in the long run. Something would get past me.” 

“I was angry at the time that you wouldn’t come with me and had to remind myself, time and time again, that I had released the requirement to stay. I had no hold over you,” a bitter laugh found him. 

“I would have if there had been any way to do so safely, _amora._ As soon as I heard what had happened to the Wardens...but it was old news by the time it reached me. All I could do was pray that I was effective in cutting away one set of foes and trusting you to handle the ones near your own hands,” shivering. “The entire time I was torn, fighting myself, knowing logic versus need had to have logic as the winner... Besides...I did not...I did not think you even cared enough to be angry.” _’You have had a hold for a great deal of time. That has not changed, nor ever will. You hold my heart and life in your large, capable hands, it is the safest place for it I have found, and even if it was not, it is the only place I would wish it to be.’_ “It would be...understandable...if you wish me to leave you to your thoughts, but please do not make me. I can remain here and be silent if that is what it takes, _querido._ The only logical thing that can remain for my staying is that it is you who draws me here, holds me here, near, as it is where I wish to be, for you, and only you, anything else is just an excuse for other eyes and ears so they will not threaten.” 

Ferox was exhausted from it all. And _very_ bitter. How all this was supposed to be considered ‘healing’ he wasn’t entirely sure. _Well what do you want? Him to lie to you? He could do that. Nope, no ser, I wouldn’t like that. Well you sure are acting like it would make you feel better. Hey - whose side are you on? Mine. Great, that just figures._ “It’s a lot to process.”

“That is quite true, _querido._ ”

Taking a deep breath, “How am I supposed to trust you when all of these other things have happened?” 

The counter was quick, “How could you ever trust that I would not kill you in your sleep? During the Blight it was just business, once there was no ‘business’ related reason to hold any desire to kill you, then it was no longer a threat. Now I have made sure the business reflects my own desires so there is a vastly reduced chance, yes? You have given me no reason to manipulate you, so there is no reason to do so. Those times when I had were...before. And even those were to keep you safe and myself near because I could not...I cannot bear being away. But it also goes the other way, _querido._ How would I ever know for sure that you would not harm me? I cannot, not for sure, all I can know is that you care for me, it is in the amulet. Even in your dark thoughts, it is there, the knowledge of how much it would make you bleed if I were to turn on you or had - it would not be so bad if you did not, yes? Simply because I do not show you my dark thoughts and deeds continually, does not mean that I do not have them, they just do not affect our day to day the way yours do. They do not stop me from trusting you, no matter other experiences I have had in life. All that I can do is reassure you of my love to the best of my ability, to listen when you are questioning, answer if that is what is needed, leave you be if that is needed, to be truthful even when it is grossly distasteful.”

_Wait - what? He has, since when? He doesn’t brood. Uh, he just admitted to it. And he just said he doesn’t come to you. Well - where does he go?_ Mouth not checking with head, or maybe listening to the wrong end of it, “Why don’t you come to me?” 

The laugh was mirthless, dry and broken. “Because it will be so well received? No, I am sorry, _amora_ , that was... Please forget I said that, it was petty of me to say, I... I slipped, please.”

_He has you there. Shut up._ Growling, “Come to me anyway.” 

“I find other ways to, _amora._ I ask you to hold me, to kiss me, to let me remain by your side,” twisting in his lap, Zevran took Ferox’s face in his hands. “Those things help ease the dark thoughts for me when they overwhelm. For me, that works, yes? For you, they are only a salve on a much deeper wound, hmn? A temporary fix, yes? We will stumble and look for a fuller solution for you, a better healing than just something to soothe for a moment. But I will tell you the truth, I will remain beside you as long as it is remotely possible, catch your falls, just for the chance to burrow myself into your arms as often as is possible, _querido,_ they are the only place I wish to be.”

The crinkles around the amber eyes were deep, the brow furrowed with desperate worry, the muscles under Ferox’s hand twitching with anxiety. _Why would you do this for me?_ even as he was blinded. “We should try not to wake up Moira.”

“She was in the nursery when I passed it, _querido._ Neither of us were in bed, so she likely stayed away,” a shake of head. “Besides, Len was busy being cuddled up to her, I do not think she would wish to leave her post, yes?”

“Then let’s go to bed and let me hold you.”

He wasn’t used to Zevran falling asleep so quickly that he didn’t even remove his clothes, and, even as exhausted as he was, Ferox couldn’t find sleep himself. _So he’s not been sleeping either. You did this._ So he watched the way his lover pressed close, hanging on as though to a lifeline. _Or a meal ticket. Would you quit that? I’m not his frelling meal ticket! He can take care of himself! I’ve said this, he’s said this...and it makes sense. You’re not worth holding onto so tightly - no one like him would want you. How could they? How could he? You can’t even trust him to listen to your whining, and he can’t trust you to not growl and hurt him when he isn’t feeling right either. Sure everything’s fine and dandy with him just being himself until he manages to ‘slip’ and say something you don’t like, then you shove him away and think nasty thoughts, hurting him, hurting yourself - Stop - just stop! STOP! NO MORE!_

Rebelling against that voice wasn’t going to be easy, but put like that, there was no longer an option to remain the way he had been or he truly would lose what he held dear. None. Ferox had thought he _had_ put the worst of it behind him. Apparently he hadn’t. And they were suffering for it. _Tower’s tempting. Go get frelled. ‘Sides that, cleanup is easier if you take the ocean cruise. True._

Strong brown fingers flexed in repose, expression furrowing, body tensing against his. His lover’s breathing became rapid before jerking slightly and a shuddering exhale was released. Shifting enough to pull Zevran closer, Ferox smoothed aside a strand of hair that was clinging oddly to the dark bronze skin, his thumb coming in contact with moisture. Pausing, Ferox stared for a moment then ran the side of his thumb near the corner of an almond shaped eye.

_Dear Maker, not this too!_ Any more and Ferox thought he would shatter. _Hah - look. He cries in his sleep. That’s your fault too you know. Shut. Up. Well - it is. You should at least admit it. GO AWAY!_ Cupping the tattooed cheek, he sighed, yet again, unable to help it at all. Or to go to sleep.

When morning came and the little healer made to wiggle between them, Zevran came awake with a whine, clutching at Ferox, refusing to be separated, eyes wild, nearly as wild as the little healer’s were with surprise.

_’ **Abelas, asha** did not mean -’_

Ferox tugged Zevran back down to his side and grabbed the healer with his other hand, “Here’s good.”

Beside him his sun cleared his throat, “I am sorry, I was startled, here, it is alright _mushu_ , come to your customary spot.”

“No, stop talking, both of you are fine where you are,” Ferox rumbled, too tired to argue so he made it an order. “Now, put your heads down and be quiet.” Feeling those green eyes on him, poking him to see if he was feeling alright, he growled and heard a gulp as the little healer settled against him, “No moving, no talking, go back to sleep. And if you’re going to poke or whatever it is you do in the morning, do it quietly.”

....

Ferox tried to bring up the subject of going to Denerim and actually got a full sentence out. The healer seemed to consider the idea before saying no. _It’s progress. Hey, not to interrupt, but I just have to ask, who’s in charge here? If you ever for a second thought you were in charge, you were, are, sadly mistaken...and I don’t mean just this situation either. Well, I usually don’t have issues regarding who’s the boss, long as everything is going as it should, and if it’s getting frelled up, I’m happy to step in and growl. She’s not ready to leave some of the Wardens behind. Well, we’re taking most of them. Is she working on someone who’s not coming? We could take them. Maybe you should find out. That’s a good idea for once. ‘Not to interfere in what you are working on but, I do have to write this response back to Nathaniel. Will you tell me why and perhaps we can work out a compromise?’_ Two faces flickered in the link, Varel and Delilah, who was pregnant again and close to her due date. _’I’m good. Thank you.’ Certainly explained the trips she was taking with Anders up to Amaranthine. You know...Delilah’s children are possible Warden material. Oh material, eh? This your special word for them now, huh? How official. Potentials? Well they’re not recruits, they’re just kids._

Watching Zevran dance in that heavy chain was an impressive sight. _Seriously, if you wore three times the armour, could you even move? Twice perhaps, but absolutely no more than that. Or move like that at all, not even in what you have on right now. These leathers aren’t that bad. You aren’t fooling me, I am you. I will point out that since he doesn’t wear anything like the volcanic plate, that already you’ve started us out in something heavier before multiplying it. True, but you still can’t dance like that._ Before him there was a sinking kick to a fellow rogue opponent who began to defend, which only caused his lover to rise up quickly, switching legs, heel slamming into chin, the rogue falling backwards as Zevran’s body followed the motion, chain chiming musically, his entire body flowing into a back-flip, landing on the balls of feet, ready to lunge forward if the Warden he was practicing against began to rise. _I could watch that all day. I think you have. No, I was watching the others too. Just through the amulet - no wonder you didn’t flinch when Anders cast the heal from sidelines on the other field. What? He had it. Nobody’s maimed and nobody got growled at. Well...not by you. Technicalities._

A forward sway, hand held out to help the sparring partner up, half swinging the rogue to the waiting arms of friends and a healer, before holding up two fingers, ordering more opponents, not even paying attention to the selection process, just guzzling water and wiping off his own sweaty face. Sigrun had offered earlier, but Zevran had bowed out from that one, politely refusing, but seeing Ias’ bloodied face, it became apparent that was reason enough. Two Crows stepped up, both lightly armoured, completely refreshed and unwinded. Tensing, Ferox waited as the three men stared at each other for long moments. 

Zevran flipped his sword in the air, catching it just below the hilt with a mailed fist to hold it out to someone on the sidelines, trading it for a blunted spear as the dagger was sheathed for ‘back-up’. That was the only amount of pause before the explosion struck. The display was maddening, breathtaking. One Crow would take high, the other low, in their attacks, Zevran fending them off with the spear, stomping on a blade or batting it aside with a hip, the slithering ‘schink’ of metal scraping against the tight rings sounding like the angrily strummed strings of an out of tune harp. _You know... I really don’t want him mad at me,_ as the butt end of the shaft slammed into a Crow’s side. _Oh no, too late. You are not funny. Wasn’t being funny. Maker, he’s beautiful._ The finely sculpted features were serene, transcendent, no show of focus there, or on the others, who were going without helmets also. _And yet you remain a large, lumbering ox. Plow horse, get it right. Seriously, what does he see in you? You know I’ve said it before, go away or shut up. Kinda hard when you’re locked up in here with me. I thought it was the other way around. Doesn’t matter, same result._

A flick to the side as blades, sharp and gleaming, not blunt, shaved past blond locks, turning at the last moment, the spear horizontal to the ground catching the other two Antivans at the middle, dragging them backwards, a rapid clockwise motion spun the spear’s shaft free of them. Quickly they recovered, attacks renewed, boots stomping and sliding on the ground, barely audible, even with the jingle of harnesses. Speeds accelerated, that odd muting and hazy effect coming over them as stealth was employed but not fully as they were still completely visible. Two Crows to one, the outcome should have been obvious, the greater numbers or the more experienced one would win, instead they merely fought to a standstill, some silent communication that had nothing to do with amulets letting them decide to stop at the exact same moment, each pulling away. One of those formal bows was delivered, the match not contested or to be debated, even if Ferox wondered what the odds would have been if Zevran had been unencumbered and hadn’t been fighting for the last two hours. 

_You know, a closet is almost beginning to sound acceptable. No, no it’s not. In one minute you’d be outta there gasping like a fish from lack of air._ A field was cleared behind him and another match begun. Amulets replaced and removed. It was like a checklist, one on, one off. Anders had been first, so he wouldn’t be tired and could actually make a good showing. He and Velanna were always interesting to watch. Plants, fire, ice... Zevran paced over to him, interrupting the ramble and assessments, taking the proffered waterskin and drinking from it long, long enough for Ferox to forget to watch the others start. _Closet, licking the sweat from his neck. La la la la la. Hollow of his throat. Ack! Breathe. You ser, have a problem._

A subtle lean, his assassin’s head resting against his arm, but not particularly noticeable, the feeling of just needing to be near coming through the amulet quietly. “If you are finished, I would help remove those heavy weights.” _Was that calm? I think so. Kept that ‘I need’ sound out of your voice? Maker, I hope so, it’s a little crowded around here._

“Your assistance would be greatly appreciated, _querido._ ” Amber eyes swept the practice yard, “But only if you have the time of course.”

Ferox pulled his gloves off, hanging them from his belt. _Is there ever not time? Okay stupid, did you get hit on the head when Oghren bounced off of your back? Sigh, you’re right...about the stupid part. And for the record, Oghren was supposed to be on my side...gotta love a berserker._ Other than the continued string of insults in his mind, he didn’t say anything as the few buckles were undone. Catching the blond locks so they didn’t tangle in the chain, Ferox lifted the heavy armoured tunic from Zevran. _Maker, that’s still heavy._ Draping it over the top rail, he worked on the skirting and, locating the buckles, released him from the remainder of the chain while Zevran’s hand lay on his shoulder for balance. Looking up into the overcast sun, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Some good shots were landed, I am sore, Anders and Dulsanaya will be busy with others and the pains are not worth their time, yes? But some salve on bruises later when your duty here is finished would not be unwelcome at all, _amora_ ,” a smile was summoned up, one he felt was just for him.

“As you wish, it would be my pleasure.” _All you need is a smile? He’s not just anybody. Oh, I’ll give you that._ Gathering the skirting and leggings before getting back to his feet. “I believe you need a repair or two after that, sprung some links.”

Zevran glanced at them a moment, “Wade should see to it, he is the castle’s blacksmith, _querido_ , yes? And these are not my own armour, so there is no need to worry over them.” The coat was gathered up, “However I had best take them to Harren now before others come to them begging fixes from the day’s sessions, yes?” 

“After you, you have carried all of this for too long today. The last bouts are finishing and I have no further need to stay and watch when I already know the outcome.”

The chainmail was quickly passed off, Wade howling over the amount of damage which was revealed by much shaking of the armour and folding it inside out. Zevran had only crooned about how well the armour had been made and how comfortable it was even as it protected him against live blades. That had quieted the finicky blacksmith down quickly to have his art so well praised, sending him into a new fit of repair and ‘improvements’.

_’Considering a soak first?’_ Ferox inquired, snagging a pot of tea, as they each assembled a tray of snacks to take up with them. _Snacks? That’s more like lunch. I’m hungry. You sure it’s just for food? Need a human...err elvish salt lick? Quiet!_

_’Anything you desire, **amora** , I wish only to be in the same space as you, no matter what it is we do,’_ the breathable red and brown linen and cotton clothes clung in a few spots to dark bronze skin, sleeves rolled up over elbows, showing the twist of tendons with each motion. _’I need only you.’_

_I hate having no direction. Maybe a packet came in from Denerim? It was expected today, which was why you got all of those letters ready to go out yesterday. Welcome to the fall back plan for how you will fill your afternoon. Could look at the library, plenty in there I haven’t read. Sounds better than nothing. Hey, I think you’re heading into the cellars again, dipping, sinking, whatever we call that. Sorry, I’m still tired from not sleeping. ‘Whatever you wish.’_

As they headed up the stairs, _’I was not lying about the bruises...they could definitely use some attention if that is amenable?’_

“Absolutely.” _I thought I had agreed? Perhaps you did not speak plainly._ Ferox kept his tone soft and the rumbling from his voice, “That first, then?”

“Food first, _amora_. I am famished, yes?” 

Third floor, _Did Howe just like looking down on everyone? Wait, I know this one. The answer is yes, because you think this every time we climb these stairs. You have pointed out on several occasions that Howe didn’t build this keep, however, he did choose where his office would be. I’m fairly certain it was an addition. Probably just did it so he could raise the tariffs. Every time? Really? Every time we climb these stairs, you think this...could we find a new topic? Well, there was earlier this trip when Zevran went for a ride...thanks for that, are you saying I’m going to frell this up? Uh, no. Wasn’t going there. Was just pointing out that sometimes you think of things other than how many stairs there are. Twenty per floor. Shut up, it’s twenty-two._

Room gained, Zevran set his own tray down and sat, hoisting a leg over his knee to yank on a boot, moaning as it came free. _’Hmn, that toenail is not going to want to stay,’_ a sock was peeled away, foot looked at with a clinical grimace, and the way one of the blunt appendages was swelling.

Repressing his upset, “Zevran, why wouldn’t you see the healer? They don’t mind.”

“It does not hurt much, all I must do is heat a needle and touch it to the nail and that will keep it until they do not have full hands, _amora_ ,” fingers began massaging the arch of foot, probably checking for further damage. “Not only that, but it would be rude to push to the front of the line when I put enough of them down so hard that they actually _require_ healing, yes?”

“Well, you did do that.” Ferox did not withhold the sigh. “Although you were cautious not to take that anger out on ones who did not deserve reproach. Care to enlighten me, however?” Setting down the tray on the table before fire, it was his turn to kneel and examine for injuries on his own, knowing Zevran wasn’t likely to mention anything except in the most offhand of manners if it was mentioned at all.

“Ias is good, but cocky, and has a tendency of boasting without merit, hmn? A sound reminder delivered to display that there will always be someone better, no matter how good one is, was necessary,” a groan was elicited at the tail end of the statement, Zevran going boneless under the probing massage of a broad ankle. “It was a good place to vent frustration, hmn? Oghren and Alistair can take your blows and deliver their own, thus providing you a place for yours, yes? Ias and the others merely provided me a good set of moving targets to work against, so that I could find my equilibrium, nothing more.”

“A few of the older Templars can. But I nearly knocked Og back into last week when he forgot which guy in plate he was supposed to be hitting. Thanks to that lesson the other day in managing the battlefield via the amulets, I got him pointed in the right direction. You, however, are not like this - I’m not growling, only noting - I do not disapprove when you choose to teach lessons to those who deserve it, but I don’t like it when you take it out on yourself.”

An eloquent shrug, “I do not take out frustrations with others on others. I take out frustration with my own issues on others, hmn? It helps to represent something, someone to beat back, hmn? By the same token, the little pains help me focus, yes? They will fade quickly, but prove useful while they remain.” He scooted forward on the chair to stroke Ferox’s face, “In the past I used to do a great deal more of damage to gain focus, but you would not like those methods, _querido._ ”

“If I wouldn’t let you do it to...well, anybody who didn’t merit it, why would I let you do it to yourself?”

His lover shook his head, “Power, submission, control, _querido._ These are the things that it boils down to. That is what it does. Any venting of anger in a fight, that is what is searched for, yes? It is nothing, I will heal and be seen to, these little aches hurt in a way I require them to for the time being, _amora._ Nothing more.”

_Little. Aches. Uh huh. And he already knows you’ve put a shout downstairs for a healer when one of them is free, not an emergency... True. Give him his moment if he wants it._ Unfastening the other boot, Ferox pulled it and the sock off to take a look at the damage there. “You were probably the most stubborn creature ever born, until my mother birthed her youngest child.”

“Tchk, I should hope not, else this would never have worked at all, _amora_. Now if you were to say I am the most persistent creature, that would not be denied, hmn?” amused. 

“Fluster-ate-ing as Len would say, yes, you are, very.” Examination done, for now, Ferox moved so Zevran could reach the table and poured tea in their mugs. “So tell me why this need for pain. Not the power, etc. Why this time?”

Tea was sipped then set aside, not looking at him. “It is there every time, the difference is that this time you have been informed of it, as you told me to come to you, and I said I would be fully truthful, _amora_. Pain is a tool for learning, pain is a tool for remembering place, _querido._ It is a part of daily life, of training, for one such as I. Take it away and I am not able to find the context I require. Physical pain assists, it guides, it helps learn and teaches where the pitfalls for psychological pain will be, yes? I understand full well that this is not the norm for others, but this is the norm for myself, _amora._ It is what keeps me functioning, yes?”

_Do me a favour. What, don’t sigh? Yeah, that. Too late, sorry. Not like you’re going to change him...he still thinks he’s changing you. Thinks? My head hurts and you really need to stop talking right now._ “If you say so, unfortunately, it seems I had not noticed. Something I’m regretting at the moment.” 

Lips were pursed for a moment, before Zevran lifted up his shirt, showing one of the bruises, an impressive blooming covering is right side. It had to hurt, and Ferox hurt just seeing it, then his lover made a fist and slammed it into his own side, smiling the whole time. “How would you notice if I did not react? The discolouration fades quickly with salve. It is nothing to me, _amora._ I have been through worse, it does not affect me, my duties, my relationships or actions.”

Knew it, saw it, and didn’t stop himself. Heard the snarling growl and felt the shutters close. With great care, the mug was set on the table as if it were one of the delicate tea cups Anora adored. “That is where you are incorrect. If you will excuse me, I shall return shortly.” Wanting nothing more than to snap and shove his chair flying backwards, Ferox grabbed the ferocity that was shaking him, reining it close and reduced himself to precise movements, mindful so that nothing was broken or thrown or said.

Gold eyes closed as there came a single nod of acceptance. “As you desire.” 

....

[Zevran]

Once Ferox was gone, Zevran went to his pack, pulling out the jar he always kept full. It was the same recipe Zamitie had used on him as a boy to protect from sunburns, to heal burns and bruises, to keep away fevers and ward off infection. It was also the same recipe any proper _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ parent would know and one that was always kept in good supply. Once he and Ferox had begun their relationship, he had refreshed the habit of keeping a large jar of it in his possessions and a smaller one on his person at all times. He never knew when he might need to soothe a bruise and hide it from inquisitive eyes.

There was a tentative knock on the door along with a mental, _’Umm Haf-cath?’_

Zevran paused in his rubbing in of the paste that cooled the spread of blood under skin, causing it to fade quickly. _’Come in, little one.’_

The door opened just enough so she could slip in, nose wrinkling at the scent, as she categorized the flavors ‘aloud’, _’Marigolds, sandalwood, myrrh, **poivre noir** [black pepper], beeswax, **e miele** [and honey].’_

“It works, yes?” returning to checking himself over. Slathering a goodly portion on a thigh, “I know he said I required healing, but I assure you, I do not, _mushu_. But it will make him happy, or at least, less angry, if I accept. And it will make you less anxious yourself.” 

_’If you do not, this one will not. That has already been said. This one has not always been a healer.’_

Smiling ruefully, he wasn’t foolish, he could feel her muffled urges. “As I said, it will be an olive branch for me to present to him, yes? So I submit and I accept.” 

Uncertainty and a feeling as if she was going to argue coloured her words, _‘ **Ma nuvenin, Haf-cath**.’_

Closing his eyes as he closed a hand around hers, _’Thank you.’_

The healing was restrained to only that which had been agreed, however, and agitation instead of her usual calm, flavoured the healer’s touch. But there was nothing he could do to ease it, not when he wasn’t capable of easing his own, let alone the man he would do anything for. Including showing the side Ferox would find disgraceful and rage inducing - because he had to make his beautiful _shemlen_ understand that he was being honest and putting it all out in the open. Except for one thing, but that would never come out. Ever. It was the one thing he could hold on to, a light for the end, and it would be torn away if it were known. 

The link, as usual contained the difficulty at stopping and the effort to forcefully bring the deeper healing link to a more shallow one for communication. Reaching for her gently, Zevran sent his apology as he did each time, along with his thanks. They weren’t platitudes, he hoped she could understand that. As soon as what needed to be done was, he kissed her cheek and pulled away. 

“Ias was not harmed too badly I trust?” 

Shaking as if from cold, she wrapped her arms around her waist, _’No. It is difficult to be ‘too much’. Too much for others, yes.’_

Now that the healing link had receded, he once more wrapped an arm around her, hoping to chase off the chill of sudden separation. “Tchk, I did not mean to hit him so hard.” 

_’He is one of the youngest of them and feels he has much to prove.'_ Still shaking, she suddenly warmed, apparently ‘healing’ herself, as he tucked her in closer, giving her the contact she required for context even outside of awakening. 

He conceded the point, understanding it fully. “He will be a good Warden Commander one day. So long as he learns to curb that tendency before it gets him killed, yes?” 

That was part of why he had ‘picked on’ the young man so much. Nimble of mind and body, but too quick to act. However, Ias was young enough that such rough edges could be polished away with time. He just didn’t want it to cost anyone too dearly for that time to be slow and full of many mistakes. Knocking someone like him down a few pegs would make them only more determined to strive to _learn_ \- if only to knock the person who was the ‘villain’ down in return. No one else at the Vigil would do it, or see the action that needed to be taken, as Nathaniel was no longer in residence, so it had been left to him. Also it had given Zevran that much needed outlet, but he had honestly not meant to strike so hard. 

_’Maybe that is why Gaeaf took him to the cellars...'_

Straightening, Zevran swore, “To the - braska. Foolish man. I am sorry little one, but I must save Ias’ hide from an angry mabari.” 

_’This one does not see why, they were accompanied,'_ picturing Anders and Sigrun, _’and the mabari stayed.’_

“Ferox, it is...it is an old joke. I am the cat, he is the mabari. But there is no reason I can think of, even with the others present. I am not sure any of them have looked far enough ahead to see that potential in the boy,” pursing his lips. “So there is no logical reason I can find. Especially considering _mi corizon’s_ mood upon his leaving the room.”

_’He is Gaeaf and has been for a long time. Things that are very cold can break with it.’_

Showing her quickly what he had done and what had been said, condensing the first day and the bath, the night before, and his own action prior to his husband leaving before striking out with anger. “I am no mind healer, _mushu_ , I only know what tricks I have been taught and learned on my own. My honesty and bluntness, while necessary for him to learn to believe in me, do harm now in the interim until he is able to trust that the truth is there on the table. Every other path has been attempted. Patience, love, support. Still those doubts assail, finding fertile breeding ground in his scarred psyche, yes? So now I worry for the rage he has suppressed.” 

_’Omissions are how lies are avoided, but omissions and deceptions are what led to his path. It is no wonder he sees these things, Asha'belannar, her daughter, Duncan, Howe, his own Loghain, even on the great journey, the companions themselves had hidden something important from him.’_

“Which is why I must show him now, to do what I can to at least correct my own standing with him, little one. No matter how much I dislike it, how much he dislikes it, yes? The amulets, the pain, these two things I can continue to keep repressed, but they must be, else all will be gone,” hand going to his neck, where the light weight of the amulet sat. “Everything else, anything else, that can be and will be free for him to know, but those...no. His immediate reaction is too easy to see and know for fact. And no, on this, he would not surprise me, _da’len._ ” 

_’If this one’s reaction is poor, he would be more vocal, yes. However, this day something was done before him, in plain sight and he saw it. You hurt something that he loved, showed him that something he cared about was considered worthless, that again he had placed his heart somewhere unsafe.’_

Rubbing his temples, “He did not believe, so I took the only route I could think of at the time to show him. I could not show him the memories of other things, as those were far worse than simply striking a bruised set of ribs without flinching, yes? Most other inflictions are not memorable either, slight things, what would be ready for viewing or easily found in a blink would be...” Touching one of the scars running along his hip-bone. “Far more drastic, no? And he would feel it happening, yes?”

_’You are more controlled than that, this one is not specialized in this thing and she knows that. However, Gaeaf already does not believe he is worthy of you, but to see that harm...it is further rejection. But, you are not the only one to need this thing to guide your steps. Asking him to assist...and he will do anything not to hurt what he loves...’_

“And what if that is what I require sometimes, little one? I _like_ it, it distracts me quite nicely from my own nightmares, it allows me to relinquish the ever-present control, no? To make no decisions, to be able to submit to someone powerful who I trust, yes? He will not see this, he will see it only as further harm. Degradation and humiliation when that is not what I have learned, yes? He will not see the acceptance or freedom, he cannot.”

_’An impasse and it is not your first with him, but it is related. He leaves to prevent harm...but if he were to harm in those moments, it is unlikely that is a distraction you would like. There should be middle ground.’_

Growling, “I do not want his angry words for pain, _mushu_. Words cut wounds that do not go away with salve or a healer’s touch. I did not wish him to do those things for me then, yes? Such engagements are not entered into angry. His leaving was understandable even if unwanted. And that middle ground will not be found now or tomorrow or the day after that. It will be hard won and it will be painful and I will require physical pain to cope with it and last as long as necessary, no? But we will find it, yes?”

_’This one does not tell the future, that is a Keeper’s skill.’ _Reaching to the table, she took Ferox’s mug and refilled it with lukewarm tea from the pot. _’But she would agree to your ‘not now, not tomorrow’ and probably, ‘not the day after that’.’_ __

“It is an old saying, one uttered by many in poor situations.” Sighing, Zevran lay his head upon the table, cheek pressed to the cool wood, eyes closed. “I wish he would return, even if it were to yell at me... I would take that so long as we did not have to be apart. There will be years enough for that, no?” 

_’Not now, not tomorrow, as you yourself have already said and this one is poor company in the meantime. As to the afterwards, there will be many years separated, depending on use of the tools given.’_

His mind plucked the strings of Archdemon blood bound near his skin, pleased at the faint burn. “I have a plan and that is what will have to get me through it, little one.” Zevran’s heart ached, wishing to reach for Ferox more than anything, to find some place to curl up and weather whatever storm or succor would be given. “However you should catch sunlight while it is still bright out, hmn? Your nightly activities require a better supply, _mushu_.” 

The tone was respectful, but very firm, _’This one was told to stay with you and she would rather fight you than the blizzard.’_

He sighed, “And why would he even think it necessary?” Holding up a hand, “Yes, yes, I am aware so that I ‘do not hurt something he cared for’. Never mind, let us find some place for you to gain sunlight, no?” 

On the southwestern corner of the Vigil, they read and soaked up sunlight, talking or asking questions as it occurred to them. As the sun set, Dulsanaya asked if he was hungry for dinner. Since there was still no Ferox to be had, the truth was that even if his body was growling, Zevran had no desire for food. However he wasn’t stupid and had smiled saying dinner would be lovely. Nor did he stint on food even though it made him queasy, keeping banal and easy chatter up as well as he always had been able to. 

Joined by several Wardens, conversation meandered from the various sparring activities, who wanted to go to Denerim, what activities were upcoming and eventually to today’s unexpected arrival of a wounded dwarf and the immediate departure of an expedition to the Deep Roads. At the mere mention of them, Zevran had nearly leapt from the table to race down, resisting the desperate desire only because it would anger Ferox further. Dulsanaya’s ability to freeze another notwithstanding, particularly as he was functionally the highest ranking person in the Vigil then, no one would gainsay him other than her. More likely would be her coming with him than forcing him to remain. He fought through dinner, through the children’s bedtime, retiring to Ferox’s room to wait. 

He hadn’t considered that Ferox would _ever_ go to the _Deep Roads_ without him, even if there was a connection to them directly under the Keep. The cellars had enough dangers to play with when something needed to be killed, that’s what he thought the others had been doing and left them their privacy, not even tracking them. Squeezing the arms of the chair, Zevran made everything go still. 

“I will not leave, but you you cannot remain beside me,” staring at the wall. “Nor will I do anything foolish, but I cannot have company, no matter how pleasant, little one.” 

_’ **Abelas** , Haf-cath,’_ but made no move to leave. 

Gritting his teeth, “Dulsanaya, I understand why he asked you to watch over me, but I cannot tolerate anyone’s presence at this time. Not even if he walked in that door right this moment, hmn? At all. You make my skin crawl and make me sick, everyone in this place and all outside of it do. Equilibrium must be regained without others, no I will cause no pain or damage to myself, _mushu_. But you must _go_.” 

Softly, _’It is possible to sleep until his return.’_

“ _Sleep_ is not what I require. _Solitude_ is,” hissing as he took hold of his mind yanking it away from everything but the thinnest thread of thought in the amulet, then peeled all but the small one on his wrist that held him to Ferox from his skin. The only reason he let that one remain was so he would not send his love into shock and therefore risk. “Leave me be,” rising he stood before the window, hands crossed behind his back at the wrist. “I want nothing to do with anyone or anything and cannot regain a shred of self with you...hovering. Go.” 

Although the girl did move to the door, it was plain that she was still very cognizant of the instructions she had been given and sat on the floor, her back against dark wood. Regretfully, Dulsanaya had said that she had chosen her battle when he tried to shoo her earlier. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he acted faster than she could expect, unreachable by amulet as he was only wearing the weakest of Ferox’s and was out the window, and finding rapid finger and toe-holds to take him elsewhere within the Vigil, carefully locking his thoughts down. Of course the escape could all be a figment of his imagination, a vision implanted by her, but he doubted it. Even though her movement to the door, far enough away from him that she would have an excuse was either indicative of some form of acquiescence, or a temptation of mind for him to fall to that mind-trap. 

Dismissing lonely perches as likely places for himself to be found, he ran through all possibilities, finally settling on one and tucking his body and mind in tightly. This was his punishment for his misdeeds - every nightmare come to life in a single moment. Zevran let his guard, not the one of his mind, but the thing that let him have a shred of sanity, slip, leaving calculation as the only thing sitting in that tight and dark place. Now he must find a way to ensure that his nightmares never came true ever again. It would have to be subtle. It could not be manipulation or omission. It would have to be logic, facts, other things. Setting his mind to ‘trip’ if Ferox neared so that he could return to their rooms before Ferox reached them, Zevran let the images and plans play out how they would. 

At the end of the third day, movement was felt in the amulet, as was predicted. Sigrun was the first to exit the door to the caverns and she was not laughing, none of the usual playfulness was there to lighten the load. An unknown dwarf was behind her, one bearing an Aeducan shield on his dragging arm and a missive satchel. Anders followed looking drained as well as he was led by another unknown dwarf. Ferox, with a injured dwarf on his back and companion sword in hand, must have called for the healer, as she suddenly came from unexpected location. Passing a lyrium potion, pulled out of her satchel, to Anders, her hands quickly touched everyone, before resting on the badly injured dwarf. Ias came last, his leathers scorched in spots, weapons still out as though unwilling and unready to relinquish his hold in the line as rearguard. 

“The gate is closed, Ias. Clean and put away your blades. Duty is done.” Ferox’s voice was soft but at the same time rough, harsh as if he was parched. 

Zevran was quiet through that, assessing the damages taken, able to see much of what had happened just by looking them all over. The ache flashed at the sight of Ferox’s tired expression, but would not and could not, rouse to anger any longer as it had been set aside. Now all he could do was help, sliding into that familiar supporting role. 

The belts which had been buckled together were undone and the dwarf was carefully removed where he had been slung over Ferox’s back, Dulsanaya trailing after the litter. Anders, somewhat refreshed, followed with the dwarf who was dragging his shield arm. Everyone else trooped to Master Wade to leave him a fresh supply of repairs, much to the master smith’s dismay. 

“But I just repaired this Herren! And Warden, your helmet must be replaced, this simply will not do.” 

Ferox was obviously too tired to argue, busy trying to remove heavy armour even with Zevran’s help, and could only summon up a grunt. 

That was something else he could do for his husband and stepped in as his hands passed over buckles, lifting away the thick plates, “Ah, but now you can make your work even finer, yes? Look how well it stood up, hmn? But you know, this is important information, hmn? You could make it even better, yes? Surely one of your skills can do such a simple thing, hmn?” 

As always that resulted in a mad gabble of protests mishmashed with ideas and a stream of words that needed no reply - at least from anyone other than Herren. While they were busy and the last of the armour was removed from his love’s form, Zevran stole the nearest waterskin, giving it a quick sniff before pressing it into Ferox’s hands, going so far as to even help it to his mouth. 

Evidently reduced to few words, gratefulness flowed through the link from Ferox, nearly swamped by his worry and fatigue. Even as the gauntlets had come off, the sword was shifted from one hand to the other. Finally, the grip was released, and it was set on the table with the other weapons to much upset regarding the damage and chips to the edge. 

“Shh, you are in no condition to do more than come upstairs, _querido_.” Looking over at Sigrun who had Alistair fussing over her, “Alistair, my friend, after you get our fine dwarva to rest, could you take over for the day any business that Varel cannot?” 

The almost Templar nodded quickly, “Get him settled, Sig’s not too bad off.” 

Smiling gratefully at him before turning his attention back to Ferox, guiding him and surreptitiously lending his shoulder to take some of his love’s weight, “Come, _querido_ , allow me to help you please.” 

The first thing Ferox said was as they were climbing the stairs. Mumbling, “Twenty-two. I missed you terribly, but could you wait to lecture me after I wake up? I don’t want to miss it.” 

“I will not lecture you, _amora_ ,” finally wrapping his arm around the waist that had always called for that, taking more of the burden of walking up the stairs. “Do not worry, _mi hermoso corizon_ , I will not lecture you at all. In fact I am going to give you a bath by hand, all you have to do is let me undress you and lay you in the bed, does that not sound nice, hmn?” 

“Sig asked if you would talk to Alistair, apparently she wants a spanking and says that he won’t. Something about kinky. But said that if you can talk me into it, he’s waaaay easier.” 

Chuckling as he sat Ferox down on the side of the bed, stripping away clothes, “I do not recall having ever convinced you to spank me, though I would like it a great deal, yes? To have such strong hands upon my bottom and making it red would be quite nice. Alistair is slightly more impressionable than your very handsome self though, no?” Folding the clothes where Ferox could see, “These are very dirty, _amora_ , so they go in the clothes’ bin, I will lay out fresh for you where you always put them, if that is acceptable?” Keeping his tone soothing, “And I will get the washbasin, there is cool water in the pitcher, and hot for tea by the fire, yes?” 

“They’re awful...” 

Refraining from wrinkling his nose at the dirty rags, Zevran only nodded. “After you rest, _amora_ , we will take care of it. Right now, please let me take care of you.” 

“I have to send a letter to Bhelan...I uh, killed his newest ambassador.” The heel of his palm rubbed vigorously in an eye socket. “On purpose...so much for saving her. Should probably tell him before the dwarves do.” 

Placing the clean garments in the same spot Ferox always placed his folded ones, “Ferox, sleep first, otherwise your ability to use logic will not be sufficient to explain that to him, yes? Do not nay-say me on this, if you must, think of it as the price for me not lecturing you, hmn?” The large porcelain bowl was quickly filled part way with water from the pitcher and made warm with what was in the teakettle and he dipped a cloth in it, to begin at his heart’s face. “You can tell me about it when you awaken, _amora_. We will solve whatever problem arises, yes? That is what you and I do together - we face the problems and quandaries.” 

Dirt scrubbed gently from cheeks and forehead, brown eyes closed to the touch. “Darkspawn dragged her off. We’ve been too good at keep down the number of Mothers.” 

Kissing a small cut that hadn’t been important enough to be healed, “You saved her, _querido_.” 

“I am sorry, Zevran. Sig and Anders and even Ias yelled at me...even the dwarf whose name I forgot. Gotta tell Bhelan about that one too.” 

Rinsing the cloth out and dipping it anew, focusing on a streak of dirt down the long line of neck he hid in so often, “There is no need for apologies, _querido_. You did what you had to, yes?” He was being as thorough as he could, but there was only so much water to use. Reaching into his vest to touch the amulets he was not wearing, _’It would be appreciated if a pitcher of fresh water and another kettle of hot were brought up.’_ After gaining a confirmation, he returned to his task. “It will be done, Ferox." 

He had finished with what water they had, dumping it out by the time there was a knock on the door, heralding two servants with a great deal more than what he had requested, for which he was grateful. Taking the buckets and their burdens from them he returned to his Warden, resuming on the ‘important’ areas first. Head and torso, extremities would come last.

“I really don’t feel good and I’m pretty sure this room doesn’t spin.” 

“Here, lay on your side,” slipping hands beneath the broad shoulders to ease him down. “I will continue getting you nice and cleaned up, hmn? I am right here, _amante_ ,” stroking the dark hair from the careworn features. “You do not have to remain awake, but you may certainly speak as long as you like. In a little bit I will call for Dulsanaya to give you a more thorough looking over, but she deemed you fit enough to focus on the dwarf you brought with you, hmn? It is safe...I will take care of you...just relax.” As he spoke his touches remained sure and gentle, coupling the two together. “Just keep a foot on the floor and listen to me, yes? Close your eyes, so there is no more spinning.” 

A low moan, “I don’t want to close my eyes. I can’t feel you...I’m numb.” 

During a moment when Ferox’s eyes rolled with fatigue, Zevran pulled out his amulet, the real one, and quickly put it back on, opening himself enough. Exhaustion assailed him, fear too, and he took it in, searching and smoothing it away quickly, as he did with the dirt. _’Is that better, **querido**?’_

“I...I think so. Room’s still spinnin’. I don’t think I’m gonna be sick.”

_’It is alright if you feel that need, just tell me and I will get something for you, **amora** ,’_ care was taken and now he could focus on the arms and legs. _’You are very tired so it is very natural for you to feel this way, hmn? Give it to me and I will share that burden with you, yes? A burden shared is a burden halved.’_

Ferox nearly whined, as if he were a child over-tired having gone through so much, “Zevran, I really want to go home.” 

Stoking the fire that always burned in whatever room he resided in, Zevran returned with a bottle of some of Moira’s stomach syrup to give a spoonful or three to Ferox, “I thought the Vigil was home? Your kingdom?” Making his beautiful, but still quite dirty, Warden sip from the rounded edge, “You detest Denerim.” 

Ferox swallowed obediently, the dry lips kissed for a reward, “Don’t like Denerim. Highever’s not safe. Peak’s too cold for you, an’ Vigil is really theirs...I just visit...consult. Wouldn’t mind stayin’. Anora’d have a cow.” 

“Where is home then, _amora_ , so that I might take you there?” blowing out the oil lamps and shuttering the windows so he could climb under the covers and cradle Ferox close. 

“Where you are... Right here,” sighed against his neck as sleep claimed his lover. 

Stroking the faint seam in Ferox’s skull that always attracted his fingers, “Welcome home then, _querido._ ”


	32. Heroic Insecurities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I am utterly disgusted - apparently no matter what I do, at some point each chapter, unless I go back and manually delete every bit of extra markup, Ao3's editor goes fucky and messes up the italics, thus muckin' up the layout. Grrrr...

[Ferox]

Ferox came to the surface, not quite waking not quite sleeping. Sore, he was still tired as if he had fended off crashing boulders, but at least he woke in familiar surroundings and not on stone floors. The warmth beside him and scent were welcome, the presence inside his mind returned to full - had that been distance from the Deep Roads or intentional? Lambent amber eyes slid open and fingertips running along the old dent in his head.

Steeling himself even as he felt drugged with the need to sleep, “Can I have a cup of tea before you start lecturing me?”

“No, _amora_ , you cannot, as I will not be lecturing you,” broad lips pressed to Ferox’s unshaven chin. “But I will fetch you a cup of tea and some food.”

Dismally, “Don’t then.” _Is this worse? Yeah, I think so. As least I got to hear his voice. Admit it, you made me listen for anything important while you were rolling in that accent. Sorry, it’s my weakness. I thought they both were? Double trouble, definitely._ “I don’t want anything.”

Concern moved over his lover’s face, “Are you sure, _amora_? It would not take long.”

“Yes, I am sure.” Ferox sighed, “Whatever time it takes, would be too long.”

“As you desire, _amora_ ,” muscles shifting as he settled once more. “...Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you require?”

“This is fine, I’m fairly certain.” Slowly, “Still wondering if this is the Fade, but it’s fine.” _You, boy, are in big trouble. Oh, who are you quoting now...I thought that was Sig. Could have been Anders. Man does know trouble...granted he causes it. Oh? Like anyone else we know? Their advice was better than Ias’ which was just disturbingly bizarre. Oh Maker, don’t bring him up, he gives me a blistering headache. If he could master the skill of thinking ten minutes ahead, Thedas would be a much better place._

A warm hand combed over his chest before pressing over his heart, “Why would you think this is the Fade, _querido_?”

The need to sleep slurred his words and thoughts, “Other than the obvious? Okay maybe for you that’s not so obvious, it is after all my dream. One of my pet theories is that we never left the Circle Tower, this is my own Fade dream. Although I would have expected the Fade demons to have done a better job. Perhaps it’s more believable as a dream if I can’t win?” Ferox tried to focus and was failing, his mind just began to spill whatever came into it. Thankfully these thoughts were well organized and frequently reviewed, “Then there’s the whole Archdemon blew up and that brings up the Fade in a much more permanent sense or it really happened a half a dozen times and it could have been in between those two instances. Oh yeah, or the ogre...he was good. I’m rambling...but as I said, my particular favourite is the top of the Circle Tower before meeting Uldred. Runner up is, perhaps this is just the dream of a boy in a box as the air runs out.”

Zevran leaned in once more to kiss him briefly, “All I can say then is that as far as I am aware, I am a person and real. If this is any of those things, then it is deeply detailed and you must be the Maker, _amora_ , or some god of creation, for that is what it would require to create the length and breadth of all around you, yes?”

“We are all heroes of our own stories because these are the only eyes we can see out of,” his own closing.

“That is where you are wrong, _amante_. You could see through mine, you have only to ask,” the link unfolding in invitation. “What is mine is yours, _amora_. I have only one hero and it is not myself, hmn?”

Sighing, “I had one as a boy, but you killed him on my order. Really felt bad about that.” The words were mumbled. 

Zevran exhaled softly, eyes closing, “Politics is a very deadly dance, far more so than those of any blades, _amora_. He seemed an interesting man for what little interaction I had with him, yes? For what it is worth, I am sorry to have done that then, by your order or no, but at least you did not have to do it, yes?”

Ferox’s breathing deepened, “When I dream this dream again, I’ll have to do that part right. Either he needed to redeem himself or I should have done it. It shouldn’t have been this way. I remember talking to you about this, or I dreamt it.”

“ _Amora_ , this is no dream, you are very tired from having gone into the Deep Roads, yes? But either way, even if you were to ‘dream it again’, I would still take that burden from you if possible, hmn? It was something I could do, so that you did not have the death of someone you admired so vastly upon your hands,” punctuated by taking one and kissing the palm. “You shoulder so much as is and it is difficult when you forbid me to assist.”

“Do I? If it’s all a dream...it is merely the struggle that keeps me here. If not a dream...then I must be very foolish.” 

“The struggle - is it only that? Or does love not keep you anywhere?” it was curious, searching, muted sadness in amber eyes watching him closely.

“Is love a struggle?” Murmured, “I hope not. Am I doing it wrong? Oh wait maybe I am and that’s the problem. The dream brings things to keep itself interesting...the dream with Duncan, we just fought at Weisshaupt, that was a stupid dream, the puzzles were more interesting. Perhaps this is just a bigger puzzle,” sighing, “and I found a new room.” 

His lover shook his head sadly, “I do not know. I remember reliving my initiation, hmn? You coming and telling me it was just a dream, a nightmare.” Zevran rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, “In my case it was a memory, hmn? The rack is not a very nice method, hmn?”

“Well, the demon offered to do a better job next time...I don’t know.” Slurred and mumbled, “I just have to say that the dream’s not very real right now, because I know the rules...not rules, guidelines, umm, can a dream have laws?” _Oh I like that._ “The laws of how this dream works are being broken.” _There, that sounded better._ Rolling to his side, yawning, Ferox pressed his face to Zevran’s chest. “Wake me up when it’s back to normal and I’ll continue to struggle. I’ll need a rock to trip over, or hit my head on, or a trap in the path, it just better be real...a river can always be counted on to wash out the path. And don’t forget that really big granite rock I like, it’s always a good time.”

“I do not understand, _amante_ , but for you I will try anything if it is what you require of me,” arms tightened around him. “No less can be done than to try, as that is what you and I do - face these things together, yes?”

Another deep sigh, as sleep finally reached up dragging him down into the river, “Just...bring back...the frelling lecture.” Ferox snored.

The next time he awoke there was a hot cup of tea on the bedstand and his head was pillowed in a lap rather than on a pillow. “I will not lecture you in the bed, _querido._ It should be a place that does not hold such words, yes? Take your time.”

 _I think you’re blinking like the sun’s in your eyes. Actually, couldn’t you tell me what today is? It’s the day we get a lecture? Huh? Okay, something smaller, ‘cause that was obvious._ Hands stroked at his face, easing the sleep away slowly. _Which one are you? I’m you. Good, ‘cause I was confused for a minute. Were we in the middle of a conversation when you fell asleep? I don’t know, but something tells me he does._ “What?” _Oh that’s not what I said to say. I tried to talk but my...your tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth._

“You told me to lecture you on your trip to the Deep Roads, even though I have let the upset go, _amora_. You also requested a cup of tea first. But we will wait until you are more awake,” thumbs rolled over the area above his eyebrows. 

“Well, that was stupid.” _Uhh, yes, but this time you moved your mouth instead of just thinking it. Sorry. Pardon me, nothing to see here. Move along._

Zevran leaned over him to kiss him carefully, “Men are not always very bright, _querido._ That does not make them any less important.”

“I am very thirsty though.”

His lover helped Ferox sit up, scooting him back between his legs to support him even though he didn’t need it, a hand holding the large cup of tea for him to take. “It is only a few minutes old, brewed when you began to come towards wakefulness, but it should not be too hot if you sip it, yes?”

His tongue stopped sticking to everything after a few sips, letting it cool before drinking more, while Zevran’s head came forward to lay on the back of his shoulder. Gone before he knew it, Ferox leaned back, “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, _mi hermoso corizon,_ ” lips brushing the skin of his shoulder as Zevran spoke. 

“I was supposed to tell you some things.”

Hands reached around him, adjusting the blankets and then laying their strong and nimble lengths over his stomach. “Then please do, _querido,_ I will listen.”

“I had them numbered...almost a list. Two for Behlen, one for Sig, one for Wade...he is going to have a fit when he sees the sword, but there’s another silverite deposit.”

Zevran touched his wrist, gently interrupting. “Darkspawn carried off the ambassador and you had to kill her to prevent her from becoming a Mother. Patrols must be increased for the safety of our route. Anders and Sigrun have already sent word as they were not as drained as you. Wade has seen your sword already, _amora_ , and his feathers have been smoothed. Also there was something about Sigrun wishing me to convince Alistair of doing something of an intimate nature that she, for some reason I do not yet understand, believes you and I have done. Nonetheless, Alistair and I can discuss ‘kinky things and spankings galore’ at another time, hmn?”

“Hrm.” As they were listed Ferox counted them down again pausing on his pinky. “I suppose,” absently. “It’ll come later.” Letting the count go, certain there were five things, he held Zevran’s hand. 

When Ferox made no move to rise from bed, the dreaded prompting came, “If you still feel that I should lecture you, I am not going to do it in bed, as such words are meant to inspire guilt and to punish. It would be wrong to speak words of that nature in a place that is supposed to be safe for us both, _amora._ I cannot do that.”

“If you have to, I could move.” Scrambled thoughts, as he began to remember, _Wait, what are we moving for? Was that an option? Why would we do that? Pretty sure that was the stupid thing._

Silk hair slithered against the back of his neck as his lover rubbed his face there. “You requested that I do so, however you were not exactly lucid, _querido._ I am only relieved you have returned, yes? That you are safe, that you are sound, that you are still here, hmn? Frustration and shock mean little in light of that to me, _amante._ ”

“No, that’s the first. I mean, it was the first thing I was supposed to remember, wrong order. I was wrong and I was angry. Now, I’m not very sorry about being angry, but tearing off without giving you a chance to come, that, that was wrong.”

“My presence in your state would have been a liability as you would not have been able to think clearly, _amora_.”

“That’s what I thought and argued with myself about too. However, it doesn’t change that it was wrong. There was no choice offered.” Softer, “Angry or not, I am always better when you are with me.”

Behind him Zevran shifted, settling further and holding him tighter. “You were not wrong for being angry, nor was I wrong for showing you what otherwise would not be understood as it is very far outside of the scope of experience in life most have. You were correct to be angry, I was incorrect to let you believe that I meant that by giving pain, I was nothing, yes? I will not point out the ‘what would happen if’s that crop up, as you have likely thought of them, as have I, and they need no repeating, hmn? But there are times when each of us must separate to regain equilibrium, even if it is unwise. As an example, I had to slip Dulsanaya’s presence. It could not be tolerated, or that of anyone else once I realized that it would be no brief foray to vent and kill a few things in the cellars and the areas just below. Just as you would not have been able to tolerate my presence. It is done. There is nothing to forgive, as the moment you returned, that was all that was required to absolve and dissolve any negativity remaining. As I said to you when you told me you wished for a cup of tea first before lecturing you, I have no need to lecture in this instance.”

 _That wasn’t a lecture? Uh no. He talked a lot but he said it wasn’t. Okay, if you say so. You frelled up. Yeah, said that. No, I mean, he’s back to being careful. Oh. You sure? Pretty sure. Damn. When I wake up again, could you remember this? I don’t know, this isn’t a good thing. Probably why it’s important to remember. Well and it sounds like somebody else is going to be mad at you too, it was rather...oh what’s the word? Cowardly? Yeah, that’s the one. Putting her in the middle when you could have just used an amulet. You are really missing the point of running away from home._ The entire time he mulled that over blearily, hands moved over his abdomen or a cheek stroked his shoulder, taking what contact could be had and possibly trying to soothe him. “I forgot to pet the cat.” _Maker, are you awake yet? Well, I was on a couple hours sleep for a while before grabbing a sword and running down to rescue some dwarves. Seriously, you’re turning into a dingy little elf girl. Who, by the way, is going to kick your ass. Yeah...might wanna smooth that over._

“You held me, I am holding you now, you allowed me to bathe you...” Somewhat apologetic, “I did it again after you fell asleep though, yes? It would not do for you to be uncomfortable when you awoke, _amora,_ after you had accepted that I would take care of you in this, yes?” Voice sinking to a whisper, “But you held me, Ferox, that is all I prayed for, and you gave it, even if you were not conscious of it.”

Reaching back to find his favourite ear, “I love you, why wouldn’t I want to hold you? You’re everything...the rest, it’s all bonuses...remember?”

“It is hard to remember sometimes, hmn?” The hand that grabbed his as it traced an ear, holding it to the bronze skin he knew better than his own took the sting from the words. “Constant reminders are needed on both sides in some matters, yes?”

....

Every sparring session was a study of warring desires. Seeing his lover dance was impossibly hypnotic, but knowing that afterwards he would not go to a healer made Ferox crazy. However Zevran would ask him to tend to those aches directly. Each bruise, no matter how swiftly it disappeared outwardly, was a mark he wished were lashed into his own flesh rather than his assassin’s. But the serene sighs as his hands smoothed over Zevran’s ribs, legs or back, pupils wide, was hard to argue with, without starting down a road they had already trodden and wasn’t one he wished to travel again. And when the salve was finished being spread, dark arms would wrap around him, squeezing, whispered thanks would spill in his ear, answering some need that Ferox couldn’t even pretend to understand which was somehow fulfilled by those actions. 

While they were still in the doghouse with her, Dulsanaya still spent Len’s naptime with them, touching Ferox, sometimes napping herself, sometimes doodling in her large journal. But she always left when Len awoke for his afternoon snack, returning to the nursery and its sunny area. They were spending so much time at the Vigil that more than two months had passed. Not that he minded at all. Other than things going up and down too much between Zevran and himself, one thing had become consistent and steady, Zevran came to him every time, no matter where, whenever there was something he required, even if it was to stand nearby. Most often it was to lean or take a short embrace, apparently it all boiled down to bolstering his own dark thoughts and keeping them at bay. 

How the touches were different, Ferox couldn’t put his finger on. Yet there was that dark undercurrent, the one that he knew his lover had kept from him. The one thing that was not asked for, much to Ferox’s relief, was to go to a full sparring match together. Or if they did spar together, those times Zevran would immediately go to a healer afterwards. Not because there were worse hurts than those sustained while practicing with the others, but for whatever reason Ferox thought he would go mad with guilt and loathing if those marks marred the perfect bronze canvas a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

All of that passed through his mind as he finished massaging the spicy and tingling salve into the warmed flesh beneath his hands. Stroking his fingers over the muscles even as Zevran sighed contentedly to savour the last seconds before his assassin would roll over and thank him. Every time he wanted to say it wasn’t necessary, but that would be a lie and they both knew it. 

A rolling and contented thrum as his lover stretched languidly into the light stroking, “Hmmm...is there something that interests you back there, _amora_?” 

It was a break in the routine, but Ferox unbent just enough, “Always.”

Zevran rolled onto his side, tugging Ferox to lay beside him, the sensation of that familiar hand running across his face followed by lips made him nearly growl. Unbidden an arm wrapped around the waist he had just worked that powerful unguent into, brushing the faintly sticky skin forgetting that the outside looked alright but beneath the dark pigment and black ink, there were still hurts. Yet there was a moan and his assassin pressed closer, those powerfully lean muscles bunching as his lover’s arms tightened around him.

Lips parted from his with a groan, “Mmmmthank you, _amora_.” 

“You’re welcome,” the luminous and striking eyes piercing him and holding him hostage as hands roved over his chest possessively. 

There was a chuckle, the heel of a palm pressing to the thickening hardness in his leggings. “Hmmn, it appears you miss me as I miss you, _amante_. Perchance you gain something from all that flesh under your hands, just as I gain from being beneath them?”

 _Was it cloudy earlier? Must have been._ Although, Ferox kept his voice calm, his eyes widened slightly, “It is entirely possible. I have always rather liked your skin. Yours I would know blindfolded or in the dark.” _In a closet._

“I would never wish to hide away your eyes, _corizon_ , they are far too perfect,” moving in to brush them quickly with lips as the hand massaging him through his trews withdrew. “Would you consider setting aside your things to be with me, _amora_?” it was there, a flash of uncertainty, the paramount need for closeness to Ferox, and fear of rejection arcing between them. 

“If that is what you would like.” _Was that insecurity you felt from him or from me? It didn’t come from you this time. He is doubting. Zevran, who is always so confident and sure of himself, is afraid. Move it then. What? Where? If you’re gonna shove me again..._ “I would like to be with you, too.” _Good I think. I think so too. You’re holding our breath. Sorry, wondered why I was getting dizzy. Thanks for that. No problem._ Ferox knew that his own hesitancy over if he was even wanted, worry that his presence was only being tolerated, and trepidation that they had, in a very short time, become an old married couple who were ‘only in it for the children’, all of it was shared in the link. Even as the fears and doubts assailed him, Ferox stood his ground, the mental ground shifting under his feet as the proverbial sandbank threatened to collapse under him.

Zevran released a half-hearted chuckle, “Oh, _querido_ , I have been going mad without you. Even when you are old and grey I would want you as I want you now.” A leg twined with his, “I would never punish you by withholding lovemaking, it is too cruel a thought to even bear, as it cuts me just as much as it could cut you.” Ferox’s hand was drawn to his lover’s mouth, lips pressing to fingertips, heel of palm, then the center of it. “Your presence is the only one I wish for, need, desire, yes?” There was a silent plea, “It is a connection that is craved, no matter what other troubles might be there between us, yes? But...but it could be misconstrued...I.” 

Ferox felt his lover’s worry, the anxiety that such acts might be considered done to control, to put fetters upon him, to make him do what Zevran wanted. It was there, open between them. The constant fight, whenever Ferox would finish tending those ugly bruises and cuts - not that his lover used the description of ‘ugly’ - to hold back and only give an embrace, with the hope that it brought more closeness. To not make too many overtures, to resist every inch from head to toe that called them together. It was difficult to feel Zevran’s constant desire and not be overwhelmed by all of the layers that were there at once. Zevran hadn’t been able to hold back this time, and the need that assailed the elf had been too strong to resist the more blatant show of desire, Ferox could feel the hope, or at least the opportunity to hear Ferox’s own want, even if it was only perfunctory, so long as it gave at least a taste.

Zevran’s voice was hoarse, “I need you, _amante._ ”

Palm still pressed against his lover’s face, Ferox thumbed the lines in the corners of the golden eyes, _My favourites_ , “As I need you, love.” _Absolutely blinding,_ sliding up into the silken mane, he pulled Zevran closer. _’I do not wish to be far away from you at all.’_

His lover made a low noise, squeezing him in an embrace, the tremble of need released from its fetters. Hands made their grasping passes, legs stroked through light wool, and with every kiss or lick or light scraping bite as though Zevran wanted to consume him. Ferox was pressed back and went willingly under the direction of those grasping hands, the tremors like those of a starved man before a feast in every touch, even as they tugged his trews down far enough to reveal his manhood. For a brief instant the thought of how long until his pants were actually gone and that he had best put them where he knew where they were was shoved aside purposefully. 

_I can wait a blasted - oh Maker,_ thought cut off as wet heat began to consume his length, making many, very unquiet noises that sent scintillating sensation that Ferox had been just as starved for, shooting through his veins. It didn’t take long, not long at all, but Ferox wished it hadn’t ended even as he watched Zevran sucking the last threads from him. Leggings had been lost mid-act and as soon as his lover pulled away they were held out to him, folded, for him to do with as he willed, the heated expression on Zevran’s face clearly struggling to give him the time to ‘check his gear’. _It’s automatic, you don’t have to think about it...that’s a good thing, a very good thing. Thinking is hard..._ A record may have been set that afternoon as to how quickly everything was laid out in their proper places.

Within a moment or two, Ferox returned to Zevran’s side unable to keep his hands from from running over the warm brown skin. _Still my favourite. You said that. Still true._ He had a moment of distance, where a minute thought could be had, however it was spent on cataloging his favoruite things. _I love this,_ kissing Zevran. _I love this,_ rumbling as the sweet, bitter, salty flavour was savoured. _Mmm, love this, _his nose running along the strong jaw lines wanting the salt hollow of the assassin’s throat. _Definitely a favourite,_ a growl as he swiped a tongue over the vibrating throat. _I do like that very much. I like ears too. Oh very much, but I’m happy here... Give me a minute.___

____A hand was in Ferox’s hair, cupping his skull, urging him to continue, to not stop, along with constant sounds that begged. Zevran’s other hand was moving between them, almost frantically, pleasuring himself even as Ferox re-familiarized himself with his lover. Pushing the hand away as soon as he realized that there was a hitching sound, the smell of release already in the air, _I haven’t gotten there yet. I think he wants you to hurry up... I’m not hurrying dammit - where’s some scarves or ropes or something when you need to keep from being interrupted? What did you just say? Maker, he’s squirmy. Yeah, well, it’s been awhile. Don’t let him interrupt!_ Ferox held the wrist, pinned lightly so that there would be no rushing. It had been too long and he wasn’t going to put up with anyone spoiling this. Not even Zevran and his already erupted cock. _ _ _ _

_____Oh, that sounds good,_ a whimper in his ear that was his name, he rumbled approval. Turning, to kiss the hollow beneath his favourite - _Or was it his second favourite?_ \- ear, Ferox gently bit the flexible cartilage, and when the reaction was well received, continued, each nip receiving a lick afterwards. It had felt like an eternity apart and Ferox found himself being as thorough with Zevran as he would be with his gear, reacquainting each place with his touch and himself with the sounds and reactions they garnered. From time to time he would forget to hold on to whichever of Zevran’s hands wasn’t busy touching him in a relatively neutral fashion, and would discover it ‘rushing’ - fingers wrapping around a hard length or stroking behind it at a sensitive ring of muscle, or in Zevran’s own case, finding another release before Ferox had gotten that far - all of which left Ferox rumbling at his gloriously impatient lover. He had loudly growled, he had taken Zevran’s hand away and held it until he forgot and let go - repeatedly, and he had said ‘No,’ but Ferox was a little startled with himself when he actually bit Zevran’s shoulder, while snarling no less. All of which had sent a bolt through their link, that had Zevran rolling against him, the desire coming into crystal sharp focus as he gasped, the buildup having somehow triggered yet another splash of thick white pearls on dark skin without stimulating what Ferox would have considered the customary nerves. But the hands stopped rushing him along, no matter how his lover writhed and made noise, for once he no longer pushed the issue._ _ _ _

____Finally reaching Zevran’s swollen and glistening desire, Ferox had to hold the lean hips down to keep them still enough. Evidence of one of those elven differences that always fascinated him, was all over his assassin’s honey brown skin, streaked with weaving black lines of ink, blueish milky puddles and threads, a streamer of pearls contrasting and making the work of art even more perfect. Gold spheres and the thick hoop were seen to thoroughly, the flex of heat against his lips with each suck or lick accompanied by a twitch or shudder, and always a heartfelt moan. Ferox was crackling at the edges, like a strong static charge with his own lust barely held in check, leaving him undecided with what he wanted other than _wanting_ it. _ _ _ _

____Taking the slick and thick cock in hand, squeezing and sliding his hand down it slowly, “Beautiful.”_ _ _ _

____White teeth sank into bottom lip and fingers clenched at linen as Zevran nearly thrashed, breathlessly panting, “I am yours, _amora._ ”_ _ _ _

_____Maker he’s gorgeous. How’d I get so lucky? Don’t ask me. Shh - I wasn’t. For once, just...be quiet and enjoy this. I thought I was? Quiet, just...just look at him and enjoy this._ Velvety soft skin, even with the light dusting of blond curls, was silken and delicious, eliciting hungry responses from himself and his lover, stoking it until Ferox could hold out no longer, massaging the freshly squirting sticky seed into the flesh of Zevran’s prick as he bade him to sit up. _ _ _ _

____The arms that came around him and the expression that met his was nearly drunken. _Nearly? Oh fine, I’ll amend it to ‘outright drugged.’ Much better._ Leaning back and bracing himself with an arm, Ferox tugged, pulling, wanting, until they were both moaning as he directed Zevran to work himself into Ferox’s body. Wrapping an arm around his assassin’s shoulders to hold him close, unable to contain his own whimper as he was filled, Zevran’s slicked face on his shoulder moaning broken words that didn’t need to be defined. He didn’t care if they were both mindless, because he didn’t have a mind to care, only existing to feel and to see Zevran feel, his beautiful love, helpless and lost to their lovemaking. When his lover began to plaintively whimper repeatedly that he was going to climax, even as his hips rolled and churned, pushing Ferox along who couldn’t help but keep a demanding arm around the lean waist even as he groaned with each shattered announcement as they picked up speed. All he could think of was how much he wanted this forever. And the pressure built until no more could be taken and Ferox clutched at Zevran who was still writhing in the midst of yet another, whimpering his name. _Oh Maker...oh love...__ _ _ _

____The bed was a mess, they were a mess, and all Ferox could do was hang on, and weakly chuckle as Zevran was unable to do more than flop an arm this or that way, completely boneless, veritably glowing in his exhaustion. _He’s purring. Yes, yes he is. And trilling. I noticed. It sounds weird. It sounds happy. That too. It’s good, I like it. Good, we’re in agreement.__ _ _ _

____Pushing the fine blond hair away from where it had fallen across Zevran’s face, and with what had to be the biggest, dumbest grin on his face, teasing, “So you were saying you needed something?”_ _ _ _

____“I have everything I need, right here, yes, yes,” a wobbling nod. It took obvious effort as the entire limb shook but an arm rose and then came around him. “Right here, yes.”_ _ _ _

____“Good.”_ _ _ _

____...._ _ _ _

____The _cath_ was good at leaving the link wide open for her while still screening thoughts and sensations. That had been a relief to discover the openness almost as soon as they had boarded the ship from Kirkwall, leaving her blade behind. Gaeaf and the _cath_ were used to consummating their connection regularly and had floundered with the addition of herself crowding them, she regretted that, it had not been her intention. Gaeaf would not act when she was near and Haf’cath would not ask his chilly one to do what they desired when it ran counter to Gaeaf’s ingrained habits. So she had watched as they both became frightened, withdrawing from each other slowly, imperceptibly, neither realizing that that was what they were doing. Confusion bred fears, which bred doubts, doubts bred words and actions not thought through. Reconnection and communication led to misunderstanding and then the Gaeaf had thrust her between them in full. _ _ _ _

____Thoughts of unkind emotions and feelings stung, making her miss _emma’mi_ very badly indeed. Longed to curl, hidden in that protective scent, and to be reassured herself. To be made secure and precious._ _ _ _

____But Gaeaf and Haf-cath had been tentatively returning to their places, as here, at the Vigil, the _asha_ was able to give them the space they required, joining instead the cheerful dwarva with the bright smile and the sweet Alistair, she had named _Reth_ [safety]. Like another she had met in Kirkwall, he made her giggle, very much, and unlike her own Alistair, did not have the sullenness tainting his disposition. With them she could find much of what she needed in the night. Upon awakening, however the _cath_ and his nimble mind were still best for putting the last pieces in order. She did not want the unintentional mistake to be repeated with with Reth and Nehn [Sigrun] that she had made with the winter and his cat, so made sure to give them mornings together at the least. _ _ _ _

____And that cat was feeling very good at the moment, which was why she was curled up with Reth and playing with Nehn’s hair. The feelings in the amulet the _cath_ could not fully block, he normally could keep back the overwhelming interactions, but not the core feelings of mind and heart that responded to his physical acts. Evening or morning tenderness for the Mamae always came through, or relief of some frustration when he was alone which was quickly done. But now, in their room she could feel the scintillating joy that was in every breath, if not the pleasure responses, radiating from the room on the other side of the Vigil. He was a beacon shining through even the multitude of Wardens._ _ _ _

____Hurt, she had been very angry at them both. Even when the _cath_ had said and sent apologies in ways that were not the river of words come to drown her. All had not been right between them and things had been said meant to harm, it was worse than ‘witch’ being shouted at her. The wounds were still open and raw. She could not heal the slices and they still caused pain. Worse, she had allowed herself to fail, as she did not agree with the orders given. This was contrary to her knowledge and training. True, Gaeaf was not her Commander, but then neither was her own _dar'nuvenin_ [Loghain], who was the Warden Commander of Ferelden at Vigil’s Keep. Although she carried no title other than Warden, he sent reports to her and she to him...it was a very strange thing. It was not something others would understand and it was probably not something the one who was needed did either._ _ _ _

____Dancing her fingers through crafting magic and the giggling dwarva’s hair as Reth read them a story, the _asha_ felt peace and regained context, basking in what slipped past the _cath’s_ screening. Though there wasn’t much way she could stop the occasional squirm when more than just happiness telegraphed through the open link. _Oh gods._ It made her want to roll around and purr and pounce and play very much, but without the sharp _saar_ [dangerous] blade and his smoky chuckles, there was no one to share that joy with. So she satisfied herself with weaving tiny plaits and encouraging Nehn’s [Sigrun’s] hair to grow as she reminded herself to not skip upstairs to the grumpy one’s room to roll in their combined scents and smiling her approval. She would wait until a more secure and even footing had been achieved._ _ _ _

____The healer had not wanted them to return to the capital, to return to, as Gaeaf called her in his mind, the Harpy, without resolving the hurt feelings. Tonight was a good start, so as she plaited, the healer considered the soon to be _da’len’en_ , the adjustments that had been, and would be, made. Such an interesting puzzle, first considered when Gaeaf had come to Kirkwall looking for a solution. Her story, full of its differences, more specifically her unusual survival, which most Wardens attributed to the usual secrets, had passed beyond the pool of the Setheneran [land of waking dreams, a place where the Veil is thing. Literally: Tenuous waking dream place]. It seemed as well that Wardens she came in contact with, had also passed on strange tales of healing. _ _ _ _

____Although it was disturbing that the tale had spread, she was grateful as it brought her in contact with another _enansal_ and one so like her own. It was so difficult not to see another in his place. The blade, an _enansal_ who was not her own, other than the first moment of hearing his voice and seeing his face, she rarely confused them as the modifications he had endured were far too many for them to ever be truly mixed up. Only their voices were the same, but the scents, thoughts, and form were very different. In a small way, the _asha_ was grateful that no words had been spoken, that no promises were given, no actions taken to bind her with her own. It made being with Haf-cath easier to bear, the distance available so she did not interfere in what did not include her, should not include her. It was enough to know that he was happy and complete with his Warden._ _ _ _

____...._ _ _ _

____Len was paddling around the big bathtub, for him it was nearly shoulder deep when standing, and Zevran had dubbed it perfect for splashing. Len of course agreed readily, as he was rolling around and doing just that, pleased as could be. Ferox felt odd sharing the bath like that, with his son coming up to bump against him and get a hug or show off and knock together two wooden toys, making noises. Someone had heard about the stories and carved animals for him, a beaver, two pigs, a raven, a spider and a pair of sheep. They floated and bobbed around in the warm water as Len babbled out stories and made up new ones for the little farm family. Of course there was no Earle, as Ferox was Earle, and why carve one when ‘Earle’ was near to hand? Making a mental note to find out who had made these toys, as it wasn’t the duplicate’s work, they had appeared about a week or two after arriving at the Vigil, and to ask for a wheelbarrow and a barn, maybe even some wooden ‘stones’ since Earle was supposed to be a rock farmer after all..._ _ _ _

____Zevran was splashing just as much, chuckling and tickling little armpits or toes, openly encouraging the water play and learning to swim better under their watchful eyes. Squirmy body diving beneath the water like an otter, feet waving in the air, Len flipped in the water’s embrace, coming up laughing happily to surge into Ferox’s lap for a quick cuddle. After the initial oddness wore off, Ferox found himself relaxing, the small recreation of an Antivan bathhouse a likely preparation for the eventual real deal._ _ _ _

____Snuggled up under his arm, Len reached for and grasped Ferox’s amulet, words without words, concepts and questions, and the purest, simplest form of connection passed through the exchange. Mostly it centered on little things, but the curiosity of his place with a new sibling was there. Rubbing the bare little back and kissing the small forehead, Ferox tried to focus on giving his love and showing that being a big brother was a good thing. He assured that Len would have another to love and to show and share everything he knew. Ferox was very careful when showing that this new baby wouldn’t mean he was loved any less and that there would be another to love him too._ _ _ _

____Comforted, Len remained where he was, hand pressed against the amulet, ear on Ferox’s chest, thinking little boy thoughts. They meandered this way and that and was content and secure in his father’s arms, linked temporarily as they were. A gusty sigh, half huffed, then he squirmed away frowning at the water. “Coooold,” poking the water accusingly._ _ _ _

____Zevran laughed, eyes closed and floating, a foot moving out to tap the hot faucet. “Aie, _vamos frio! Vamos caliente! Aqui mijo!_ ” [Go fast cold! Go fast hot! Here/have, my boy.]_ _ _ _

____Len turned into a greased pig as soon as he was out of the tub, courtesy of Zevran giving him a rub down as soon as he was dry. Ferox couldn’t help the laugh as Len tried to make a break for the door, in all his bare tushed glory, only to be snagged and netted by a large towel. Kicking and screaming giggles as Zevran hoisted the wriggling bundle up, Ferox busied himself with drying his own body, allowing the nimble one to deal with the squirmy one._ _ _ _

____“Aiesh, _mijo_ , this will not do! You are either too slow or likely too naughty, hmn?” cuddling him. “Polite boys do not run around hallways naked, hmn? Do you wish to be impolite?”_ _ _ _

____Ferox banked the fires for the next group of bathers, _’A wise man once said, never ask questions you don’t already know the answer to. The problem here is that you already know the answer...you are two peas who wouldn’t wear any clothing at all. Must remember not to tell that Orlesian story about the corrupt tailors and the Emperor who wore no clothes. Might give you two nudists ideas.’_ _ _ _ _

____Zevran chuckled even as he dealt with their bouncing boy. _’I always thought them quite intelligent rather than corrupt, **amora**.’__ _ _ _

____Amusement, _’There’s one idea I’d like to avoid as well.’__ _ _ _

_____’Oh never fear,’_ pausing to kiss a grasping palm that had reached to trace the black tattoos on cheek making Len giggle at the tickling sensation, _’he will learn to think outside of the box, while not being so...ah...obvious. Or so I hope, hmn?’__ _ _ _

____Snagging the toys from the bath, Ferox dried the various animals and wondered again who had carved them. There were no marking or initials, just smooth waxed wood. Yet each animal he gave a pat to was there. If they were going to be dragged to bathtime regularly, they would need waxing and oiling periodically, which he would be happy to do. But he really would like to thank whoever had made them as they had become Len’s favourite toys, and were often brought out during storytimes. Of course the fickleness of small children dictated that at some point they would be set aside, but for however long they were favoured, they would be treasured._ _ _ _

_____And probably ‘disappear’ into that hope chest of Zevran’s,_ smiling faintly, watching his loves, knowing that Len’s little knit cap with the bear ears, and booties, and a blanket not big enough to do more than cover Ferox’s legs from the knees down, and a plethora of little knicknacks that had belonged to their son, would be joined by other things over time. Of course, once the last baby blanket was ‘outgrown’ that too would be folded carefully and put away to join its brethren and rattler and mobile. Some would, thankfully, be brought out again to have new life, when... _You really gotta come up with a better name here than ‘backup plan’. I suppose we could say ‘the sibling’ or ‘brother or sister’ but that just sounds worse. I thought you were the creative one? Frankly, I thought that was you. Well then, who makes up the stories about the farm? I don’t know. I just open my mouth and things fall out. Sheesh! No that’s ‘Sheep’. Besides, if you come up with a name and Anora doesn’t like it, you ser, will slip. I haven’t slipped with Len, so I don’t know what you’re talking about. ‘Sides that, if, and I say, if, I slip up, what’s she going to do? Move my room to the cellar? Always a possibility with that one. Good, there’s more room down there anyway and we won’t have to worry about the ruckus Zevran makes when he - Hey stop that, no thinking about that right now. La la la la la. Oh look, I wonder when the turnips...no grain, yes, grain, will be ripe this year? Thinking early September or mid month? Oh that sounds about right.__ _ _ _

____“Oof, you are getting so big,” Zevran squished Len once he was dressed. “Too big to want your Papi to hold you, hmn?”_ _ _ _

____“Nooo! Lubbies, Papis,” little arms wrapped around Zevran’s neck. “All-ways.”_ _ _ _

____“Really? Tchk, how did I get so lucky?!” crying out excitedly to Len. “Surely no one is as blessed as I am, that my little man loves me! Say it again!”_ _ _ _

____“Lubbies my Papi!” another squish of neck and a kiss on a bronze cheek, firmly planted._ _ _ _

____Tips of crinkled noses were rubbed together vigorously topped off with a quick peck of lips, “Oh that is good that you do, because I love you very much too! Is there anyone else you love my little teddy bear?”_ _ _ _

____“Daddy-Daddy-Daddy!” bouncing in Zevran’s arms excitedly as they finally left the bath. “Love Daddy!”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, really? Perhaps you should tell him that so he knows?” Added sagely, “Sometimes he forgets.”_ _ _ _

____Big eyes went round, mouth making an ‘o’ “Ohhhhh....” Twisting in Zevran’s arms straining and squirming to reach for Ferox, “Daddy - Daddy! Lubbies! Lubbies Daddy! Best Daddy eber!”_ _ _ _

____Unable to help the laugh, Ferox took his very affectionate son into his arms, “And I, you. Very much.”_ _ _ _

____Pudgy hands grasped at his face to ‘hold him still’ to give him a Chasind kiss, then ones all over his face, short arms locking around his neck in a stranglehold. “No fo-gehts! Lubbies yoo Daddy.”_ _ _ _

_____Sometimes he forgets? Nah. Uh huh. Nah...really? Uh huh. Probably just that ogre._ “Oh I will try, but sometimes I’m going to need reminding, I trust you can do that?” aiming for ‘serious’ and falling completely short of that mark._ _ _ _

____Len looked up at him, the face so like his own in miniature, but so much quicker to smile like Fergus and their father, and ran a hand over Ferox’s face the way Zevran did sometimes from brow down, eye to chin. “I ‘member, me weminds yoos. Lubbies my Daddy.”_ _ _ _

____“Love my Len, lots and lots.”_ _ _ _

____...._ _ _ _

____Groaning as Zevran found a knot of muscles and began working on them, Ferox shifted his head on the pillow. _Can we just stay right here forever? Sadly, no. Why not? Because eventually we’ll have things to do. Damn. But we can enjoy it for now. Hmm, good, because I am._ Zevran’s weight was settled on his calves, strong fingers digging in and finding any abused muscles and working them to putty, a thin layer of one of Zevran’s many spicy unguents helping them slip and pull without hurting. _ _ _ _

____Voice low, “Does my handsome Warden like that, hmn?”_ _ _ _

_____No drooling._ “Very much so.” Ferox’s voice rumbled in his chest, “I have mentioned you could do this forever, right?”_ _ _ _

____“I believe I recall hearing something similar before, yes,” notes of amusement as the kneading continued, interrupted only to lay a kiss at the base of his spine. “But nothing is too good for my hero, hmn? Only the best of efforts, yes?”_ _ _ _

____Ferox processed what he thought he just heard, _What? Did... What?_ “Umm, why would I be  your hero? Seems like there are better applicants.”_ _ _ _

____“No, _amora_ , you are the best applicant, the only one I wish,” chuckling. “Who else saves me from the evils of life without his presence? You have swept me off my feet, multiple times counting this morning’s practice, it is interesting to see you pick up that leg sweep, very good form, quite nicely integrated, yes?” There was a halt to both hands working as one reached for the jar, scooping a little more up and then it was smeared over the unworked skin of his waist. “Who holds me safe in the night? It is you, _querido,_ the only hero I require, no? All others are insufficient.”_ _ _ _

____If he could have moved, he would have shook his head, “Doing what I am bound to do by duty, chosen responsibility, or love, does not make me a hero. And if, which I certainly hope you are not doing, putting any stock in that Hero of Ferelden crap, you should stop that immediately,” Ferox firmly tried to put the whole idea out of Zevran’s mind._ _ _ _

____“Heroes are not those huge people to look up to, _amora_. They do little things that make the world right, that make the world better, whether out of love or any other reason, that they do it at all, that is what makes them heroes, yes?” conversational but firm. “You make my world better each day, rescuing or saving this small part of this or that thing, hmn? Shh, naysay me all you wish, but we choose our heroes, and I chose mine.”_ _ _ _

____“The trouble with talking you out of anything is that you are infinitely reasonable sounding. That said however, aren’t heroes something we use as an example of what to be like, a goal, a way to shape our lives? Because, if that’s true...it’s a step down, Zevran.”_ _ _ _

____Fingers continued their meandering path, working firmly even as he felt himself tensing, which Zevran continued to push into submission. “Is it a step down to hold up the man who, even if it was not something he wanted always, or is afraid of sometimes, or unsure how to be, or to act, or what actions to take, still works hard to make those attempts, as my hero? A man to emulate? Even when confusion or uncertainty plague you, _amora_ , you still seek to do better, yes? To care for that which you hold in your hands, yes? How is this a step down? I do not see it as such, _querido._ It is saddening to think you do not see it, so instead I will do as you do - combat it by telling you, yes?”_ _ _ _

_____Oh good, more words. Were you even listening? Uh...hrm. Well...ummm. He’s doing that sounding reasonable thing again! Damn. Is there a defense for that? Uh...no, not that I know of... Told you we should get better with that shield work. But I prefer the two weapons, it’s more fun. You are a loon. Pay attention._ “Aren’t heroes good at what we’re not? You just keep going, seemingly without doubts, everyone is comfortable in your presence...again, this would be a step down or backwards for you. However, if this line of thinking makes you happy, I will leave it alone, but I do not admit to understanding it.”_ _ _ _

____“You do not have to understand it I suppose, _querido._ But perhaps then I should point out that it is you who gave me purpose, the opportunity to be myself, hmn? To make me wish to be a better man, a better husband, a better father, a better friend, no? And gave me the opportunity to do those things, yes?” weight slid down further, hands moving to the back of his thigh. “It is because of you that I have the strength and safety to pursue those matters, _amante._ To take the skills I had used for personal gain and benefit of the Crows, instead turning them towards safeguarding the precious. How is that not heroic?” Teasing, “And here all I had intended was to mention it, not get into a deep discussion, hmn?” Lips touched the curve of buttocks, playfully nipping, “My deep thinker, pondering the meaning of each utterance.”_ _ _ _

_____You said you would leave it alone. I know, but..._ ”You don’t say things without thought, which is why I am scratching my head wondering why...well, truth be told, I wonder why about a lot of things you do, but this is the most recent.”_ _ _ _

____“Ah, that is where you are wrong, _amante._ I do not always plan on what I will say, else I would not so frequently step in holes when speaking with you, _corizon,_ ” Zevran’s chin coming to rest at the small of Ferox’s back as he spoke. “I say what I think or feel when with you, if it meanders this or that way, then that is what it does, yes? Even if it leads to the occasional accident, hmn? To make things right, to eventually ensure that healing is continued and maintained, it is best if I do not mask myself, else it leaves room for doubts, _querido._ Besides, it feels good to not fear every word out of my mouth, to have to watch it and plan it, yes? Sometimes, yes, it is necessary, even with you, but it is best for us both if I do not do that with you, only with others.”_ _ _ _

____“That I can agree with and am grateful for. And although I cannot even begin to comprehend why, I’ve said I will leave it alone.” _Why? What, why is it important? And to which I would add, to which one of you? Or why does he do this? Umm, both, and both again. Because he loves me, and wants to get rid of you, Ser Distrust, not to mention the plague you are on us. But I’m you. So? You make me do stupid things and then he hurts. And then I hurt. But I hurt too! Then why do you do that stuff? ...What? No answer? No...I’m scared. Well so am I! It’s too easy to lose what you love...we love.__ _ _ _

____The massage had long since gone to his feet and was working itself back up his legs again, a secondary pass that didn’t usually happen. “You are having deep thoughts, _querido._ ” More cream was gathered on long fingers, “It seems that you are in need of further, deeper attentions to relax you, hmn?” _ _ _ _

____Ferox was about to protest or refute the statement, but the cream was slowly being spread around his entrance. It had the same quality of touch as the massage - soothing, smoothing, almost comforting - and he inhaled quickly even as he couldn’t help parting his legs to encourage. His lover was slow, the other hand stroking the line of Ferox’s spine. There was a faint tingling sensation as his body warmed to the circling at the pucker, _Don’t drool. Why not? Because. Look, my face is way up here in a pillow and that feels seriously good - no one’ll know. Well, I suppose - just this once._ Long fingers cupped and massaged at him, teasingly easing a tip of a digit in, but no further, until Ferox honestly couldn’t stop himself from pressing his face into the pillow, groaning. _ _ _ _

____When Zevran finally did slip a finger in, Ferox almost thrust back, only refraining because his muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Pleasure as he was coaxed open, the massage of muscles different but the same, his assassin sliding his knees between then under Ferox’s thighs, lifting him to gain better access. Growling because he could feel his lover’s hardness against his own, as palms worked around, stroking, thumbs pressing and massaging, making him clutch at the sheets. _Apparently we weren’t paying enough attention to him. Who cares?! Not me. Me neither. You can drool. Too late._ _ _ _ _

____There was something about Zevran’s movements, the touches, the way they were, that were arousing but there was no urgency, no need. It was just like tending to sore muscles, but better. Or at least much different. Relaxing into the twisting fingers and slow probing, Ferox trusted his lover to see to the ache that he both eased and built. A meditative pleasure settled over him, spreading upwards until all he was left as, was a mass of rippling nerve-endings. Palms moved over his buttocks, sliding over his hips to pull them towards Zevran as he shifted, tip nudging at the relaxed muscles, working in with gentle firmness until Ferox could no longer help it and pushed back to pull him in the rest of the way._ _ _ _

____Smooth rocking from the sure grip and the caressing of spheres along multiple sides of the channel, until a reckless and uncharacteristic whimper broke out, choking on Zevran’s name, unable to stop himself. Lips whispered over his back, murmuring soothingly, quietly urging him to give in and not fight it at all. The crest built like a long wave, carrying him up and forwards, gasping until he crashed, shuddering, unable to stop clenching down, refusing to let his lover move, to leave him even to push forward. Above him, Zevran carefully bowed, laying his chest on Ferox’s lower back, voice low and calming him through the aftermath, fingers petting the side of his cheek and into his hair._ _ _ _

____Gathering his much scattered wits, Ferox made himself relinquish his hold and let his muscles go lax, allowing Zevran to slide free, but not to go far. A wash of stickiness splashed over his entrance before another slow session of fingers massaging him came again for impossibly long minutes, another reentry, building him up the same way again. _Oh Maker, I don’t know - I don’t... How much more... Oh Maker..._ It was a gradual and long burn that warmed every one of Ferox’s muscles, each time he crashed and clung, Zevran waited until he was calmed once more before soothing his jangled nerves and again stimulating them to that fall, until Ferox found himself somehow sobbing for air. It wasn’t like other times Zevran had gone slow, there was a different air to it, this wasn’t about sex or pleasure, even though it held a great deal of both. What it held precisely, Ferox was too lost to think of any coherent reason. _ _ _ _

____Struggling to find the strength during one of those bouts of long passes of hands over his sides to roll over, Ferox fought to reach for his assassin, his lover, his husband, to pull him close and enfold him in his arms. _Say...do somethin’. Huh? No, make it better than that. Wha? Maker, you are stupid. Here, let me._ Even with determination on half his side, thoughts were still sluggish, “I love you.” _That wasn’t bad. You sure? Pretty sure._ Kissing whatever was pressed against his cheek, all Ferox really cared about was that it was Zevran and no other._ _ _ _

____His love stroked his cheek, returning the embrace. “Hmn, that is good considering that the feeling is mutual, _amora_. Trust that I find worth in you, my beautiful _shem_ , my lovely husband, trust that I will always be there to try and help you not doubt.”_ _ _ _

_____Don’t deserve... Been through that, not about deserving. Maker._ “Umm, Zevran, when we get to do everything all over again... During the Blight, would you just hit me upside the head before I go frell it up?” Certain he was not making any sense, “‘Cause this would have been very nice then too. ‘Cause by now, I’d be better, least I hope so.”_ _ _ _

____“I suppose pointing out that my attempts were rebuffed would be redundant,” amusement as his mate shifted against him to get better settled. “Also, no matter how much I would have preferred that this path had been taken, I would not push you to healing when it would not have worked, hmn? You would have taken the relationship as nothing but a bit of fun to keep my loyalty, _amante._ But if we somehow wind up going through the Blight again, I shall take it under advisement that you wish me to work my skills upon you.”_ _ _ _

____Sighing, “You’re probably right. I was very suspicious...am still when finding things hard to believe. As for ‘fun’, I don’t know... Even then I was too serious for my own good...flirtatious fun without meaning, I hope would have been...well it is now, unthinkable. I suppose it is, was possible... I don’t know, that’s not a very comfortable thought.”_ _ _ _

____“No, it is not,” Zevran’s caresses were languid and meandering, much lighter than the tug and pull of muscles from earlier. “But it is alright, we will face that together, my beautiful Ferox,” lips pressed to his crown. “We are partners, yes? Friends, lovers, spouses, parents, comrades and companions, no? We are partners in all things, we compliment each other.”_ _ _ _

____“You know, I’m never certain if those are actual questions, no? Or would that be a ‘yes’?” Ferox couldn’t hold back a bit of a laugh. “If they are, then to answer, absolutely yes we are partners in all things, everything.”_ _ _ _

____A wave of love suffused their link, filling him up, requesting silently without actually asking, for the same. Zevran’s grip on him tightened, showing how the little things, like that bit of teasing, or any small effort or large one, made him feel as though he could glow. How every connection filled him with life and joy, giving him strength._ _ _ _

____As Ferox gave what he could, trying not to compare what he felt were feeble efforts to the easy fluency of that which his husband managed to convey...feelings, touch, thoughts, the entirety of Thedas, as far as he was concerned. _So? So what? Just waiting for you to say something. Something like what? Something nasty that gets up under some gap in my armour and ends up sticking a dagger in a kidney. Oh, well I’m not in the mood. You’re not in the mood? No, I’m not in the mood. You’re kidding me. No ‘meal ticket’ or ‘you’re not worthy’? I’m pretty happy with where we are and I don’t want to screw this up, so back off. Umm, okay, we’re good then? I’m good. So, if you’re good and I’m good, and he’s definitely good - Not to interrupt, but do you know any other words other than good? Okay, that’s more like what I’m used to... But what I was really going for was, are we done fighting, about this? You mean call a truce? Yeah. Sure...about this, about him. Good, I mean...well, good. Sigh. Why aren’t you kissing him? Can we? He’s doing that full force sun thing on you, I mean me...and you’re asking me for permission? Why the frell are you still talking to me when he’s right here? Sorry...I’m on that right now.__ _ _ _


	33. Unexpected Fulfillments

[Ferox]

Another week, then two passed, with no movement made towards Denerim, frankly Ferox had forgotten about it, at least until he opened the packet from the palace, which had arrived by messenger that morning. A carefully worded letter began ‘Dear Prince Consort, Ferox A. Cousland, Your presence is requested and required’ and was signed ‘Queen Anora Theirin’. As if he were a naughty boy caught in a prank by Scribe Aldous, Ferox put his head down on his desk, covering the letter with his arms. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to be the one to inform the healer that her time at the Vigil was done. Zevran could do it, after all Dulsanaya listened to him. She wasn’t talking to him yet, but after all, he had put her in the middle of something she had said she didn’t want any part of. Probably had something to do with why she failed at following his rash orders. That, and did he really believe that Zevran would have stayed put...he had been foolish, it had been an opportune emergency, it had been anger and hurt and he was still ashamed of all of it. Worse, it was the healer who was silent and his lover who would not lecture. Grateful and unable to shake the feeling that the world wasn’t still upside down, Ferox tried to puzzle a way out of this. 

Sic’ing the healer on Anora was as far as he got in considering the various ways to accomplish this, when there was a knock at the office door. Calling for the visitor to come in, the door opened swiftly, and Moira slipped in with a rather large luncheon tray. Lifting his head quickly, Ferox swept that particular correspondence, which he didn’t wish to share, along with other business back into the leather satchel. Oddly, Moira locked the door behind her.

“Moira? I was just going downstairs.” _You are several hours late. Well I was busy._ “To what do I owe this pleasure?” _What new word is Len trying out now? That last one from Oghren was bad enough...and then had to explain what a nughumper was when Eleanor asked. Admit it, you were a coward, which is why you let Zevran do it. True. But he’s good with words and I’m sure he didn’t mind. And just when you were going to have a nug join Earle’s family. Schmooples? Didn’t Leliana have one by that name? Pay attention - pretty lady with food. Sorry._

She smiled and set the meal down, most of which was clearly for him, except in terms of desserts. There was two of each for those. “Hmmhmmn - you can eat!” hands going to the swell of her hips as she leaned down towards him, nose crinkled before giving him a swift kiss on the forehead. She tugged up a chair so that they crowded the desk, “I got in a cooking mood.”

“I see that. Thank you.” Setting the plates on the desk, Ferox snagged a clean mug and poured Moira tea from the long since ubiquitous teapot on its trivet, and refreshed his own. “So, what is so secret that required locking the door. I can’t recall anyone’s birthday coming up.” _Other than your own. Shut up. I don’t need to grow older and anyway, I don’t believe Fergus shared that._ Teasing as he sat, taking her hand to kiss the knuckles, “Unless you are planning on poisoning me? In which case, I hope you obtained the recipe from our fair rogue.”

Moira laughed, “Oh no, none at all.” Pointing to the cookies, “Unless you count those. They’re laden with evil honey and lots of spices. And I did get the recipe from Dassan. Zevran said something about you attacking the plate or box whenever Dassan put them out and leaving only one or two for everyone else.”

_Something’s up. I’m a dead man. _Wicked laughter in his mind, _Yes, yes you are. Just figuring that out? Maker did she just put her hair up or something? She did something, not sure what, but...I think she’s glowing? Dammit. I am so frelled. And smells good, did you catch that bit of extra scent on her wrist?_ as he watched her pick up one of the little bowls of bread pudding, tucking into it and licking the spoon. _Raisins. Oh look, cranberries too... Bonuses! I dunno - that looks like a lot of stuff in there. Well yeah, I guess that makes sense, pudding and soup is practically all she can eat, so that better be loaded down. Oh Maker she’s -_ a happy noise broke out as she scarfed, albeit politely, the pudding, the pink of her tongue sliding around the spoon repeatedly as she focused, her own version of a Warden’s appetite in effect. __

__“So, what do I owe this splendid repast to?” glad to see her eating, _In more ways than one. Shh - don’t spoil it. Oh look she’s eating a bit of your beef. Ohhh that’s good,_ and sopping up a bit of gravy, Ferox tucked into his meal, occasionally pushing a few bits aside towards one end of the plate for her to grab as desired._ _

__She paused in the middle of reaching for one of the small potatoes on his plate as he ate, “Well, Mama always said if you can’t do much else for a man, you can make sure he eats.” The herbed fingerling was bit in two, “And feeding a man is the best way to get him in bed since its stomachs first that they think with.”_ _

__Swallowing the wrong way, Ferox choked and began to cough. Clearing his airway, he took a drink of tea, “Excuse me?”_ _

__Rice pudding now, with spices and dried apricots it tasted like, was gathered on a spoon and pushed into his mouth. “Well, it’s been awhile, since, well.” The spoon was withdrawn and she licked the last bit of milk thickened rice from the butt of it, blushing, “And I miss it.”_ _

__“But,” _Wait, don’t say that...! But, why can’t I say that she and Zevran seemed to be having a nice time yesterday? Because something’s not right. Oh, I remember the words, ‘it’s a trap’. Yeah, that - hey dummy, this is a trap. Better? Much, thank you. Stay calm. Oh I’m calm...just frelled._ It seemed that everyone had said at some point that they missed intimacy recently, _I swear, at this rate if Anders shows up here, I wouldn’t be very surprised. Maybe you could start a matchmaking service. That, ser, is a good idea._ “Oh, where is Zevran?”_ _

__“He’s with the children for the next four hours he says.” She gestured with the long spear of asparagus emphatically, “He was taking them off my hands to give you and I a chance to have some time together since we haven’t had any in a long time...or, I suppose,” blue eyes turned inwards as she bit into the still crisp stalk, “or any really where it was just you and I, now that I think about it, a few minutes here and there doesn’t count I guess...”_ _

___Close your mouth. Excuse me? Shut your mouth, you’re hanging open. Good thing there aren’t any flies._ “I suppose that is true.” _You’re not thinking again. Thinking about what? What did she just say? Well she said that...oh. Oh my. Maker. Wait a minute...keep thinking. You’re not done, I can tell from here that you haven’t heard the earlier bit. Zevran’s sanctioning this? ...Aiding and abetting? Facilitating, yes. Oh. My._ “But you and Zev...and me and...hrm,” Ferox scratched the back of his head._ _

__He didn’t think she could turn any pinker, but did, fidgeting, “I thought maybe you and I, just us...but if, that is, if it’s only with Zevran present that you’re interested in doing that... I’ll understand. But now I’m pregnant so there’s no worry that there would be any issues at all, no risks, and if you were of a mind, I know I’d certainly like to with just you, and -”_ _

__“Moira, wait a minute.” _Not to shout out ‘trap!’ or anything. Shut up! I need you to look past the trap for just a second. Okay I’m looking, what is it? It’s Moira. Oh, well second fiddle, whatcha gonna do? Crawl under this desk? Possibly, although I’m thinking I could fit in that satchel and get delivered to Anora in no time. Oh that would hurt...ya think?_ “Umm...” Ferox cleared his throat, buying himself time to pull thoughts together that didn’t involved jumping out the window. “I think that there might be a little misunderstanding here...I mean, maybe there’s a slight miscommunication.”_ _

__The large dark fringe of eyelashes around the deep cerulean blue eyes fluttered closed in rapid blinks as she tried not to look worried or, more likely, disappointed, “Oh.”_ _

__“I thought, that since you and Zevran were together first...before even...” _Hello??? Okay I know that we talk about this with Zevran, but have you ever really talked about that relationship out loud with anyone else? No, but not to point out the obvious or anything, she’s been there, on far more than several occasions. Not denying that. Just your brain issuing a warning that you are about to say something you can’t take back. Well, in that case you should probably take her hand so she knows you’re not mad or something weird. Wow, proper advice finally - thank you._ Reaching out to take one of her hands to hold it gently, “...Well, before. And so I thought...that you would rather be with him for the most part. Uh, it’s like cranberries in the pudding...it’s a bonus.” _Less than intelligent - she won’t get the reference unless you explain, you big idiot. I’m working on it! Work faster._ “I mean, umm, cranberries are nice, but not required for the pudding to come out right.” _You are frelling this up, let me. Tag, you’re it!_ “That you prefer being alone with Zevran and that when I was there it was...” _Maker,_ “extra? Not required.” _Or just, y’know, curiosity...or something. Oh don’t you dare say that. I won’t! Just thinking it!__ _

__Understanding dawned on her features. “ _Ohhhhh._ Well, he’s usually more available frankly, and there’s no appearance to maintain either. A meal, a walk, a game of Wicked Grace, having sex -” she was very matter-of-fact about it, not a fleck of embarrassment or shyness on that count, _Well thank the Maker for that. Better to be comfortable than uncomfortable... Hear-hear,_ as she listed the shared activities, “- he calls them ‘date nights’, or afternoons, or mornings. Just, whenever we have time.” Moira’s other hand came to rest atop his in her comfortingly customary way, so that both held his, “I thought perhaps since we’re still here, and no one _here_ is likely to say anything, not that I think they would back in Denerim considering, and there’s no worries over a bastard so no threats to Len or anything impolitic from that quarter... That you and I could have some time for ourselves.”_ _

___’Zevran?’ Did you keep the panic out of your voice? I think so. Oh Maker, I hope so. Breathe, it might help. You know, it’s such a basic thing and yet I keep forgetting. ’Umm, Zevran? Do you know who’s up here in my office right now?’ That sounded a little panicked. Might want to exhale. ____ _

_____’Moira, I should hope, **amora** ,’_ he could practically see Zevran busily playing with the children, focused on heading off someone having a spat. _’The gardens are quite nice for a walk, I believe that they are uncrowded as most of the Wardens seem unable to appreciate the simple beauty of it, tchk, such a shame, yes? Also the bedsheets have been changed, a few extra pillows were tossed on, ah, and her stomach syrup is on the bedstand in case she falls asleep and wakes up with her belly aflutter in a not so glorious manner. Oh, and I also put a fresh pot by the bed for such an unfortunate instance if it were to occur.’_ _ _ _ _

_____And you thought that you were the all knowing matchmaker. Well, I, umm, hrm... Probably should kiss her hand or something so she knows you haven’t wandered off. Even if you have. Oh, right, yes._ Ferox quickly raised Moira’s hands to kiss them once again, mumbling, “A moment more Moira, I am...gathering my thoughts.” _’Why? I mean, are you certain? I mean...’ What do you mean? That’s a very good question now isn’t it?__ _ _ _

____There was quite noticeable confusion, a thick current of puzzlement, the sense of furrowed brow and slight frown, head cocked and squinting as though having no understanding of the question but still making the attempt. _’Yes, why would I not be? We are a unit. We are parents, lovers and friends. Why should you and she not have time together if you wish it? It is understandable to be extremely discreet about it when in certain places, but here? If the two of you desire time, then you should have it. It is good for one and all to forge complete connections.’__ _ _ _

_____’But...’ Whoa, are you trying to talk him out of it? Uh, no. Then shut up! ‘You know I love you, right?’ I’m not going to mess this up if I go do what he tells me is okay, am I? Don’t think so. Supposed to listen and trust, remember?_ _ _ _ _

____Warmth suffused the space between them, _’It is good to hear it and feel it, but I always hope you do. Have fun, **amora**.’_ A quick flash of Moira writhing, _’Oh, and I have found recently that if you lick around her stomach a little, she becomes quite vocal, though she is shy about asking for such treatment, yes? You are welcome for that information.’__ _ _ _

____If he had been standing, Ferox would have taken a step backwards, _’Zevran! Warn me before sending those images. Maker!’__ _ _ _

____There was laughter, _’I apologize, were you swallowing, **querido**? Oh, and another thing.’_ There was a pause as though ensuring he wasn’t doing anything that he might fall, choke, or stumble on. _’Chest hair, she is quite enchanted with yours, so you are likely in store for a great deal of rubbing against it, yes? Ah, and her nipples are on the particularly sensitive side at this time, so please be gentle, hmn? I will be joining you both after the children are abed, so do be sure to have a nap at some point? You will both require it.’__ _ _ _

_____Was that a threat? Promise. Threat...same thing. No - threats are bad. Use a dictionary more often. Are you using his dictionary? Because if so, I’d like a copy please. That’s way too big to carry around, probably takes up it’s own bookshelf. Library. Possibly. Okay, pick up that foot, don’t put it in your mouth and move forward. Forward? Moira. Oh, yes. I got distracted._ “Something that I’ve been enjoying lately, and you might have too, are the baths...or we could take a walk...or, my Wicked Grace luck is awful, if you need a good laugh or all of the coppers in my pockets.” _ _ _ _

____Moira’s expression was soft, having clearly long since become accustomed to the semi-blank expressions of deep amulet conversation. “A walk would be lovely. And you and I both know I only win Wicked Grace because Zevran lets me.”_ _ _ _

____“Unfortunately he feels little compunction to allow me that grace. But then he doesn’t like playing for coppers...” remembering the last hand where he was down to only his socks, or rather a sock, having given up the other one on the first hand and his smalls the one previous._ _ _ _

____She laughed brightly, “No, no he certainly doesn’t. In his place I’m not sure I’d let you win either! I would be collecting on those winnings rather promptly.”_ _ _ _

____The walk had been nice, but he barely remembered the gardens, his stomach had been doing an oddly pleasant flopping as Moira walked beside him holding his arm as they chatted. It started off on the comfortable and well trodden topics - children, education, Zevran, daily tasks, small things of that nature - and grew to encompass personal things like favourite colours, first kisses, and pet peeves. He had found that she had known Edric virtually all her life, born within days of each other, their families were neighbours and often they would share a crib - the saying had gone that the two fell in love the first time they held hands while still in swaddling. She had found out about Rory and the day after a long practice when ribs had been bruised and there had been a bumbling apology after a rather inelegant kiss, and how of course it had to be Rory who did it because Ferox had been too afraid to. Both admitted to sometimes forgetting the little things about their missing counterparts - favourite food, the sound of their laughter - and that sometimes what came clearest were things that had annoyed them at the time. It was comforting rather than unhappy, both laughing about it until they were breathless._ _ _ _

____As the sun began to hang lower, a breeze kicked up, and Moira looked at the sky, smiling as she held back a few wayward waves with one hand. A rush flooded him, _This is the mother of our children. She’s carrying his seed in her body, and we made that child together, all three of us._ Impulsively, _When did you become impulsive?_ Ferox kissed her cheek. “Moira, you are absolutely lovely. I haven’t told anybody any of those things. Couldn’t really.”_ _ _ _

____He didn’t know how it was possible, but her expression softened even further, her hand moving to cup his cheek, “Thank you, Ferox. I may not know a lot of things, or always understand, but you can tell me anything and I’ll always listen. I promise.”_ _ _ _

____“Thank you. It’s not something I remember to or probably really want to talk about with Zevran...it’s not really broken, it’s just there...and I’m not saying that right.”_ _ _ _

____“No, that I do understand,” she glanced back towards the window he knew opened on the nursery. “He wishes he could soothe everything, not make it go away I guess, but... You being sad, or me being sad, he thinks he’s failed at being whatever he feels is needed. Then he tries to be so careful he forgets that he doesn’t have to be, that sometimes we feel or remember things and it makes us feel a little blue, and that it’s okay, or sometimes we laugh about those things and that’s okay too.”_ _ _ _

____“And yet he has his own...but, it’s not handled the same way.”_ _ _ _

____She smiled, “As Mama always said ‘do as I say, not as I do’.” Pausing an odd expression came over her face and she rubbed her stomach that wasn’t showing, no matter how much it plagued her eating habits, “Mmm, I think I want another pudding. Do you think we could pop on past the kitchens for a bite?” Ruefully, “Can’t eat in the mornings for hours, in the late afternoons all the bean wants is pudding, pudding and more pudding.”_ _ _ _

____“The bean?” offering his arm again. “Why the bean?”_ _ _ _

____She held up her fingers to demonstrate the size of a small bean, “Because right now the bean is bean sized and shaped Anders said. Teeny bean. We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl so we don’t say ‘him’ or ‘her’, not that I want to know mind you, I told Dulsanaya and him both - no spoiling my surprise! Even if I think the bean is a boy, I don’t want to know for sure until I have him or her in my arms.”_ _ _ _

____“Ahh,” retracing steps to the kitchen. “Better than what name I keep using. I really have to find something better.”_ _ _ _

_____But Dulsanaya already said, when she showed that memory of Zevran and said she didn’t want it to go to waste. Where did she get that? From Zevran? Nooo, it was not shown from Zevran’s viewpoint. Wait, he did show that memory of being in a room with the Zama-mama when he was dancing with the birds, butterflies, flowers and dragons. This one was different. Okay, how so? It was farther away, not in a close space, it was from across a wide street...no, a square with a fountain and the boy never looked in the direction of the viewer, like he did in the other memory. I don’t know... Well, it wasn’t as detailed either, just didn’t taste - Wait you’re starting to sound like the little healer. But it’s true, it didn’t taste like one of his. Did she get it from the duplicate? No, really? No, not going to believe that. Why not? Because it’s too much. Hrmn. How so? To see a happy kid like that? Compare it to the adult - do you want to think about that? ‘Cause I sure don’t. What are the choices again? Sigh. If you’d stop asking questions, you wouldn’t get lost. It’s either some Zevran’s, the healer’s, or someone else...right? I believe you. Does it matter? It might, how do I know? Umm, you forgot something. What’s that? Moira couldn’t see what the healer showed. No, the girl was touching her stomach. Did she block that so it couldn’t be looked at? Or did...that’s more likely, Moira didn’t know what it meant, hadn’t had that much in reading intentions. Although...wasn’t she sleeping at that point? That’s more likely. So that’s why she doesn’t know. Makes sense._ _ _ _ _

____Moira had a big bowl of steaming pudding that some soul had learned to make after it had been mentioned as a newly discovered favourite that was made from dates, burnt and liquefied sugar and flour amongst other items. It was on the sweet and heavy side for him, but a little spoon of it wasn’t bad. Moira on the other hand couldn’t seem to get enough of it as evidenced by her drenched cake like mass that she was struggling not to devour while on the way back to his rooms. He, like Zevran, was just relieved that she had finally found something she _could_ eat, as since the first night after leaving Kirkwall the baby had begun to play havoc with her body, even if it didn’t grow as quickly as a fully human infant would. Which was also why he didn’t protest when she picked food from his plate, or anyone else’s for that matter - so long as she was eating, all was well. Because of that, he himself had opted for a large loaf of bread, crocks of jam and butter, and a very large bowl of stew - two spoons tucked in his hand. Hopefully she would wind up ‘stealing’ from him again._ _ _ _

____They retired to the sitting area of his quarters, her legs folded off to the side under her skirts as she sat beside him on the couch, balancing the bowl of her pudding and clearly savouring each bite, continually sighing and making small noises that kept putting thoughts in his head as he consumed his own repast. Happy little moans and the way she would look at each spoonful as though it was the best thing in all of Thedas, the lick of lips before wrapping them around the bowl of the spoon - _You’d better quit watching. I can’t stop! Dammit - one of us has to, and it’s not gonna be me. Well then I suppose we’re frelled then, aren’t we? Guess so._ It had never occurred to him that watching someone eat could be erotic unless purposefully making the attempt. _Like when Zevran got a hold of those peaches... And kept holding your gaze? Yeah. That. And slurping. Don’t forget the licking and sucking. How could I? Or that dribble of - Stop. Stop. Stop. Distraction! Yes, well, he was doing that on purpose. She’s not._ He doubted she even noticed the effects her actions had on him, she was too engrossed to be doing it on purpose, or to take note. That too made it somehow more..._ _ _ _

____Almost finished she glanced up at him, spoon slowly sliding from her lips and released with a ‘pop’. “Oh - did you want some?” picking up more and holding the spoon to his lips. “It’s _really_ good.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, I believe you,” said quite fervently as the honey sweet smell of the pudding reached his nose, his body tightening further. _Keep that rumbling in check. Oh please - look at the way her eyes just darkened. I really don’t think she minds the rumbling. Frelled._ Leaning forward, he took the offered bite from her spoon hoping she would lick it off like before. _You ser...nevermind. Already been said and you aren’t listening.__ _ _ _

____Ferox was well rewarded, even more so than hoped for._ _ _ _

____“Ooh, you’ve got some right here -” after the spoon was set aside with the finished bowl, of which he had had a few more bites from, Moira was leaning up, rolling to her knees and using his shoulders for balance to suck on his lip._ _ _ _

____Right then he had never been so glad he had already finished his meal and suffered through that oddly heavy pudding as she thoroughly searched his mouth for any last taste of pudding. _I think you should lick the bowl. What? I’m sure there’s more sauce in there. Maybe go down to the kitchens and take a dip in the vat of it they keep for her - don’t worry about the sticky footprints, she’ll probably follow along and lick those up too. Need more flavour, my man. Flavour!_ No thought again before he acted, arms about her waist, steadying her even while pulling her closer. Groaning while as his mind busily argued with itself, _Reckless! Hey, you said we could do this! Yes, but you have to at least think first! Can’t just go grabbing and kissing, that’s completely presumptuous and did you make sure the door was locked? She started it! Well you’re a messy eater - she had to clean you up! Weren’t you the one telling me to lick the bowl a minute ago? That’s different.__ _ _ _

____Hairpins came loose and fell as he cupped her head, fingers pushing into the mass of thick hair. At some point the taste of toffee had to be gone but that didn’t really matter, not anymore. Not with how Moira panted when his mouth broke from hers only to work its way down the line of her throat, her pulse fluttering against his tongue. Growling, Ferox carefully nipped with just his lips, tasting the subtle difference that had come over her since getting with child, wishing he had Zevran’s sense of smell and taste, just to savour it even more. With an easy shift Moira was lifted into his lap, muggy heat spreading through the point of contact at his groin to her linen covered crotch. _Bed. Need a bed. Clothes off. Yours or hers? I don’t know, I don’t care. Off. Gear first._ The last thought made his mind snarl and gnash at that leash he couldn’t slip even long enough to give in like this. _Now here, please? No!_ But... Gear first!_ _ _ _

___Mumbling before his lips found hers once more, “Moira, can we take this to the -”_ _ _

___“ _Yes,_ ” emphatic, coupled with a roll of her hips down on him. They both got distracted and lost again for a few moments. “I’ll...door...I’ll get - you...you putter.”_ _ _

___Silently he thanked her generosity a thousandfold. _Although where we were was very nice. Gear. First. I KNOW, DON’T REMIND ME. Sometimes... Hey, I’m still keeping the truce, but someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Or, well, really stupid. Okay, fine._ Lightly calloused hands helped him undress, distracting as they rediscovered the planes of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, but didn’t seek to stop him from making sure everything was in its designated place. _She’s still dressed! What? Wait? Why!?!_ But that thought went away as she licked his nipple before slipping her lips over it, hands dragging over his chest down to his groin with a great deal of hunger._ _ _

___Walking backwards until she hit the edge of the bed and sat, Moira pulled on Ferox’s hips, mouth moving down until, _Maker!_ Apparently he didn’t need to dip himself in toffee sauce. Cupping her head as she worked her lips and tongue over him, plucking out the last few hairpins when he could gather the thought to do so, mostly making them come loose by accident, he groaned. Her mouth was so much softer, like silk, thick wet silk, plush and smooth. He wouldn’t last long but she refused to allow him to pull back, consuming him the same way she had that pudding, licking and sucking until there was nothing that remained. _ _ _

___Spent but not finished, Ferox was able to focus enough to work at the handful of stays to Moira’s dress, fingers not quite fumbling, but his entire body was buzzing. He couldn’t help feasting his gaze on her as he finally pulled the dress free and unfastened her breast bind, the fullness of her bosom calling. Barely hanging on to the remembered warning - _Nipples, delicate! Careful!_ \- he returned the attention she had given him as she scooted back on the bed and he quickly followed, stalking over its surface. Her smallclothes were sodden as he reached them, pulling the garment aside to taste the dewy lips, and the salty musk there, rumbling the entire time. _ _ _

___Sliding his tongue over her sex, then a finger inside to test and stroke, to feel just how soft her channel was, Ferox worked his way back up, to the slightly hardened line below her belly button. Zevran hadn’t been exaggerating, as kissing and licking around the firmed area caused all manner of noises to issue, thighs to spread farther, and juices to pour over his fingers. It had occurred to him that right there, beneath his lips, was a small life form, but to feel it was odd. A fierceness burned in his breast at that reminder, and he hungrily ran his mouth over the area._ _ _

___To have the evidence of the sacred feminine right there, that miracle, she and the child she held were representations of Ferelden, of Thedas as well, being that which was to be protected. It was for this, he had walked across the country during those years, had worked and bled for them all. It was for this, he had taken the blow of the Archdemon and had been willing to die for, even if Morrigan’s ritual hadn’t worked, or had merely been a trick. The land gave life and housed them all within its body, it needed tending and love, and in turn would tend and care, nurturing those that walked over it. Feeding the rock farmer and his little flock, hiding the sister and brother in the Chantry’s stone walls, or supporting the mother with her arms wrapped around her two daughters, watching as the body of a husband and father was burned, his ashes returning to the earth. He could give no less than what he was given, or at least strive to._ _ _

___She made him feel powerful and powerless with awe as she quaked, _This is the mother of our children,_ repeated in his mind. _She wants me. She wants us. She wants this._ Loving her body with his mouth and hands until his senses were inundated with sweetly peppered and earthy musk, as though he were tilling the most fecund of soils, readying the land for planting and spring and new life. It was worship. At heart he was just a farmer himself, celebrating life with her. _ _ _

___Legs wrapped around the backs of his thighs, embracing him as he slid their bodies together, blanketing Moira and protecting her and what she held. There was pleasure there, there was joy, there was safety and a sense of coming full circle in all things. The sweat of his brow and back dripped as they worked in tandem, sweetness of effort blooming and readying to bear fruit, Moira, the land, giving bounty and ecstasy as her body gave in to the riot of spring. In that moment his seed spilled, washing her fluttering and welcoming channel, his day’s, his life’s work, there in that suspended moment of completion._ _ _

___Drowsing much later, curled around Moira protectively, he awoke to the feel of Zevran’s mind touching his, the sound of lockpicks clicking and working. _’Shh, it is just myself, you need not worry or get up from where you are. Ah, there we go,’_ triumph and a smile as the door opened then shut, locked once more. _ _ _

___Rubbing the heel of his palm into an eye-socket, he blearily smiled for his husband, _’Children are in bed? What time is it?’__ _ _

____’Oh yes, they are down for the count, it is well into evening now, hmn? Time for the adults,’_ undressing quickly to slip beneath the sheets, inhaling deeply the combined scents the bed held. _ _ _

____’That was more than four hours,’_ not sure if he was grumbling._ _ _

___Zevran laughed soundlessly at him, nose pressing into the side of his neck, _’Mmm, yes, it was, I wished to be sure the both of you had a good nap first before I woke either of you.’_ His assassin propped up on an elbow, tracing one of Ferox’s ribs, _’How are you feeling, **amora**?’__ _ _

____’All is well and now that you are here, I need nothing else.’ Officially displaced as a matchmaker, but who took that title seriously?_ _ _ _

___A kiss was placed on his mouth, humming, _’Good, then you take your time to wake up, because I am in need of you. Braksa, you are delicious enough to drive me mad.’__ _ _

____’Share it with me,’_ which led to an explosion of senses, the taste of even dinner and pudding washing over his tongue, Moira’s essences and how spiced and deep it had become with pregnancy, his own bitter salt seed and strong counterpoint, intensifying it, the hint of Zevran’s sweat and semen layered in there faintly from much earlier in the day. With it came scent, just as vivacious and dancingly layered, then the way it made Zevran want, the way his blood pulsed to be closer to all of that, to express with body and action what may be said with words or shown through thought, but to affirm it all over again. _ _ _

___It was so much that it probably could drive a person mad._ _ _

____If it wasn’t part of their life._ _ _ _

___The connection remained wide open, senses lightly entwined as Zevran slid over Ferox’s form to reach the other side of Moira and sink beneath the covers. In his arms she gave a shifting mewl as his lover pushed her legs open enough to gain access, the sound of him lapping up the spilled joys loud and moist. With each lick and swirl, Ferox tasted Moira anew through Zevran’s senses, his own tongue working in his mouth in remembered sensation of slippery skin as he fought the rest of the way towards wakefulness. Beside him he watched them make love, reaching out to stroke their pale and bronze bodies, kissing and encouraging, remembering how that was what Zevran had done the first time with them. Taking the place his assassin had been in moments before, warmth thick in the tight channel, Ferox followed, while Moira keened, arms wrapping around them both until she required a pause of her own, greedily drinking water and watching he and Zevran take turns with each other._ _ _

___That was like eating - he hadn’t thought watching would be just as arousing, or being watched. But only so long as it was them. Moira between them, fingers coaxed at her even as Ferox slowly rocked himself in the sheath from whence their child would be born, opening gently until somehow the embrace allowed both of them into her body. A thin veil of skin between them, Ferox could feel spheres even then, the tightness mind-boggling and he had to struggle not to shout, but Zevran’s mind gently stilled his need, pushing it back enough to not end the experience too soon. Then more came, making it impossible to even try to struggle, forcing Ferox to rely upon Zevran’s strength, as the amulet around his wrist came to rest on Moira’s belly, fingers spreading lips. Between them she flailed, crying out helplessly, all their minds joined, just like their bodies._ _ _

___He was himself, he was Zevran, he was Moira. Their senses a swamp of more than his simple mind could take, but still he reached for it, grasping. He knew what each wanted, they knew what he wanted. It was all too new, too much, he couldn’t last, not with Moira’s orgasms buffeting his brain, Zevran’s voice rising and his own escalating plaintively, his mind remembering the way his lover had helplessly announced for long minutes before, during and after he had released, an endless loop until none of them could take it anymore._ _ _

___Gentle, softness, hands moving over each other, warmed and moist towels wiping away the mess, weak and fatigued chuckles as they realized that the bottom sheet was soaked and there was no such thing as a place without the ‘wet spot’. Tea was passed around, syrup taken to ease the faint queasiness from so much pleasure being squeezed from nerves and muscles, sheets changed and then piling back into bed. Kisses and touches soothed them all down to sleep and the rest of the pleasantly exhausted._ _ _

___....  
[Zevran]_ _ _

___Zevran came awake quickly to the plucking at his mind. It wasn’t Ferox and the only other amulet he wore to bed would be Dulsanaya’s. That made the choice obvious._ _ _

____’What can I do for you, **mushu**?’_ opening for her as he yawned silently._ _ _

____’ **Asha** has gifts for Gaeaf,’_ happy and shy at once._ _ _

___Disentangling himself from the pile gently, _’A moment, the door is locked.’__ _ _

____’This one knows and cannot learn this skill to open. There are too many tricks, if - then’s, knowledge.’_ No frustration or need to know it, she seemed merely to explain without questioning the lack of ability to learn._ _ _

___He opened the door for her, stepping aside and closing it once more, yawning and set water on for morning tea before slipping into the bed with them. Moira was between Dulsanaya and Ferox, the healer’s arm reaching across their upturned sides so that both were touched. Curling up behind Ferox, kissing his handsome heart’s shoulder as the pair’s breathing deepened, he lay his own arm over them, touching her. He sent his thanks as, while Moira was not overly self-conscious, considering the state of dress and body, she would be uncomfortable. And Ferox would be unpleasantly fierce to say the least, too sleep befuddled to assess anything other than something was causing distress._ _ _

____’They are tired, no need for surprise and cranky too. This one has seen them before, but that would not be their thoughts.’_ On one side of the link, the pool deepened as the healer began to concentrate. One would guess that she had not worked on Alistair last night as the vines were as lush and green as they had been yesterday. An odd thing, as, of them all, Alistair and Ferox were the closest to the Calling, except for the Orlesian who had returned to Jader earlier in their visit, and she normally spent the majority of her energy between those two. But he figured that her vines could not be the only source of power she had, perhaps when she slept she could heal without drawing on the reserves unless she was in need of deep healing herself. _ _ _

___For far longer than usual, the little healer was still, her breathing softened. Others less observant might imagine that she was sleeping as well. The link however showed that there was much activity and the quiet internal humming indicated that she was working. The songs that ran through her, dare he say, unconscious mind, when healing, tended to be very old teaching songs, ones of harvesting wild plants or herbs, hunting, the changing of the seasons, or of Joinings, birth, and death. Many of them used words which although sounded elven, were unknown to most Dalish. The oddest one was a Tevinter piece, ‘ _Ave, generosa, gloriosa et intacta puella. Tu pupilla castitatis, tu materia sanctitatis, que Deo placuit_. [I behold you, noble, glorious and whole woman, the pupil of purity. You are the sacred matrix in which the Maker takes great pleasure].’ _ _ _

___After several hours, Dulsanaya rose back to the surface of the link sharing an almost a drunken feeling. Her voice slurred, with need for sleep and sun, as in a short time she had darkened the vines. She must have made a large push against the Taint within Ferox. Waving off his offers of assistance, the healer let herself out to seek the sunrise on a high point of the Keep. In the meantime, Zevran stroked dark tangled hair from Ferox’s face, nose tucked behind his ear, breathing in his scent, grateful for the purchased time, be it minutes or years._ _ _

___...._ _ _

___Ferox had managed to put Anora’s summons from his mind until late afternoon as he shuffled missives and work orders around until he stumbled on it once more. He nearly balled up the heavy parchment in his hands, wanting nothing more than to rip it to shreds. _Why can’t I just tell her what I used to say to Scholar Aldous when I forgot to do my studies? What? You know, the wolves ate my summons? Oh that. Think she would buy it? No. Dammit._ Growling he pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and dipped his pen in ink._ _ _

___“What is it, _amora_?” Zevran’s tone was mild, feet propped on a footstool as he used a portable scribe’s desk to do his own work. “Has someone offended your sensibilities, hmn? You know my rates are very affordable, yes?”_ _ _

___“Tempting, because as a desire demon you’d accept payment of my soul - such a small thing. It’s the Royal Harpy...apparently we have had enough ‘fun’ and it is time for this naughty boy to return to her side. I would say, in polite gatherings, that she misses the company of my presence, but I believe we know better.”_ _ _

___Zevran set the lap desk aside, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “She might, as one can never be entirely sure what goes on in her head, hmn? However, the appearance of a divided House would be the likely driving factor, no? It is not as though you are on a diplomatic or trade mission.”_ _ _

___“A delay was purchased earlier with the attack on Bhelen’s ambassador and her party, as Wardens were mobilized to clear the underground roads. Which was acceptable for a time.”_ _ _

___“The soonest we could leave would be mid-afternoon tomorrow,” his lover was thoughtful. “If it was just ourselves, we could be gone in hours. But there is the flock, Len’s personal retinue of guards, readying supplies for the travel, ensuring that the business here is completely settled as your duty as Warden Commander knows no political body - theoretically, yes? A week, perhaps two. Write to say that you have been busy, that the Wardens had to be put in order, house cleaned, yes? Some things must be done directly rather than through intermediaries, no matter how good they are, hmn? A month if we are wily. Request the messenger remain here and switch them for another - send your reply in four days. There are always issues with the roads, no? Horses can be so finicky as well...a thrown shoe...bad grain...simple distemper - she knows nothing of the creatures. Yet, this is going to be distasteful, _amora_ , I know that, but the sooner the better. Two weeks at the outside, and we should be on the road.”_ _ _

___An ever present sigh was released or perhaps a held breath, “And the longer we have been away, the harder it is to consider returning...as if I have somehow lost my mind, more likely regained my senses at the city gate. I am loathe to hand them back over, like weapons at an Orlesian tavern in order to prevent dueling._ _ _

___His assassin rose to lean a hip on the desk, long fingers taking Ferox’s chin in hand. “You are not undefended, _querido._ As usual we will continue our game of bait and switch and misdirection, hmn? Besides, we cannot keep Dulsanaya here forever and the child cannot be made from afar. Neither yours nor Nathanial’s.”_ _ _

___That image of attempting to impregnate Anora from here, nearly set Ferox to laughing, except for the knowledge that it was unfortunately correct, he’d have to be closer for all practical purposes, which caused the laugh to be bitten back. “Zevran, you are solid ground under my feet. I do wish I could remove the butcher’s labels that suddenly appear on my limbs and organs when I enter the palace gates, however.” Ferox took on a rustic drawl, “Ribs, on special today, prime cut of shank, quite fresh. All out of liver, I’m afraid, ma’am. Try a kidney instead?”_ _ _

___One of those toe-curling laughs issued, “I am quite fond of your shanks, I shall take both please, hmn?” With a leg, Zevran pulled the chair closer, and wrapped arms around Ferox’s shoulders to press Ferox’s face into his abdomen. “Write your missive and humble apologies, remind her that it will take time to put everything in order - you are, after all, running an arling from afar and training a military outfit, yes? That travelling to Amaranthine only once a year so that we may winter over in Highever is difficult to ensure that all is well with the military, the Wardens, and the care of those under your jurisdiction. She will be forced to concede. In fact it may even grant the ability for more mobility, hmn?”_ _ _

___Ferox tugged up the loose tunic to lay a kiss on warm skin and spoken words were pressed to the flesh, “You are forgetting she is her father’s daughter...it can all be done from the King’s...err Queen’s side. But, your words, though oft repeated, are usually persuasive as long as I admit that I am a ‘sad replacement’ for Loghain and ‘will never equal him’. Ahh well, back to swaying and cajoling.” Another sigh, “It’s a terribly good thing I like dancing.”_ _ _

___There was a growl in Zevran’s chest, “I should say you surpassed him long ago, _querido._ A general, leader, father, husband, friend - he was only passable at two of those things, while you excel at them all.”_ _ _

___Strong arms wrapped around narrow hips, “Actually the first reason that usually comes to mind, which might be on the plus side, is that I am upright and breathing and Loghain is not. But as it sounds too much like gloating, I try not to point that out, especially if I want something.” Ferox rubbed his forehead against the muscularly firm stomach, “Whom shall I fear when you leap to my side to defend me?”_ _ _

___“Hopefully no one,” amused, thumbs rolling along the sides of Ferox’s neck working diligently at the tension headache he hadn’t even realized was forming after having remembered Anora’s summons. “Between the two of us, there is little we cannot figure out, hmn?”_ _ _

___“Then tell me when our next trip will be so that I have something to look forward to, rather than dwelling on the dreaded return to the Harpy’s side. A trip to Gwaren to see into her Highness’ interests, perhaps? A hunting trip with Teagan? An in person state visit and condolences to Behlen about his ambassador? Or perhaps we should see Arl Gorim, that brief visit last time was nice...combine that with Highever.” It was difficult to remember all of the little ‘errands’ that needed to be run, the hands that needed to be touched and faces that needed to be seen while trying not to be overly worried or _concerned_ about those tasks._ _ _

___“Ugh, Teyrna Thia - ruling the Castle and Keep with an iron hug and a little girl pout of death,” laughing. “She will not allow us to leave, I fear, hmn?”_ _ _

___“Eh? Throw her in with the rest of our menagerie, we’ll never notice one or two more...although a second wagon might be useful to haul everything they are wont to pack and bring with them.” Ferox found himself sighing with relief, head in lap - _Stomach? Lap? Legs? Oh just go with torso. That sounds like you’ve shoved your head into his torso - go with lap, less risk of organ damage_ \- as they made ‘plans’. “Really, at the rate she’s going, Eleanor is going to demand we haul a library with us every time we go anywhere. Make it a third wagon for that alone.”_ _ _

___Ferox had been sincere when requesting a distraction from the actual task at hand and doggedly pursued it, “So, if not Highever and West Hills, there is Haven and Honnleath to see how our little experiments are progressing. That could be combined with Redcliffe, haven’t you had some of your shelters and inns built along the southern road as well? Would be the only reason I’d consider risking traveling those roads in the winter.”_ _ _

___“There has been a decent clip in building them, yes. Even the Dalish have put in some effort, old _aravel’en_ that could no longer make journeys, but were sound otherwise, yes? Planted up and such for a bit of shelter,” Zevran stood, tugging Ferox to the chaise lounge someone, probably Moira, had ordered up at some point. With a firm push, Zevran bade Ferox sit, which he did, then his husband slid in beside him for a tangled lap embrace. “Keepers Marathari, Lanaya, Matean - the Keeper of Velanna’s clan, yes? Interesting to have finally heard from them, hmn? - and Lohania, have got a light working agreement with the local governments, yes? Any shelter they pass near, they check and repair, make sure that some dried elfroots and such are there, and wood is stocked, and they are assured of no trouble, in fact, aid would be rendered...plus the agreed upon metal for their needs at a reduced cost if purchased from sanctioned mines.” _ _ _

___Ferox had to plumb his memory, having trouble - he had never met the Keeper, that had been Zevran’s job as they had been unwilling to meet with a _shemlen_ , “Lohania - Ariane’s Keeper?”_ _ _

___“Yes,” rueful. “There was a great deal of feasting and a great deal of women thrown my way, I never felt so much like a prize winning bull put to stud with almost a whole herd of cows. But it bought goodwill and no one thought about the minor fact that I know plenty of ways to ward off having my seed catch, hmn? Much better than the shunning and covered eyes and whispers of ‘demon’ or ‘fallen spirit’, no?”_ _ _

____However they would like us better if there were a few more little Zevrans running around. I’m certain he thought of that. Me too. Are you going to growl again? Maker...breathe. So, are we going to get upset about this? Didn’t you put him in that situation? Technically it’s your fault. My fault? Anyway, what’s a few more children? And the bonus is that these wouldn’t follow you around like ducklings._ Except for failing to contain his surprise and the subsequent sigh, Ferox was restrained in his reaction to the expected revelation. “Much better.” _You know, threatening those who did say those things won’t help. Would help me. Okay, I meant, help the situation and it was too long ago anyway. Well, if they do it again, can I threaten them then?_ The snort in his head was deep and quite sarcastic. _Obviously, however, you wouldn’t just threaten - you would hurt somebody. Oh, yeah, I’d do a lot more than just ‘hurt’ somebody.__ _ _

___Zevran’s mouth found his, tasting of tea from Rivain, the contented savouring of tongue and lips being sent. “Or we could go to Brandel’s Reach, begin the reclamation, hmn?”_ _ _

___“You were excited about that project. It’s not too far to travel, should we be needed unexpectedly. Plenty of plans to be drawn up, lists to be made...” _You mean that there is plenty to think about and distract yourself with. Yes, what did you think I meant?__ _ _

___A palm rubbed slow circles over his stomach, the imported cotton dyed a faded blue-black, with grey threads in a weaving knotwork at hem, collar and cuffs, a present from last Saturnalia, and something he knew Zevran liked seeing him in, “Brandel’s Reach is close enough we could go once a month for four or five days, _amora_. With Dassan’s schematics, I put in a rush on a Warden ship for our diplomatic missions, larger than Dassan’s ship, but not meant for large cargo, yes? It would be of sufficient size though to begin ferrying over some artisans for the beginning of those purposes. I would not be surprised if the ship is finished in another month or two, as it was the first thing I sent out upon our arrival in Amaranthine.”_ _ _

___Rumbling approval, “Have I mentioned lately how much I continually appreciate your ability to see something that needs doing and just taking care of it?” _Probably doesn’t really need you... Hey! That’s not in our agreement. No, it’s not, but you didn’t let me finish either. I was trying to say that he doesn’t need to run everything by you. Well I certainly hope not.__ _ _

___“The ability to assess any situation and surroundings is what aids in survival in the Guild, _querido._ It is one I worked diligently to cultivate, hmn?” clearly pleased at the praise. “One of the things that some of the apprentices have later on in their training is learning tacit orders, but that was learned for me in the brothel, yes? ‘ _Gatito_ your face is dirty,’ Zama would say and if I remembered that meant she wanted me to do something about it, I got many hugs and kisses. ‘ _Gatito,_ I am full’ she would say when we ate, and then I would take the remainder from her. Until I learned to observe those things for myself. To check the mirror and decide if my face was dirty, or to see her stop eating and set her hands in her lap, hmn? It seems like such small things, no? But that was how I learned.”_ _ _

___“Seems I owe someone a kiss of gratitude then. Although weren’t your instructions clear about my not ogling the Zama-mama?_ _ _

___“Zama-mama?” a brow arched high. “But yes, ogling would be...that reminds me, Ani is your age. Please do not ogle her either. Even if they are ogle-worthy, as a son and father I would have to take drastic measures with you I am afraid, _amora._ ”_ _ _

___“How drastic exactly?” _I mean, it’s not like his other children are datable...yes I’m kidding. Better be, or I might hurt you. Do you like poking him? Wait, don’t answer that.__ _ _

___Pursed lips, “Hauling you off to a brothel so that you are too exhausted to even think of looking at where eyes do not belong... It is odd, as happy as I was that Ani entered adulthood, the last I saw her, complaining over some fellow herdsman, I still wished to find the young man responsible and draw and quarter him... And every time Salvail gave Zama a thorough once over with his eyes, I nearly ripped them from his skull. Hmn, perhaps I am possessive and rather spoilt, used to being the only ‘man’ in the family, hmn?”_ _ _

____What? Punishment is to haul me off to a brothel. Well, it would be a punishment for you and he knows it. And as far as exhausting me, I still can’t think entirely straight after last night...I thought I was exhausted then...err now. Probably why he brings up the elves now. Ummm, didn’t you do that? Did I? Still your fault. I didn’t deny it...now wander off and leave this._ Ferox cracked a grin as a thought tickled, making him snicker, “Then I suppose you’re going to issue the same warnings to them about me?”_ _ _

___“Not Ani’s type - you are too short,” Zevran snorted. “And far too hairy. As for Zama...well, if she is still going strong, of which I do not doubt, you would not be young enough. It would be why she prefers fellow mages or, as much as she dislikes Crows - a Crow. Endurance, _amora_ , the sort gained and sustained by someone who can ride a horse for fifteen hours, set up camp, do chores, and hunt at some point. And then still have energy for an hour of lovemaking, yes? Then do it all over again the next day...until the Maker calls them and their time on this land is finished, hmn? She used to complain about no longer being a whore, no matter how much she likes her work, being a whore kept her...ah...satisfied.”_ _ _

___Ferox took on Earle’s voice to tease and to lighten the not quite insult that he didn’t have stamina, was too hairy, _And short? Really?_ , “Than it’s a good thang tha’ this sad excuse for’a man has eyes fer only you, luv.” _ _ _

___“Good, because I only have eyes for you, _amora_. Anyone, anything else, that is just...” a shrugged shoulder. “I find what I feel grows each day, yes? If I could, I would keep you all to myself and not ever share a single scrap with anyone. Other than our family. But no one else. Ever. Mine.”_ _ _

___“I am yours as you are mine.” Ferox reaffirmed settling back into strategically placed pillows. _I’d almost swear that if he was given a choice he wouldn’t share you with family either. That’s not true. It is not true. He wanted Len, then Len needed Moira, and Moria and Len needed the girls, then Zevran needed Moira and vice versa and she encouraged him to be patient because Zevran needed you. Moira needed a child, she had Zevran’s, you need a backup plan in case the worst happens. We needed the healer for Len and the two children and now for Nathaniel and she needs you as a Warden... Are you finished yet? Probably not, I can see many other needs and needed from this vantage point._ _ _ _

____You know, I do think it’s funny, and not in a ha ha way, that he’s not worried about the women bothering you, it’s you bothering them. Why would I bother them? It’s not like I have women in my life. Uhh, Moira. Oh. Yes, that was nice. Nice? Okay, very nice. Nice enough to do it again? Yes, of course. And not to point out the obvious, but you’re married. Well, Zevran did pick out his own ‘ring’, but if he’s... No you idiot, Anora. Oh ho, now wait a berry pickin’ minute. I coulda let Anora rule on her own and finish taking Ferelden into the mud, never to recover from the Blight or the bickering at the Landsmeet. I couldn’t let that happen. But Alistair didn’t want anything to do with her, not a conversation let alone for worse or worser. Smart man. I didn’t, don’t either, she’s cold and doesn’t really seem to care about anything else and Maker she is boring. But what was I supposed to do, there was a need, and I saw it, and I filled it. No pun intended? No. It doesn’t change the fact that you married her and she is NOT family and HE has to share YOU with HER. We’ve had this conversation, I’m pretty sure we have. And now you’re going back to Denerim and, because you can’t frell this up, he’s going to be there with you while you create this child you think you need so badly. But, you agreed that a backup plan is a good idea. I do, however I’m pointing out the consequences that you haven’t seemed to pay any attention to. Just because I throw myself on an acid or a fire bomb doesn’t mean I like it. And it doesn’t make my eyes wander either. You complimented somebody else. Who? I don’t remember who, but I remember you did. Just because I find something attractive doesn’t mean I want to take it home with me. Well...there’s got to be a reason...umm okay, who did that to him? It doesn’t have to be that someone did it, even you are insecure when it comes to him staying with you... Well Rory... He did not and for all you know he saved your life - Now leave it! But!! Listen, I’m not going to let you do this to me, not again, not here, not now. Oh damn. We did it...we left him to go to Deep Roads, just the other day. Okay we did that and it was wrong and he knows we’re really sorry, but he said ‘But no one else. Ever. Mine,’ possessively...really possessively, as if you had made eyes at someone. Well, Moira, with his permission I might add, and Anora...but for her those weren’t ‘eyes’, that was a sacrifice for preservation. He knows that I don’t even like her and that she crawls under my skin. Hrm, I give up then._ _ _ _

___...._ _ _

___The beast shifted under him, causing Ferox to come back from his thoughts and pay attention. Not that he wasn’t paying attention-attention, but he was beginning to set certain sounds in the background. They traveled with several Wardens, ones who had family in Denerim in addition to Ias, Sigrun and Alistair. The last two Ferox would have rather left at the Vigil, but as they were who Dulsanaya was spending the most time with and sleeping with, thus leaving Zevran and his nights free, they were necessary. The others were to help settle everything into the Wardens’ estate, the old Arl of Denerim’s estate to be precise, and keep the little healer occupied so there was some breathing room and his amulet wouldn’t constantly be filled with her presence._ _ _

___Dulsanaya had certainly thrown them for a loop before they left._ _ _

___Her presence and actions in the stables as mounts were selected was interesting. She leaned against each animal as if she were communing with it, one after another, they were released from her care. Some were only touched for a moment, others for a minute or two. One she held back and would not allow anyone to ride. Anders, as he came down out to advise that he was meeting Moira in for a quick check up before she left, confirmed that the mare was pregnant and assured the little healer he would watch the horse. As the animals were saddled and gear began to be loaded, Ferox and Zevran followed Anders inside and after a quick touch and silent conversation with Armand, Dulsanaya did too._ _ _

___He was still in shock and just about as queasy as Moira. Not that she was queasy at the moment, but he still certainly was. How _was_ he supposed to feel about that news? Anders had cracked his knuckles and given Moira the weekly look-see as they all sat comfortably in the sitting room, Anders squatting before her, making sure everything was fine - Ferox suspected that it was just in his nature, a need similar to the little healer’s to put skills to use - _Or the fascination of observing an elf in a human_ \- and had made a very flabbergasted and confused sound. _ _ _

___As Moira had quietly become alarmed, Ferox was driven to action, _’Anders? What is the problem?’__ _ _

___Clearing his throat, “I’m not sure how that’s possible, but it’s kinda hard to deny what’s right here beneath my hands.”_ _ _

___Zevran’s hand clutched at Ferox’s forearm, either to comfort or be comforted, didn’t matter. “Anders, what is it that is the situation?”_ _ _

___Moira was looking at them, her hands fluttering down to try and get between Anders and her stomach, trying to protectively cradle her womb. “What is it?”_ _ _

___“Hey now, nothing bad, just, you know, there’s _two_ in there. Last week there was only one, well, no wait I take that back, but it wasn’t noticeable, I thought it was a blip...”_ _ _

___Dulsanaya was perched on the counter performing what appeared to be a check of her armour’s lacings followed by a double check of her satchel’s contents, _’Gaeaf’s **da’len** is doing very well. It is a very happy ‘bean’. **Cath’s** bean is not lonely and happy too. Good feelings between all of you make the **da’len’en** even happier and comfort them.’__ _ _

___There was a worried, rising edge to Moira’s voice, one clearly trying to hang on as she watched the Wardens and Zevran converse without her. “I’m not sure what’s going on, I don’t mind the head thing you do, but it’s not nice to leave me out of the loop and at this moment it’s scaring me, so someone better explain. Now.”_ _ _

___“Like I said, you’ve got two in there. Congratulations, two babies, two fathers - you’re one in a million or ten. Probably literally!” Anders said warmly, pouring his healer’s reassurance into it._ _ _

___Ferox’s breakfast had come close to making a reappearance, _I’m going to kill her. Don’t you touch a hair on Moira’s head!_ Horrified that any part of his brain came up with that, _No! Why would you think that? No - the healer. Her. Oh. Her. Okay. Carry on then. Do you realize what this is? Impossible? Alistair \- say hello to your second Alistair. Morrigan did say that ‘the boy was safe’. Oh no, don’t make me think about that. You could have killed her. Or gone through the mirror. No and no - leave a child with an Old God’s soul without a parent, even her? Or abandon everything to live with that bitch? Okay, those are valid points.__ _ _

___Zevran had taken Moira in his arms, embracing her gently and stroking her face and giving her a soft kiss before sliding down to his knees and holding her hips. “ _Hola, mis bebes, llame tu Papi y te amo_ ,” speaking sweetly to the little ones inside Moira’s body and pressing kisses to either side of where her belly button was. “We are going to need a larger crib for you all, hmn?”_ _ _

____My head hurts...my stomach hurts...how do you think Moira feels? Looking at her face, I would guess about the same. Devious. What is it about elves? Whoa! Bad thoughts!_ Ferox took a deep breath, _Just the elves you know are devious. Okay, I can mostly agree with that, but not Shianni, she’s really straightforward. The exception that proves the rule, ‘sides that, they’ve had to be - because of dumb **shems** who want to control them. Okay, bad thoughts. Judge person by person, not entire swathes of the population, please. Oh I need air. Air? We’re gonna need more than air. We’re gonna need a bigger bed, a bigger nursery... Good thing you kept Sarah on the payroll, ‘cause now we’re talking about three babies. Hey! That was really good planning, now if only you had known - because that would’ve been impressive. And devious. Oh, touche. I think you better sit down. I think you’re right, ‘cept I’m already sitting. Remember when you get stressed and hold your breath? Yes. Well, exhale, would you? I’m getting dizzy._ Hoarsely, “Why?” _Okay that was probably best left as a thought and not an actual spoken question. Too late.__ _ _

___Moira was clutching at Zevran’s wrists, looking ready to swoon, _’ **Amora** , a hand with the mother of our children if you please? Panicking now is not a luxury we have.’__ _ _

___Forcing himself to swallow breakfast again, Ferox rested a hand on her leg, “Moira, all is well. Don’t be afraid. This is a good thing.” _You can still be convincing when lying apparently. Uhhh, I didn’t really believe that. Say it again, and keep repeating it until we do, please._ In an open sending to Anders and Zevran, just so he would avoid snarling, _‘Dulsanaya, we are going to have a talk.’__ _ _

___Without looking at them, the silver-haired elf began a weapon’s check, _’Why? This one did what was requested and what was promised. There are no need for words with this **da’sa**. But it is time to go, Gaeaf. The others are nearly ready.’__ _ _

____Requested? Promised? What? Yeah, you remember, don’t ‘cha? You were both drunk in the cellar at Kirkwall. Well, it certainly appears that she was not as drunk as she looked...and sounded. Still going to be sick. I thought she gave up on this whole idea after the beach, after the first...bean. All I wanted was a backup plan. Ser, I can assure you that there are now, or will be, several options...Alistair options, but options nonetheless. That is NOT helping. ‘I thought that the request had been altered...met, with Zevran’s.’_ _ _ _

___Those green eyes turned on him, flicked to Anders and Zevran both as it felt like the ground slightly tilted under his feet in the link, _’ **Asha** does not forget what is important, what is precious, what is needed, or what is loved.’_ Pushing off the counter, hopping down to the floor, she left the room._ _ _

___“Moira?” Ferox turned his attention back to her. _’Anders?’ Thrashing about are we? Yes. Still going to kill her? That remains to be seen.__ _ _

___“Ah, well, other than things might get crowded at some future date, everything’s in order for now,” Anders straightened dusting his hands off. “But unless Green Eyes is going to be attending the entire pregnancy, you need a healer on hand the _entire_ time. No arguments. You _must_ have a healer. No, I do not mean a midwife or birth attendant, I mean a mage, or whatever Green Eyes is.” _ _ _

____’Ivy...they call her Ivy,’_ Ferox was rambling._ _ _

___Anders ignored him, his attention on the Zevran who appeared to be the least likely to fall over, and Moira who needed the reassurance, as much of it as she could get. “Exercise is good, but don’t try and lift up Eleanor please, she’s too big and you might hurt yourself or the babies. Len and Ulfric only one at a time - I’ve _seen_ you hoisting around toddlers like little sacks, so no more of that. It would be better if you could have someone hand you whatever heavy, squirmy and likely fussy creature you wind up with rather than have you pick them up. So, avoid the bend and pick up thing. No straining yourself. Drink plenty of fluids - limit alcohol, if you need a little watered wine to sleep, fine. If you get lightheaded, _sit down and tell someone_. No toughing it out - it isn’t just you who would be suffering, but two little beans with no say. So, no, don’t even think about it. When you’re with the children, I’d rather you have one other adult, even if it’s just a guard, around to make sure you don’t go into a distressed state.” The list was long, all common sense, but Anders continued. “It’s good that you’ve already had two full terms, but this is still delicate, there’s two babies of two different races basically going on in there. A human, and even if the other one is only half human, that one’s still going to be more delicate and easy to upset.” Clapping hands once, “In conclusion, take it easy. And men - you better baby her and the kids. They’ll need it.” _’Desperately. Any stress and she could lose them. Or they could all die.’_ _ _ _

___During the lecture, Ferox had somehow worked Moira into his lap, an arm around her, the other around Zevran. Whispering into her hair, “All my arms can hold, this is all that matters...right here, right now. The rest will take care of itself for a minute or two.”_ _ _

___So he was still nauseous trying to muddle through everything as they traveled towards Denerim. Why had it been alright to be happy when she only had Zevran’s child within her body? He had been fiercely overjoyed. _Risk. Isn’t that what you do best? Okay, back to being sick again. This is playing with lives again. Don’t you always? This wasn’t my roll of the dice, somebody decided they knew better than you. No. There was a promise...but wasn’t it fulfilled differently? She doesn’t work that way and you know it. Keep breathing._ Ferox, although mentally saying that he was still angry, was beginning to plan. Zevran still seemed like himself, but even he had been caught off guard, knew it, felt it. Moira, Maker, she believed as he had, that the promise had been met in other ways. None of them expected for a moment for there to be two nested there. He knew  when, but not actually **when**. The healer had spent time with both Moira and Zevran beforehand, afterwards too, he was there for that, remembered. _When? It doesn’t matter, it’s done, can’t send them back. Well we could... Stop that right there - you don’t want that. True, but I was just saying - No there aren’t options on that, so quit it.__ _ _

___At lunch everything had been fine, but by dinner, Moira had left the children to the others, going off to her tent. Ferox frowned at his meal and Zevran was off checking on the perimeter and animals. He hadn’t noticed any strangeness from Moira during the day’s ride, not that he had noticed anything anyway as his mind had been _quite_ occupied. It wasn’t like her to leave the children, even with Armand, Light, and a pair of the usual Crows that all were accustomed to. Taking his camp plate with him, stopping long enough to grab some pudding that the kitchen had sent with them, he approached the tent._ _ _

___As he poked his head in, muffled bawling reached his ears. Setting the plate just off to the side of the flap and stepping out of his boots, Ferox slipped in, “Moira, don’t, please.” Settling next to her, he pulled her into his lap, “Come, tell me everything.” Reaching into his secret list keeping pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief. _Never know when you need an emergency bandage. Or apparently something to blow someone else’s nose on. I wasn’t planning on that. Well, it’s multipurpose now. Congratulations, great planning. Glad something entertains you.__ _ _

___It was a snuffling honk, embarrassed and full of remorse, “I’m so sorry, Ferox.”_ _ _

___“This was not your doing. It was ours, mine too...with a little help.” _You know, if you had stuck to your professed preference for males this wouldn’t have happened. Although I wouldn’t put anything past the devious healer. Shut up!_ Arms about her, supporting her, Ferox began to rock slightly as if comforting a child. “You are safe, I am not angry, and there is no need to be sorry.” _Ooo, keep this up and you can join an acting troupe. Really? Think I can be the butler without lines or man with book in background?__ _ _

___Moira hiccuped, “This can cause problems, you didn’t want this, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’ve gone and ruined everything for you.”_ _ _

___“No not for a minute do I want you to even think that. You and Zevran wanted this. I wanted this too, with certain limitations. Limitations which I discussed with Dulsanaya...granted I was not quite myself at the time, but she said today that it was done according to what was requested and what she promised.” Rubbing his cheek against her forehead as he tucked her face into his shoulder, “I thought that with the first child that there was no need, that my requests and restrictions were merely extra planning that could be discarded. I didn’t expect this; but that does not change the fact that this child is wanted and that you are wanted and loved.”_ _ _

___She took one of his hands in both of hers to press it against her stomach, “I’m worried about you. I’m worried about the babies. I’m worried about Len and my girls. Three more and Ulfric, it’s...it’s too much. Don’t care if I’m wanted or loved, just that they are.”_ _ _

___“They are loved, there has never been a question. I have said that Zevran is gathering up a lifeboat and filling it with those who need each other. We are all family, in that tiny boat together, taking care of each other, all rowing the same direction, spelling each other if necessary. We have been talking of how to make our home, our lives better, to prepare for the new ones...those plans will just have to be a little larger than we thought.”_ _ _

____Maker, is Zevran or the healer feeding you this calmness and these words? ‘Cause you weren’t exactly okay with all of this earlier. It helps if I don’t have to just reassure myself. Probably because you don’t believe what I tell you anyway. Possibly._ _ _ _

___Fingers squeezed his as a fresh wave of tears exploded, shaking her head vehemently, even as she burrowed into his arms._ _ _

___At a loss, the same one he had been looking over the edge of all day, Ferox just held her. His only honest answer was, under the quickly spit and polished gleam, that all he could do was try. Zevran had already called him on his fear, thankfully he had not been frozen and unable to act. _Back to trust again, eh? Well, if it was just him, it might be a little easier, but this time it’s someone I can’t understand half the time who went and did something I didn’t see coming. You should have. Yes, I can see that now, thank you very much. I’ll remember that, should I get to have this dream again. Beware of healer. Well the lifeboat was true too - most of it is true, I know, but I just can’t believe it yet. You know, we might need a slightly larger boat though.__ _ _


	34. Tortured Creations

[Ferox]

Ferox sighed. He didn’t know how to deal with all of it. Moira was weepy, Zevran was calm, clearly ‘handling’ everything. But it was obvious that a fresh set of the warned unkindnesses had come over her, likely due to shock. He had the distinct feeling it was his fault, even though really it was the healer’s. _Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. She’s not the one that had you go into a shocked and likely very unpleasant snarl._

A helpless sensation, one he recognized was a step towards sinking, would grab him, and, attempting to shake it off, would find something to do. While riding, battling this was difficult, but he remembered that Len or Eleanor enjoyed riding too. Elissa had been drawn into Armand’s saddle as he slid free, walking beside the horse, a hand on the cantle to make sure he could grab for her if she began to slip. For the travel, the girls had been deemed better off in boys’ clothes, which they loved, even Moira had slid into a pair of Zevran’s leggings and a shirt. On the outside she wore a brave face, but rode for this stretch of road in the wagon alone, Eleanor sitting behind Zevran, hands looped into his baldric, while Len was in Ferox’s saddle carefully held in place by a broad hand. 

Ferox would have sworn that the healer thought this was a holiday...a child at Saturnalia without the squealing. _Good, I don’t think I could take the noise._ Combined with bouncing around in the amulets, she was checking in personally with everyone, avoiding him and Moira, who she had visited before they mounted up, up and down the line of them. There was a pattern to it, but it wasn’t by groups, i.e. Crows, Wardens, Family, or alphabetical, or even by age, it was some pattern he couldn’t see. Ferox nearly asked, but thought better of it just in time. Worse, she and the horse she rode seemed to have endless energy. _Still gonna kill her. Umm, not to point out anything, but the stories say that she killed the Archdemon. Well, so did I. She said nobody slept with Morrigan and all of the other stories say when that happens the Warden doesn’t live. I’ll have to chop her up into tiny bits then, ‘cause I remember that those same stories say that the Warden was left whole but it was the magic blast that killed them...and Riordan said it takes a soul. True, tiny chopped up bits it is. Sigh. Not going to do it are you? No. The unexpected fulfillment of wishes and requests is not a good reason. Good, we might need her._

“Dah-deeee,” small fingers pried at his, bouncing lightly in front of him, the other hand presenting itself to him. “Nibbles?”

It was the perpetually sucked and chewed index finger Len favoured above all others, still slightly sticky from recent attention, little dents from teeth all over it, murky brown-blue eyes wide as they looked up at him. It was a very serious expression on his face, a worried and clearly wishing to comfort expression. Unable to stop his lips from curving at the sweetness, Ferox kissed one of the less gooey fingers, then Len’s head.

“No thank you, my funny boy, but that is very kind of you,” as he gave Len another kiss.

Unconvinced, finger jamming into the small mouth once more, mumbling uncertainly, “Daddy need wubbies?”

“You’re right here with me and I did not forget, Ser Len,” not really answering the question. 

Frankly, he didn’t know what he wanted or needed but whatever it was, it wasn’t in the direction they were riding. _We can’t go anywhere now. Not with both of them pregnant, not with both of them... Maker, this just got harder. Okay then back to the rearranging of the family quarters. You know you better find something really interesting to do in Denerim. I don’t want to be in Denerim. Well, we’re stuck there for a while. But we’ve done nearly everything that needs to be done there. Maker. You are being selfish. **It’s my head - I get to be selfish in my head!** Even if I’m not elsewhere. I wanna go home. And apparently you get to whine in your head too. Oh shut up._

Reaching Denerim wasn’t a relief, even if the thought of a warm bed beckoned, his favourite mattress, a space he could lock a door...nearly as close to being ‘his’ as his rooms as anywhere could be. They left the Wardens at the estate, not wishing to upset her Royal Harpyness anymore than necessary. Sigrun, as Ferox’s second, stayed behind to coordinate the Wardens in unpacking and locating of the supplies left inside the building, but nothing had been prepared for their stay. It meant that someone would have to return the healer later, as she insisted on seeing to Moria while she was resting. _I thought you were going to distract her? I thought so too. Well she can still bounce off of them at that distance, right? Hello? She was talking to Dassan and we were over a day away. Oh, you’re right...or she said she was talking to him. Are you going to question everything now? No...perhaps...I don’t know. I want to go home. You are whining again. For the last time, here in my mind, I get to whine...otherwise I’ll do it out loud and we don’t want that. Fine. Whine away._

Greetings given, welcome homes received from Sarah, Nanna, and Ulric, even though it was late, the children were allowed an hour of play, followed by dinner, and a story, and finally were settled in their rooms. They could sleep in. Ferox watched from the doorway as Zevran settled in Moira who was soon visited by Dulsanaya. He watched as Moira’s expression relaxed and he wondered if the little healer was doing that reassurance thing and sending comfort. ’No worries,’ she always said. _Is it true? Where is the lie, the deception? What are you doing? You wanted this, a gift for him. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that fear was something that was negotiable. It’s not and I’m not trying to collaborate on that, I’m merely reminding you why you originally said yes, with limitations._

When the healer hummed approval, something they all seemed to understand, the tension between his shoulders eased a little. _See she’s not hurting anyone. Go away. I am tired of you. I **am** you. Then shut up!_ Later, after sending the healer back to the Warden Estate with an escort of Crows, Ferox quietly informed Sarah of Moira’s ‘condition’ and Anders’ instructions. Both Nanna and Sarah assured that she would be looked after, in doing so they joined the list of watchers, helpers, caretakers. _Need more help here. Wish Camille...no use thinking of that, she’s entertaining and keeping an eye on Anora. If Sigrun wasn’t a Warden, she’d be good here...Maker._

Ferox left Zevran with Moira as he was unable to repair what damage had been done. Still dressed in his dusty armour, Ferox trotted upstairs - _Like a good dog_ \- to leave a message with Camille, something inane that translated to, _My dear, I have returned. Thank you for your kind invitation. I would love to see you at your convenience. Kiss kiss, F.A.C._. Wishing to have a night where he actually slept more than a couple of hours, he waited for a moment. 

In short order he received a reply, _There might be a few moments to spare tomorrow in the evening. A_

With a nod and a word of thanks to the messenger, before going to the baths, _Hot, with soap preferably. Was hoping she would just like to keep me as a pet, look out her window to gloat. Tomorrow... Sigh. To quote Anders, ‘Oh goodie.’ Didn’t want to rush into anything? To get it over with, I suppose. Although Zevran did find her a nice perfume... Excuse me? I was just pointing out that it wasn’t terrible. And you’re rambling._ Sighing, _Tomorrow night, you’re on your own you know. Moira won’t want to share, not when she thinks you hate her. Oh, you are soooooooooooo frelled._

His lover crawled into the bath beside him, moaning, “So tired.”

A soft grunt of agreement, as Ferox wrapped himself around Zevran. He wanted nothing more than to fill his empty arms and to provide needed support even if it was merely as a convenient backrest. His lover got situated between his legs, head on a shoulder and face tilted into his neck. 

_’Ferox, you are going to have to find the time to convince Moira yourself that you are not mad at her, there is only so much of my saying it that she will believe. Which is to say that she does not believe me at all,’_ hands curled with his, pressing them tightly to the copper-brown abdomen.

_’I am not angry. Was not even at the time, just very, very...very surprised. If I were angry, it wouldn’t be with her.’_

“I know that, you know that, but she is with child, and very frightened,” his voice soft. “She loves you, _amora._ And now she thinks she has done you great harm. And I am exhausted from trying to clean up the mess.”

“And, it’s about to get worse. It seems that my life is not worth living if it is not filled with difficulties...must be that if suddenly there was nothing to do, I would become bored and wander off.” _Off a Tower you mean. Where else is there to wander off from?_

Zevran growled, “So you say, but I will not accept such stupidity from you. I love you too much for you to waste things out of simple _boredom_. I was patient enough and let you have your chilly winter to yourself no matter how hard I tried to warm you. Time is far too valuable to waste on idiocy, you are more intelligent than that, so do not take me for a fool when you say ‘wander off’.”

A harsh laugh, “Never fear, I have yet to actually _be_ bored, so I have yet to be put to that test.”

“Then do not joke of robbing me of what little I have ever asked for in life,” Zevran snapped. _’Someone to love. Someone to love me. Perhaps even something to live for after the one who holds my heart is gone and abandoned me.’_

_’So we aren’t talking of Moria at all, then? Zevran, I’m not going anywhere.’_

_’You threaten to, you joke about it, **querido**. Do not think it does not bleed over. But we are speaking about Moira also. I am drained from trying to assuage her guilt. I am drained from having to pussyfoot around you. All I wish to do is find some place safe where we can be a family and never have to do a thing ever again. But that is not life, so I cope.’_ Zevran sat up and began lathering himself up almost violently, as though he could scrub away things he did not want or had heard or thought. _’I understand the need to brood. I understand your frustrations and angers. But the constant solution that pops into your mind and heart makes me die inside each time it bleeds over. And if it bleeds over, how often does it not bleed over?’_

“What do you want to hear? Oops, turns out I didn’t pass out after drinking a cup of nasty stuff? Or that the records are wrong and Wardens hang around longer than your average man? I don’t know why anybody thinks I’m angry when I am not, but having to figure out why I might be angry just winds up making me so.”

His agitated lover continued washing away trail dust, _’It is not that. I know your life will only have a limited number of years. But to just...always. No, not always. That is an absolute statement. Yet it appears to be ‘always’, your go-to solution is to just simply end it. It is likely that vibe that others pick up on and believe that then you must be angry. Because if you were willing to simply...to kill oneself over stress is...only very angry people are that way. Even if they do not realize it. It is anger. Deep anger. Deep hate. Of self, of others.’_

Ferox sighed. “I am less than docile and have never been one to rejoice in my traces or to lie down and accept the chains and manacles clapped upon me. As to hate, I do not recall having this emotion for any man currently living. And what does it matter if there is a thought of freedom, however brief the fall? I have yet to take advantage of any of the opportunities pressed upon me. There are too many duties and responsibilities that must be seen through, to be taking in any scenic viewpoints.”

Brown shoulders twitched as ladles of water were doused over them. “As you say then, _amora._ Duty and responsibility is everything.” 

“It is _not_ and you know this. It is for those who can’t defend themselves.”

Zevran took a breath and went still, head cocked, but Ferox couldn’t see his face. “I understand, _querido._ ” With a gentle heave he was out of the tub and drying off, “I will be in the office, there is likely much to be done.”

 _I don’t understand. There’s too much to do, you can leave yet, so shut up and do whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing._ Ducking his head briefly again, Ferox began to wash. _What am I supposed to be doing? Oh let’s see...as if there wasn’t enough to do you want me to tell you everything... Ferelden to run, recover, and improve... Hey, there’s no real end on that task! Unfortunately. There’s a backup plan to be had and the other children to see through to being able to care for themselves. Is that it? I hope so, it’s more than enough...oh wait, the Wardens, although their path is pretty well set. Fergus is taken care of too, so those two things are done._

Rinsing, followed by drying and dressing, the internal conversation continued, _You’re going to go back up there, aren’t you? What do you mean? Last I checked he wasn’t very happy with you. True. But what are you suggesting? It’s not like there’s anywhere else to go. Didn’t we have this talk last time? Yeah, you considered returning to the Vigil. Not very feasible since we just came from there. You know, a shack on the beach sounds really good about now. No it doesn’t, remember that boredom thing? Must keep busy, else we have way too much time to think. Fine. I’m going to bed, you go wherever it is you’re going. Um I guess we’re going upstairs then. Right you are._

Gathering the travel worn armour, he left it for the armourer to check over in the morning. It was either that or clean it himself and eliminating one compulsive task by leaving it in the care of an expert was an acceptable method of handling the problem. Besides that, if he did it himself, there would be no sleep tonight...this morning. _I don’t know what’s wrong anyway. Aren’t things always this way? What way? I thought they were better, at least until that little surprise, but as I said, it was wish fulfillment. Yeah, you just keep saying that. I’m not entirely convinced. Anyway, apparently you need to keep your mouth shut. Yeah, and how exactly are you going to keep the ‘bleed over’ thinking off his radar? Frell if I know. Could always take it off. No, sparring with a Warden, yes. Otherwise it’s not an option. Jump off a ….see that’s what I’m talking about. Maker. It’s all a trap. Oh, I told you that in the very beginning, but you didn’t listen._ Trudging up the stairs, still arguing with himself, Ferox opened the inner door to the office and stuck his head in looking for Zevran.

He was bent over one of his filing drawers, checking to make sure everything was labeled, “What may I do for you, _corizon_?”

“I am going to sleep. Will you come?” Ferox wasn’t certain where he stood and what he thought he was reading through the amulet felt more like disappointment than anything else. But other than, _Don’t go there. Okay, okay, backing off, err away, err...not going there._ Well that, he hadn’t figured out what he had done wrong, and didn’t know anyone he was angry at, _Um, healer? Told you, bad idea._.

Straightening, yet still facing the file cabinet, “Only if you wish it.” 

_I thought I asked. So did I. Did you say it wrong? I don’t know. Try again, just don’t sigh...again._ Ferox leaned against the door frame.  
“I enjoy your company beyond all others and am glad to have it. However there is choice and I do not ask what you do not wish to give.” 

“That is not what I said, what I said was do _you want me to_ , in the most simplest of words. Choice or no choice, I am asking what you, personally, want,” the drawer was closed and another opened, a sun darkened hand sliding over the hanging folders.

“Of course I do.” _Did I miss something? You’re asking me? Do you normally ask for things you don’t want? I really don’t think so._

Zevran passed by, grabbing his hand and tugged him into Ferox’s room, locking the door. He seemed uncertain when he turned to him, the whites of his eyes red, but Ferox didn’t have long to look, instead winding up being hoisted in tightly and gripped hard, almost too hard. It was almost as if Zevran thought he would vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Ferox did his best to hold on and give his assassin what was needed, even though he didn’t understand it.

....

Standing at his desk flipping through the stacks of documents to review, ones that had been held since the summons was issued, except for a very dark thought tasted in the amulet, Ferox asked what sounded like, to anyone else except for the one he addressed, an idle and almost careless question. “What would you say, in your experience, is the most painful way to die, while being quite aware?”

“Outliving everything you love, poisoned by life and unable to leave because of the poison of a promise,” Zevran’s voice was neutral, completely bland. “Watching them decay, unable to do anything, helpless against it. Knowing that you too will decay, but you will die utterly alone. That every breath you take is one more step in a seemingly endless march. Eventually your organs fail, your body crumbles, and you can feel each strike and loss, freshened with each bite of food or sip of water or good night’s sleep. Nothing is left, but it takes a very, very long time, and it is very, very painful.”

 _Sometimes when asking questions you hear things you don’t wish to. I can’t fix that. Then walk away and don’t touch it. Maker._ “As thorough as that sounds, I was thinking a more limited time period. An afternoon, no more than a day. It would probably also be wise to limit it to what is readily available.” Sitting at his desk, Ferox began sorting according to his own system of what he wanted to look at, what needed to be done right away, and those who could wait. Nathaniel’s organization appeared to be sign here in chronological order, a helpful start. 

Zevran grunted, “Bejurit poison. Dissolves the stomach, then the colon and intestines. For some reason blood vessels escape damage for long enough to keep blood pumping to the brain. Only twenty to thirty minutes. Lanthrax takes fifteen hours in a hale and hearty individual, but the mind usually breaks about halfway through. And _amora_ , you should know by now that I keep most of the best poisons on hand. Even the exotic ones. _Especially_ those. Do not want to risk someone recognizing it and having an antidote on hand. Then there is sulfuric acid. It cauterizes blood vessels as it burns through flesh. One winds up a mass of red gel in short order. If a small amount were administered, it would provide more than enough time for the victim to be very aware that their death was imminent and unavoidable, generating terror and the adrenaline would keep the mind working longer. But my personal favourite is still skinning or living vivisection. Quite fond of it actually. Poison is professional and enables me to use less strength to overcome the target. But, if that is not an issue, and awareness and agony are - vivisection, with no cut blood vessels, staked over an ant or termite mound. Also rats. Rats are very good. Stake the person out, put a rat on a limb, then a bucket over the area, and hot coals atop it.” Everything was said clinically. “In their desire to get free, they will eat through whatever is in the way. Stomach, head, chest - those are the faster ways of doing it. We usually start with extremities first. Then work our way up, while making sure to keep stamina draughts flowing. Suffocation also works well.”

“I do not require information from him.” Handing over the list of proposed hires for the Fort. The list was a custom leftover from some time that, at least to his own mind, was continued under Loghain and usually, Ferox reviewed it quickly and with no comment of any actual meaning returned it to the Fort’s Commander. 

“Then be more specific or gain the entire set of information, _querido._ ” His lover shook his head, “If you only wish to know what I think is most painful, rather than an understanding of why I think so - ask that question instead.”

“The fifth name on the list, your choice of what to show me.”

Zevran glanced at it, “Do you wish to watch?”

Grimly, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Very well,” nodding. “When would you like to commence? I will need a little bit of time - to find a venue, most of the supplies are easily gained.”

Picking up the next thing of interest, “Then I’ll approve the list. Having him on the posted duty roster would make him much easier to locate.” Checking his schedule and making a face, “Anora has supposedly reserved a short time this evening so I may receive my lumps for wilful disobedience. I should know my schedule a little better after that. That said, I would prefer having it done as soon as is reasonably possible.”

Zevran’s brow furrowed slightly but nodded, “Of course, _querido._ I shall see to the necessary arrangements.”

“I don’t like those who abandon their posts,” Ferox gave only a piece of the puzzle, knowing that his assassin had questions, not that they would ever be voiced. “Leaving his post in such a cowardly method and with the high turnover, no one else recognized the name. He’ll get what is coming to him. Loose threads that escaped the cleaning of a house can be so troublesome.”

Signing a letter approving some expenses incurred to make the Wardens’ post in Denerim habitable, Ferox tried not to consider what he had just asked, requested, or authorized. _Never thought he’d come back to Denerim, did you? Just shut the frell up. Zev will know - he’ll find out. Shut up. Will he want you after this? SHUT UP. Damaged goods or a monster - I wonder which way he’ll look at you once he knows. And he’ll make it a point to find out. I know...I don’t want to know. Don’t think about it then._

....

Ferox wasn’t sure why they were going to Ignacio’s, just that Zevran had said that it was the best place. A young elven woman who had scars all over one side of her face greeted them brusquely, beyond those scars and striking white hair cropped short, she was unremarkable other than startling eyes. For a moment he thought she could be sisters with Dulsanaya, but the face was all wrong, the voluptuously muscular build was all wrong. And those eyes, with the silver ring around the pupils were hardened. Damaged. She also didn’t let them walk behind her, her movements were not graceful like Zevran’s, rather she screamed ‘warrior’ to Ferox’s viewpoint. It was easy enough to focus on assessing her, easier than thinking about what they were heading towards.

“The old man’s below, y’know the fuckin’ way,” she growled at Zevran after stopping near a door.

“Mmn, of course, good afternoon to you then Mio,” his lover waved a hand then they went down a cheerily yellow painted stairwell. 

...And entered what had to be the nicest sitting room he had ever seen.

If one had a taste for odd furniture. He supposed it was Antivan, excluding the large ‘X’ close to the back wall. And the colours were vibrant to say the least, though not too hard on the eyes. 

“Ah, Zevran, your guest was getting antsy,” Ignacio stood slowly, age still kind to him in some ways, as the motion was easy and elegant. “Warden. So good to see you, it has been a long time my friend. Please, have a seat.”

Ferox took the overly comfortable looking chair the old Crow waved at. “Thank you Ignacio.”

“Quite welcome, though it is nothing,” the Crow Master sat once more while Zevran went about checking the guest of honour. “Nothing at all for an old friend. Now, would you care for some wine? I have a passable Antivan red here. And Mio has finally mastered proper biscuits, they are quite delectable.” Hands danced over the table between the two chairs, “She should be down shortly with some coffee, I do know how Zevran loves the stuff. As for myself, I will be having tea - or would you like some of that?”

“Wha-wheere-” the guard was almost fully aware, Zevran trickling a few drops of something between the soldier’s lips from a vial in his hand. 

“Greetings, _amigo_ ,” his assassin moved to stand so that all the guard could easily see was his warm face, but did not block Ferox’s view. “I trust the knock to your head was not so bad, hmn? Here, have a bit more of this draught, it will clear your thoughts.”

“Who-wait-I-” it was cut off as the vial was pushed to lips, upending the contents.

A brown hand gently swept the hair back, almost a lover’s caress, making Ferox’s skin crawl. “Shh-shh, there is nothing to worry about. It is just a stamina potion.”

Managing to finally answer the Crow Master, “Either, would be fine, thank you.” _This is the last of them._

Zevran came back and sat on the armrest to Ferox’s chair, an arm sliding over Ferox’s shoulders, “If coffee is to be had, I will wait.”

An arm slipping around the elf’s waist, “Of course, you are always patient when it comes to coffee.” _No more waiting for that man’s face to unexpectedly enter a room._

The guard jerked at the secure bindings of the large ‘X’ he was lashed to. “Who are you -” He paused, staring at Ferox.

“I am who I have always been,” fighting the urge to growl. He hadn’t wanted to be exposed - it would lead to possible information leaks. However he could see Zevran’s purpose - all of them - for having done so. “You are a deserter. Your judge and jury is here.” Patting Zevran’s thigh, “As well as your executioner. For abandoning your post at Fort Drakon and abandoning the City of Denerim during a Blight, your punishment is death.”

“Hah - anyone with half a brain would have -” Zevran was up and moving quickly, prying at the moving jaw, one of the odd implements being fastened over the guard’s head and shoved into his mouth. 

A pair of metal wires on either side were attached to a leather strap, and Zevran began twisting an odd key. “If he wished you to speak, you would have been invited to.”

The elven girl came down a tray over her shoulder to switch out some of the items on the table and left without a word or glance in the guard’s direction. Knowing how his lover preferred his coffee, Ferox made up a nice sized cup, while Zevran finished making sure everything was secure. Ignacio, for his part, tugged out a footstool and made himself comfortable.

“Warden, I wish you to rest assured that this room is quite secure. Sometimes guests get shall we say...vocal...so it has been protected against such unfortunate leaks,” Ignacio supplied graciously. 

“Understandable. I appreciate your assistance with this small matter.” _No more will this man’s voice taunt and mock. Memories aren’t so easy as that to get rid of, and you know it. Shut up. Did the death of the others help? SHUT UP! I suppose you didn’t get to watch them be torn apart or sliced up though, so maybe it’ll work this time. Get frelled. Been there, done that, and I don’t recommend it._

Ferox managed to keep up and reply time to time to the very conversational tone Ignacio used. There was something chilling about the situation as Zevran began at the feet, a light, paper thin blade and began peeling back a very thin strip of skin. In his bonds, the soldier strained, screaming, unable to bite his tongue or lock his jaw, the gaping mouth showing how desperately he sought something to use to hold back the pain. But the man had nothing to give that Ferox wanted, nothing but his life.

All while he and the Crow Master spoke civilly - in some ways it was even more horrifying than the jeers that had rung in his ears. Every now and again, Zevran would pause, administer another stamina draught, then applied some cream to the injured areas, a slight layer of healing, while murmuring soothingly as though he was the only piece of safety and friendship the guard could count upon - even though Zevran was the one inflicting pain, the false sense of security quickly ripped aside each time. There were frequent pauses, ones that let his one time torturer recover from the pain, sobbing brokenly once the defiance had fled. Not that the defiance had lasted long. Not when Zevran had sliced off his manhood and stuffed it in the guard’s ass after dangling it before the tortured eyes.

 _’Is there anything in particular you wish to say to him before I start using the rats, **corizon**?’_ Zevran’s thoughts stroked his lightly, comfortingly as he washed the blood from his hands, perched once more on the armrest and sipped a second cup of coffee.

 _’No. Enough was said already.’ You already told them your short pathetic life’s story. Wouldn’t have taken so long had they not stopped for frequent ‘entertainment’. They didn’t really want to know anything, didn’t care what was said. ‘Do what you want, just make sure that he feels every moment. Break him.’ This man will hurt no other._

Sturdy wooden boxes with circular notches cut in them were set over a leg, obviously made for the purpose they were about to be employed in. A hatch flipped the bottom, or was it the top, up and Zevran tossed one rat in. Coals were chucked into a small drawer in the box next and the lid was latched. Convulsions shook the man and the assassin put a tube down the guard’s throat, preventing him from choking on his own stomach contents. A single rat was used each time, until the limbs were chewed through and off, the wounds quickly cauterized to prevent exsanguination. 

As death became obviously close, his lover pressed his palm flat to the guard’s head, and Ferox felt his lover using his Warden’s ability, blocking him from what was being searched for. It didn’t matter. Ferox didn’t have to guess at the truths, he was there, had been there, was there still in the chains, the manacles, unable to move, to fight back, eyes nearly swollen shut, broken and bleeding, in the pain, anger, and shame...none of it he wanted to acknowledge. If he admitted how he had been used, that it had all happened, would it have gone away? Now that he knew the truth of the matter, would Zevran leave him at last? Would the assassin give him the final blow in what had been so long in coming? Forsaken at last. A fraud, pretender, impostor...caught in a trap of his own construction. There was almost a feeling of liberation because the end was in sight - his own end. No tower would be needed as he would be next on the cutting board, every part labeled in the interest of science of course, how he was feeling, what he was thinking, all categorized for posterity to be taken out and laughed at - ‘Such a weak one, who really killed the Archdemon?’ Ferox looked forward to the conclusion to all of his struggles. So there would be no backup plan, everything else had been prepared for and would be well taken care of, the right people were in their places, he was no longer needed and would no longer be wanted. A last slim bit of strength came to the shattered remnants of what had been a man, howling brokenly with his last breath, eyes made to focus and dim, while staring at Ferox.

Thanking Ignacio for his hospitality and the use of the quiet room once again, they left. Not a hair was out of place on his lover, no one would know that he had just spent half a day torturing someone, there wasn’t even any blood beneath the trimmed fingernails. A good scrubbing of those copper hands had ensured it. 

_’Dulsanaya is unhappy with me,’_ sighing in the link. _’I will have to soothe her ruffled fur later. It does not seem to matter much that I blocked her. At some point I am going to have to teach you how to do that better, **querido**.’_

Figuring this for casual conversation so that they could be away peaceably, so the assassin’s business with him could be done in private, “In all honesty, I always thought of her having feathers that get ruffled or fluffed up...a little chickadee or a wren.”

“Perhaps,” it was conceded. “But she does not play with you the same way as she does with me.”

Wrinkling his forehead, “She plays? All I get are strange questions and a headache for a minute...like drinking cold water too fast.”

His assassin grunted, “We each show different sides of ourselves to those we know. Sometimes we are a friend, sometimes a lover, others a parent, others a commander, a confidant. It very much depends on what the other person needs of us and what we need of them. They are not masks per se, but facets of personality. The mask is fake, meant to mislead while filling roles to get what we wish, and not revealing an ounce of actual self. All glitter no true substance.”

It was late enough that them going straight for the baths even though there had been no sparring session did not look odd. Zevran moved to help him disrobe, the hands even gentler than what had been witnessed, a tattooed cheek resting on Ferox’s chest, palms sliding down his chest and around his waist to hold him close, but with no pressure. In Ferox’s mind the cat and Zevran were not always one, but he felt himself being tugged even closer, embraced and surrounded without the crush of force or need. 

_He knows,_ wanting nothing more than to shrink away. _No. No - I don’t want him to know. A little late for that._ He was helpless against it, that warmth, that softness. _’Stop.’ Don’t stop, end it. ‘Please.’_

Zevran did not withdraw his mind, but his body ceased pressing close, _’I am here.’_

 _’I know.’ That’s what I’m afraid of, have been afraid of...Maker._ “I’m sorry.” 

Blond head cocked, bath water filling the tub, and a faint sheen of some oil or other that smelled relaxing, as his hand trailed through the water, sitting on the lip of the tub, “What for? You have nothing to be sorry for, _querido._ ” The gold eyes slid from him to watch the water, “You forget who found you there. And you were...not exactly...present...when you were being tended at Eamon’s estate. Morrigan and I did most of the work outside of the deep healing. She did not know what she was looking at, nor did Wynne. I did. So it is I who am sorry. I should have been faster.”

“I remember Wynne’s face, but you were the one who talked, endlessly, even when sleeping I heard your voice. Was angry, figured that if it was the Golden City that it should have at least been quiet.”

The smile was crooked, “So you said several times. Snarling I might add. However it let me know you would come back to the surface somehow.”

Sliding gingerly into the tub Ferox settled cautiously, “As for being any quicker, I couldn’t have said how much time passed and I don’t wish to know. Was just grateful I had the sense to leave Alistair with Eamon. At least he didn’t have to be cared for then... Not that any information they obtained was any different than could have been observed...actual secrets being few and far between at that point - we had already pulled out the wild card of the King’s bastard brother. Still haven’t figured out why they didn’t send someone after him while we were divided.” 

Zevran gathered some of the oiled water and began kneading it into Ferox’s foot. “Who is saying that they did not, _amora_? Several were sent. Several were dealt with. They were not Crows, just thugs, Leliana and Morrigan had a fine time with them.”

“Such is the advantage of a week long nap, apparently. Stay down long enough and some things become thought of as being too minor to tell. It appears that one of those things was who exactly entered the Fort,” he sighed. 

_You should have asked. I didn’t want to know. Suspected, yes. But you didn’t want to know who found worth in your sorry carcass. And so you discover that Zevran already knew your sad tale years ago. The evidence was there, stripped and on display, no doubt. Why didn’t he end it then? Bury that dagger deep into your frozen heart? Why take you back? Why save you at all? Does this mean that there is no release from this imprisonment? You will never be free._

“Just myself, _querido._ Leliana and I discussed, briefly, her joining me. But that would have left one less person who knew how to spot spies,” he shook his head. “Besides, I work better alone, _amora._ And I did not wish to hear her irritating habit of requesting mercy for scum. It was quite bloody I assure you. And what few I did not kill was only because they were on the upper floors or were not on duty at the time. Horse wished to attend, but he and I agreed it would be too...noticeable.” Zevran’s smile turned grim and satisfied, “Anora was most helpful with the information and layout however.”

Remembering when they first ran into the redhead in Lothering, ‘Now they’ve all learned their lesson...’ Ferox had nearly laughed then too, thinking for certain she was joking. Considering the rest of it though, the brief lightness faded. _That’s when most of them died. Saw it on the reports after the battle. Well, you did go looking for it. I needed to know. The rest fell with Denerim, save one. Didn’t expect him to return either. Probably thought you didn’t take the time to learn every face, every voice, every detail of those who caused harm._ Ferox took a long breath, holding it for a moment, trying to let everything go in the exhale. _You dreamt that Rory was there. He lay there looking at you, forced to watch... **That wasn’t real.** It was a dream. Rory was never in the dungeons of the Fort, he was long dead and buried at Highever!_

Another slow inhale, focusing on the information, _‘Wait a minute, the Harpy actually helped?’_ “Are you sure that we’re talking about the same woman?”

“Hmn, it was with some protest, but yes, she did,” Zevran had worked his way up Ferox’s legs, and was working on a tight spot of tendons that coursed from his hip to the back of thigh. “I pointed out I had something she needed very badly, and that she had something I required. Of course I burned the notes as soon as we had you safe and sound. Not that I did not memorize them, but such information should never lay about where prying eyes could find it.”

 _You don’t really want to know. Whatever it is probably explains why she hated him when you woke up. That or killing her father afterwards. Probably both. Fine, I’ll ask._ “I have the distinct feeling that I won’t like the answer, but I’ll ask anyway - What did you do? What it was that you had that she wanted badly enough to cooperate with you?” 

His lover had moved to straddle one of his legs, leaning into him so he could reach around and massage his back. “Enough aphrodisiac to addle her senses, but not the ‘sugar’ variety. No satisfaction was had by her. And I made sure to leave a good sized mess for added humiliation. And then I walked away. Humiliation and frustration are excellent punishments - if she had not stood idly by and instead announced her presence to Cauthrien, you would not have been in the bowels of the Fort for nearly three days. I was prepared to do far worse to her, consequences be damned, but she came through, so I did not kill her.”

 _Did he just...? Yes, he did just say he used the Harpy. Do you care? No, I’ve been doing it for years, I think. However, I thought I just said I didn’t want to know how long you were in the Fort. True. It doesn’t matter. Either you had something in your tea, or you’re missing the picture here. What do you mean? Zevran is the one who broke you out of the Fort’s dungeons. Not idiot Alistair. Thank the Maker, that would have been a bad plan. Or Sten. Um, pick him out of a crowd real easy. Oghren. Same. Leliana at least wanted to help and Morrigan did afterwards. Morrigan wouldn’t have been very subtle in there...unless she pretended to be from the Pearl and then there would have been fireworks - amusing to imagine._

Rubbing his eye sockets with the heels of his palms as Zevran continued touching him with so much gentleness it hurt, Ferox wanted to weep. Struggling to rein in his thoughts, he resisted the urge to beg for the death he deserved, one that he had hoped that the assassin would have given without thought. _No, Zevran said that the cruelest death was to outlive everything, so that will be your punishment. I can’t do that! Wardens don’t live that long! He’ll find a way, lock your darkspawn self in a cage until you are a mindless creature, until all you can think of is killing everything you want to protect. In the meantime you’ll continue to struggle up this steeply sided mountain, falling and sliding bruised and battered to get back up and attempt the climb again. Maker._

_Did all of the air get sucked out of this room?_ Another agonizing breath, _The little bits you actually remember when leaving the Fort was a massive pile of bodies, most missing internal organs. What was it that the report said? That some cannibal had seemed to attack? Kidneys were missing in particular - the lower backs were ripped out. Don’t forget the livers. Hmn, maybe they were treats for Horse. He did love kidneys...Maker. And before that, before even getting there. Stop! I can’t even picture that. I don’t even need that in my head. Which? The fact that he fucked her or the fact he whored himself out to save your hide when you wouldn’t even give him the time of day? I really hate you right now. Feeling’s mutual, ser._

“Why? Why would you do any of that? Why would you do that to yourself?”

“I could give you many reasons. Some are simple and practical. The easy one would be that you were needed. You were the leader of that gaggle of misfits and idiots.” He draped himself comfortably over Ferox’s chest, pointed ear over his heart. “There was also the fact that you were our friend, no matter how you growled or faked it. So the most expedient route was to find the information necessary to get you free. I could have gone in blind and had sex with a few key guards, which would have been no trouble. But again, I do not like going into such situations blind. Bad planning. However I wish I had done that instead of having to search for the components for the route I did take.”

“You’re not a whore, Zevran, I wouldn’t have wanted you to...to treat yourself that way. Not on my account. Not now and not then.” _Maker, never on my account. I am not worth this. I was never worth that. Time and time again, I have wanted him to turn from me and yet, he stays. Sometimes I wonder if I should have just gotten drunk that night years ago instead of willingly stepping into this trap of letting myself show that I care, of letting you accept that he cares. Oh, right, like that would have worked. If he went through that much, it wouldn’t have changed his mind just because you told him no - again? Well, that would have been no the first time as far as the question of sex went. Shut up. You’re just mad because I’m right._

Expression serene, “If it would get the job done, it is easy enough to do, _querido._ I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would have fucked my way across the damn Fort if it could have gotten you out of there sooner. I would have taken your place if it would have spared you. Brutality is nothing I am not accustomed to. After awhile you just learn to tune it out, to even fake enjoying it, and even beyond that, you learn to enjoy it. Anything for the job, _amora._ The difference was that I was doing it for some reason other than the Guild or for pay to reach something. I was doing it for someone I cared for, and would do it again for someone I love. It was no burden. Discomfort or pain wind up holding no place of importance when there is someone or something greater and more important than yourself to be protected.” Zevran wasn’t precisely boneless against him, but his body was completely relaxed, as if nothing could touch him there. “It is just a body, it is just a series of stimuli. It can be controlled. I have been subjected to far worse and far more onerous things for far less reason. If my having gone through that could have spared you even a single harm, or lessened it by even five minutes, or five seconds, I would do it. Just because you would not wish me to do such a thing, does not mean I would not do it. I would do anything for you, _amora._ Anything to help you. You may have hated me, you may hate me now, it...does not matter. I would rather you revile me for any reason, so long as you were safe.” He snorted a vaguely amused sound, “You became my Maker and salvation when you raised me from a mere thing or tool. If that makes me a zealot, well, then that is what I am.”

Too much as always, Ferox had to sift to find what were the things he could grapple with. _Maker, I can’t refuse to accept his sacrifices. Over and over again he does this, throwing himself at your feet. Denying this, is denying him, who he is. You do love him. It’s all so twisted and mixed up and I can’t think of any way out of the pain without death...something which would undo him._ “I don’t hate you, didn’t hate you then...just the constant talking.” _This one, he admitted that he came here to die. He didn’t because you saved him, and now he won’t let you die either. You will not die until he’s done with you or you can’t take anymore and make the pain stop by taking that fall on your own._

“It gave you something to focus on, _querido_ ,” hummed. “A small thing to detest that is nearby, rather than breaking under the weight of each step. It was a small aid to render.”

Giving himself permission to touch another, he wrapped his arms around the (un)wanted, (un)needed worshiper who clung to him. That first step, the one of asking and receiving permission from himself was always the most difficult. “Or a distraction when I forgot and stopped to listen. Not that I would say.”

Zevran practically purred when Ferox finally rested his hands on that broad back. “One way or another it assisted. That was its sole purpose. As I said, I would even shine armour.”

“So you did. Although I remember commenting at the time that you had not promised to take up public speaking.” A rumbled laugh.

“And so I will repeat - a quiet assassin is usually up to no good, yes?” the aquiline nose pressed itself in the crook of Ferox’s neck, inhaling slowly with a sigh.

The rumbled amusement continued, “However, you haven’t said if a ‘loud’ one is ever up to any good either.” 

Stroking Zevran’s back slowly, just to feel him, hoping that some of that preternatural relaxation might rub off, as his lover mumbled, “Define ‘good’.”

“Moira is good, as are the girls, Len, and Lightning and we are made better by them. Good is being in your presence, whether working in the same room or waking to it. This is good,” squeezing the sun-brown body in his arms. “I know, not a definition, examples.”

“Mmmn,” a contented sound. _’You are perfection, even when you frustrate me to no end. Even when I think that there is no reason you would bother with me, **querido**. I cannot help but love you.’_

_Let him have this reason as well then. What harm is it to give him what he needs? ’Although it frustrates me to no end, I can’t stand on my own. I forget, and amble off, only to fall without you. There’s every reason to care for you, today’s concern and assistance being small in the grand pile of **raison d'être** [reasons to be/for living].’ If he is intent on staying here, stop fighting what is his choice. He chooses to share this struggle; chooses to assist in these tasks you have chosen to complete; chooses to accompany you on this path. The least you could do is let him, to give him what he needs to take the journey at your side. Neither forsaking or forsaken. Together until no more steps can be taken._

Zevran sighed, lids sliding closed, “Will you let me hold you tonight, _querido_?”

Silent for a minute, Ferox churned the arguments in his mind again and rested on his decision before responding quietly, “Yes, please. I would like that very much.”

His husband and lover piled into the bed with him, and sometimes the devotion of the sun was too much to look at. Not when those eyes looked at him like that. Not when everything he felt from the amulet against his chest threatened to give him everything he never knew he wanted or needed. Swallowing it down, _Do not forsake me._ Even though Ferox knew that there was no escaping that devotion and that there was no way it could forsake him, it was still frightening. Zevran drew him in close, body wrapping around him, protecting the vulnerable spots, cradling him. This man would step in front of anything if it would spare Ferox a single scrap of pain, the thought that someone so valuable could so easily throw his life away just to make his easier, hurt. _I don’t deserve this. It’s what he wants. I know. Maker... Just give up. Give it up... Give everything up. I can’t. No, you idiot - give up and just...stop, stop fighting._

It was going to be a long night, but he kept his face hidden against Zevran’s neck, until his entire world was nothing but the man holding him. 

....

Mornings still found a slim elven form wriggling beneath the covers to touch, sandwiching herself between him and Zevran, who would give her an affectionate snuggle before falling back asleep. Him, she seemed to drain her reserves for, but he knew it was for some reason other than simply insuring his fertility, that it was giving him small bits of extended time. Submitting himself to it, Ferox would let himself doze as she pressed close to him, wiggling every now and then to get more comfortable, a song humming softly in his head on the edge of ‘hearing’. 

Anora called on him nearly nightly, the only way he survived it was Zevran’s presence in his mind, the overlay of senses. The taste of Moira in his mouth, the sound of her in his ears, though the two women couldn’t be more different, the act shared was as vigorous as the dance demanded from the Harpy. Biting the inside of his cheek on Moira and Zevran’s names as he released, Ferox knew he would have to find some way to solve that as well. He couldn’t have the woman who was the mother of his and Zevran’s children believing that he was displeased with her. How she could give of herself even when she thought he was unhappy with her...it was wrong.

Zevran rolled over, waking up, “What - _querido_ , what is it?”

Laying a hand on the tattooed hip, “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

His golden spouse sat up enough, rubbing his head, “Are you sure?”

“I promise,” leaning in, he gave his assassin a kiss and pressed him back to the bed. 

With trews and tunic on, Ferox went to the nursery, Lightning raising her head for a moment from her paws, Len sheltered and cuddled up to her as he slept, sprawling. A short leg and a short arm were over the quiet mabari’s neck, the dark haired head cocked back, raspberry lipped mouth hanging open, the fringed and feathery lashes laying against dusky cheeks, and the curly mop of hair left untamed over the pillow. Pausing to rub Light’s head, praising her quietly, his attention turned once more to his son. So fast had he grown, yesterday he was just a few minutes old, still gooey from the birthing, staring up at him with vast and unfathomable curiosity, making his insides tremble. Tucking at the satiny soft blanket that had been made from an old tunic of Ferox’s, his fingers trailed over the boy’s features, tracing them, memorizing them. A slight smile found his lips when he saw a sock had worked its way off, tiny toes scrunching in the air and he carefully eased it back on, stroking the high arch for a moment. Ulfric was curled up on Light’s other side, sucking a thumb, and he made sure to check that boy over too, tucking his blanket up and smoothing the gingery strawberry blond hair back from the high forehead. Next came the girls, peeping in on them around the screens, making sure all was well. Elissa’s stuffed fox had rolled off the bed, and Ferox squatted to put it back up, draping her arm over it as she snuffled in her sleep. Giving her brow a kiss, he took a little longer with Eleanor who always managed to kick all of her bedding off when she slept. 

Nanna Agnes was asleep in the rocking chair, hands that had been in the middle of tatting lace hanging in her lap, and he woke her quietly, “Nan, you go on to bed. Light has things in hand.”

“Oh, oh dear now, I didna’ mean ta fall asleep,” she shook her head.

“Shh, go on, go to bed Nan. The children will be fine,” helping her put away her tatting in the basket and pulling her gently to her feet. 

She patted his cheek, “You’re a sweet one, deary, ya know that?”

Summoning a smile, “Thank you Nan. Now you go on and rest.”

Tripping the latch on Moira’s room, Ferox went in, seeing her from the bit of firelight that trickled in from the open door and quickly memorized how to get to the side of her bed before shutting it. Calling her name softly several times, he waited for her to awaken. She wasn’t startled at least and took the time to light her bedside lamp before he moved much closer.

“Ferox? What is it?” she looked a little green around the gills and grabbed her bottle of ginger syrup, taking a swig, foregoing the spoon, before she had to lay back down on her side, head hanging over the bed slightly. 

Sitting on the edge of her bed, he lay a hand on her back, rubbing circles into her nightdress, “I didn’t want to wake you but this is important. I haven’t had much time to come down to see everyone...to see you and I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding or didn’t want to be here...I miss you, I miss them, and I’m sorry I upset you.”

He found himself wishing she was Anora - in terms of wishing that the Harpy wasn’t real, or anyone he had to deal with. That instead it was Moira and Zevran and no one else. She sniffled, eyes beginning to water as she scooted into him, arms wrapping around his waist. The sickness and crying were horrible things to deal with, but she didn’t yell or get mad with her pregnancy, so it was relatively ‘easy’ to deal with her. Carefully gathering Moira up closer, Ferox let her hiccup and make his tunic wet with tears until she was ready to move away.

She wiped helplessly at the front of his shirt, “I’m so sorry I’m so weepy...”

“It’s just me, don’t worry about it,” as he tugged her back, holding her close. Pressing his nose to her tightly braided ebony locks, he grasped her smoothing hand and lay it flat over his chest. “What can I do to help?” handing her a clean handkerchief. 

“You’re really not...not angry with me...you,” eyes of the deepest navy slid up to his, “you don’t mind?”

“I am _really_ not angry, not with you, not with anyone and I really, really do not mind.” Kissing the crown of her head, “I am happy with what we have, with the children we have and will have together.” Quoting one of the girls overheard the other day, “I promise, cross my heart.”

Her smile was watery still and then she winced as she burst into another set of tears, completely embarrassed even as she choked on giggles, “I’m so sorry, I’m happy, I’m happy, I can’t, I just, I’m sorry...!”

Ferox wound up chuckling, “I think I’m very glad I’m not a woman right now.”

Moira giggled through the tears, reaching up to cup his jaw, “It’s not always fun, no.” She managed to compose herself, “I’ve never been so...so up and down before. The girls just made me horny and hungry. These two make me sick and weepy.”

“Pudding...?”

“Ohhh - that is an evil word, ser, full of debauchery,” scooting from the bed to pull on a housecoat. “And gooeyness.”

“Doesn’t mean that it can’t be done. I’m beginning to smell fresh bread, which means the bakers are at their work and for some reason, the Prince Consort seems to be requesting a constant supply of puddings...I have no idea what he’s about, but we could take advantage of it

She dropped her housecoat, bustling quickly into a lavender overdress, “Oh, maybe we could take some to Zevran too.”

“Appearances being what they are, either I could retrieve it and we meet there, or we should all go.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a very intelligent man Ferox?” Moira leaned in, the redness from her crying having dissipated quickly enough that no one would have known that not five minutes ago she was bawling her eyes out, and kissed the corner of his mouth. She took his hand to press it to the tiny firmness that held their children, “If you concentrate you can almost feel them growing.”

Concentrating two-fold, _’Yes, I know you’re there, love. Will you come out for pudding...or at least fresh bread? Moira’s hungry.’_ “I feel your heartbeat, nothing more, but then I have never been very sensitive. Probably explains my many missteps.”

 _’I shall be there shortly, **amora** ,’_ love and approval flowed to him, filling Ferox up.

“Well then in a few months once they decide it’s high time to move around and see who can kick my kidneys and bladder the hardest, you’ll be able to feel them,” she smiled, kissing his hand before slipping on comfortable shoes and blowing out her lamp. Without error she got the door open, “Ah - there we go! Pudding here we come!”

In the hall he took her arm as they walked to the kitchens, “Oriana would have a snack and set a plate on her stomach, when she was pregnant with Oren, and he would kick it, trying to knock it off of him. Every night, there in father’s study, we would have tears in our eyes from laughing so hard watching the plate bounce and the cookie or bit of cake skip across it... As soon as one of us pressed a hand to her stomach, there would be no movement at all. It was as if he knew the difference. But put the plate back on and he would be back to making it bounce...probably how he ended up with the name Oren...’ornery baby’ Fergus called him.”

....

Nathaniel was unbearable. One would have thought that no other woman, except for Shianni, in all of Thedas had ever been pregnant before. Every day was a new proud papa moment. ‘Old hats’ began to offer advice, some of them not exactly helpful, just well meaning, especially when it came to a woman the little healer called Terwyn [Fiery]. Each time Nathaniel brought home a new bit of ‘advice’, Shianni was not impressed with the wisdom of ‘old men’. Had he just done what was suggested instead of announcing it, he may have had better luck. As he learned to keep his head down however, he was a source of great amusement. 

One down and the Harpy to go. Since she would not allow a mage around her and was very ethnocentric, especially after the whole Erlina fiasco, it was more difficult and took longer. Ferox grew very tired of Anora, of playing the game, even with help. Yet it had to be done, so he smiled, made nice, was dutiful and ever so perfect, just as he had been once.

The morning finally came when he awoke to the usual snuggle and the addition of a sing song chant, _‘Harpy has **da’len** , Gaeaf. **Asha bacia fyny** [back up]’_ providing the translation, the phrase revealed like a sword pulled from it’s sheath.

“You what? You back up?” _Maker, I hate mornings after long nights. But Zevran smelled like Moria...can’t have just one._ The singing continued as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes, the joy and amusement pressed to both Zevran and himself as if they were meshed there in her mind. “What did you back up?”

His spouse rubbed a bronze nose in the brown neck with its green little leaves sleepily, making Dulsanaya wriggle, “Mmn - we have three _da’len’en_ on the way. Thank you _gatita_.”

A smack to an eye socket followed by vigorous rubbing, “Thank the Maker, I mean the healer.”

Bubbles of laughter were in his mind like an Orlesian wine, _’ **Nehn’in emma vhenan** [Joy dwells in my heart]. This one is finished, yes?’_

Zevran kissed the back of her head gratefully, and Ferox felt the upwelling of more than gratitude but joy and love being shared. “Thank you for having worked so hard and remained so long little one.”

Pealing a lid from an eyeball, Ferox opened both his eyes to ones which were much too awake for the early hour of the morning, “Thank you very much. But I still say he or she will need a better name than back up plan.” Her touch was light and for a very brief moment he saw it, knew it, and the name was perfect. 

_’There are no worries, Gaeaf. See the Zama or this **da’sa** , to stay as long as Haf-cath can keep you...but most importantly, do not worry, there is too much in there, it is too crowded...better since facing fears. Do not forget that he is **enansal** [precious],’_ there was graveness to the tone and it was for his mind alone to hear, and he felt a fragment of her love for all of them, all the duplicates, which in her eyes were not duplicate but only other sides of the same gift.

The great green eyes eyes blinked at him, seeing deeper than he would like, but he nodded. “I promise to try.” 

Another blink and a smile before she twisted and pounced on Zevran. He would have been jealous, but she was ‘just a child’? A kitten playing with another? The laughter sounded like the girls or Len being tickled. Especially when his husband rolled her over to blow raspberries on her stomach making her giggle without sound, though the laughter pealed in his head, _’No berries, no berries, this one has been good!’_, her limbs flailing as her face twisted up with giggles.

 _Better her than me. I dunno... Shh - we don’t like those. We don’t? No. We don’t. Are you sure?_ Zevran got rolled over too, copper limbs waving also, even though he knew that the assassin had allowed it. _There is such a thing as too cute. Hrmn...maybe._ Two pairs of eyes rolled to look at him, and Ferox tensed, _Back up - back up! BACK UP! REEEETTREEEEAT!_ his mind shouting but he couldn’t move under emerald and gold before he was pounced upon. While his brain was telling him it would be best to call a tactical withdrawal, he was laughing and unable to do a damn thing about it. 

After that it was only a day or two more before Nathanial was leaving with Dulsanaya and an escort of several of Ignacio’s non-Crows. When the scarred elf girl Mio had shown up at the Warden Compound, she had been as hard-eyed as last time, staring the building down and any male she saw. Except for Armand, who she amazingly allowed to touch her shoulder in a soldierly fashion. The little healer had pressed her promise and palm to everyone’s chest. After a quiet moment and a last embrace to Zevran she stroked of the markings on his face before she swung into her saddle and rode off with the group. Ferox was both relieved and somewhat disappointed to see her go.

....

The Harpy snapped at him. Often. If she had been ornery when pregnant with Len, then she was enraged while bearing this girl child, who in his heart was already named ‘Iona’. Not that she threw things or yelled, oh no, no it was a cold and yet very hot anger at everything. At the sickness she awoke with, the snide comments here and there about his being overly thorough in getting her with child. Completely disregarding the fact that most of the time she was the one to initiate. There were also comments about Moira and Zevran that made his skin crawl and his teeth clench, but he held a smile on his face and offered to wait upon her hand and foot. As much as he detested the idea, he went with the ‘attentive and smothering husband’ charade as Zevran suggested. For what purpose, Ferox didn’t claim to know, simply trusting his husband that in this instance, he knew best. At least his agitation would get soothed well.

 _If she was anything like her mother, no wonder Loghain stayed in Denerim AND only got close enough to have one child. First time probably scarred him for life...or made him turn inside out,_ wincing as her gaze sharpened on him. Reaching out to take her hand, “My dear, is there anything I can do for you?”

“You could leave me to my work and cease pestering me, _darling_ ,” said so frostily that it even made the winter inside him feel like a summer afternoon.

“But of course, _my dear_. Is there some task you wished me to -”

“No, I want you to _leave._ Go, go somewhere where I do not have to deal with you. Where you are _not_ constantly underfoot,” she veritably yanked her hand from his. “Go to the Vigil. Go to your brother’s. Go to Kirkwall - do something useful and be on your way until I have any actual need of you. I did just fine before you were here, I don’t need you seeking to coddle me or usurp my throne.”

Rising, Ferox bowed deeply, “Of course, my Queen. You shall be informed within a day or two of what decision is made.” With a sympathetic glance to Camille as he left, Ferox avoided any noise or show of joy outside of the amulet. _’You are a wily bastard, love. Glad you’re on my side.’_

 _’Oh? What did I do to deserve such high praise, **amora**?’_ Gentle mental fingers plucked at his mind then laughter came, _’Ah, even better than I had hoped. I was thinking she would merely wish you to go about your business and not bother her, not send you away! Hah! Most excellent, **querido**.’_

 _’Round up the family and start packin’.’_ His joy was shared in the link, _’Oh I do hate being banished.’_

Sardonic, _’And I had been hearing the women tittering and cooing over how sweet you have been. It makes you look good. It even makes it seem as though your ‘exiles’ were her idea entirely, making her appear...bad. To them you are a besotted and lovelorn dutiful husband who is also a hero, fine upstanding man that any would kill to have. While she had gone through two husbands whom she so obviously has used. Groundwork for future years, **querido** , is always a good thing...’_

 _’Still bent on removing her?’_ snorting at Zevran.

 _’But of course. Several years from now, once it becomes obvious that she is not quite sane, a horrid wife, and a mediocre monarch,’_ amused. _’She is an unnecessary burden once her usefulness has been plumbed. Frankly I wanted to do it years ago...afterbirth fever and such...it can be such a trial... And she is not so young, yes? To be birthing her first child in her thirties! Why who would have been surprised that she so easily succumbed, hmmn? She only lives because a second was desired for insurance. That reason alone is the only one she walks about with her nose in the air.’_

 _’I don’t recall having an option to guide Ferelden through rebuilding without Anora or Alistair. And as handsome as he may be to Sigrun, I was loathe to use him as a hand-puppet. When he begged to forgo the weight of this task, I couldn’t force him to take it.’_

Zevran had already made a macchiato using the small contraption he had devised along the same lines as Dassan had his stove at the clinic, _’Truly you had more claim to the throne than any alive. Even Alistair. He was a bastard with no training. Anora had no heir, her father dead and disgraced, and there would have been legal recourse to strip Gwaren from her. Frankly you could have made a bid on your own, especially after Urthemiel was slain. No one would have said much more than a few grumbled complaints. Give Gwaren to Alistair, let him have a few fat babies, and marry one to any baby you had of corresponding sex. Then everything would have been so solid that all that unrest would have seemed like a bad dream that never happened. However - that is a bit more cutthroat than most here could conceive of.’_

Closing the door after entering the office, “As when the wheel makes another round, perhaps in that life you can be more vocal and we’ll change the fate of Ferelden more. But for now, what we have set out before us is enough to tackle in this lifetime or dream, whichever it may be.”

His spouse kissed the side of his neck, “Perhaps I will bash you on the head during the Blight and we will merrily take over Ferelden, crush any who oppose us, or well, discredit them certainly and make them our puppets, have a few fat babies with Moira and do some sort of something where Anora is just a vessel for Len and Iona, _without_ her having any ability to fuss or have power. And then as soon as Len turned twenty or so, hie off to Antiva for retirement on a nice beach or some equally pleasant retreat...”

“Uh huh, and with my luck, in this life or the next, it will be Iona who wants the crown while Len would rather be like his father, footloose and fancy free.” Muttering, “Bashing me upside the head, indeed. I don’t remember that in your vow. Polish armour, warm bed, but absolutely no rocks.”

“I am far from footloose,” Zevran chuckled flopping into his chair and returning to work, a tall glass of dark beer on the table. “And who said anything about rocks? No, you are the one who did, yes, I recall. Something about using a large boulder and bashing you with it so that things came out differently and so that you could stop hitting your own head on it.”

“Eh?” Ferox settled at his desk. “It is doubtful that you can lift a rock left behind by a melting glacier. It’s too large and not worth messing with.” Stirring the layers, bringing up whatever syrup Zevran devised this time to sweeten it into the milk and the dark black of the espresso. “We have enough to worry about here.” 

His left foot took the footstool as usual when reading correspondence or sitting back to consider an issue. It had not occurred to him that since the first trip to Kirkwall the old break had not troubled him. However the habit, continued to be observed. Making a conscious choice, his left foot hit the floor and the right settled on the stool. Mug in one hand, noting the new flavours something he was not familiar with, Ferox sorted through Nathaniel’s neat piles of documents, eager to be away.


	35. Floating Weightless - Calling, Calling Home

[Ferox]

Only a few months in Denerim and they were wheeling back to Amaranthine by order of the Queen. Rumours had been spread of Anora’s anger at her devoted husband, the dedicated general and protector of Ferelden. It was mostly spread amongst the populace and left to trickle upwards to the nobles. Ferox didn’t _disapprove_ of the measure, he could see the use of it, but he knew what the purpose was. It was to prepare Ferelden for his eventual taking of the crown. Not that he _wanted_ the bloody thing. _I would be fine being regent for Len or the backup plan, whichever of them wants this responsibility. Either one, either child, there is choice._ Right now however, he was just the best person for the job and he wasn’t one to do things in half measures. 

Word had been sent ahead, a pair of riders heading out as soon as Ferox was done with his tea with Anora the afternoon she had tossed him out on his behind like a cat that needed to be put out for the night. Zevran was giddy and beside himself, but wasn’t sharing what new trick was up his sleeve. His husband knew he hated surprises, and every time he pressed, he would receive a kiss or some other nearly numbing touch and a whisper that he was loved and would enjoy the outcome. So he girded himself to simply cope with whatever had his husband so excited he could barely keep from hopping around gleefully when he thought no one was watching.

As they neared the Vigil, Ias came out, riding at a decent clip to inform them that the ship was ready.

 _’Ship?!’_ sending a sharp glance to Zevran.

Zevran grinned, _’Oh, aye, a ship, **amora**. We go to Antiva. Trade agreements and all that, yes?’_ He winked, _’And she did say to leave the country. Kirkwall is out of the country...no? But we have been there so often that it has little to offer, though those brownies of Dassan’s are quite delicious... It is not as good as Zama’s cooking.’_ More serious, his voice filled with longing, _’I also wish you to meet my family and them to meet our family. It has been...so very many years... She will not live forever. Please, I wish you to see my homeland.’_

_What are you going to do? The only sensible thing, of course. ‘As you wish.’ Smart man. I’d pat you on the head but that would look strange. Well, he did ask and made all of the plans already. And the healer did say to see the Zama. I wonder, did they all get together and talk when I was off somewhere? Popping down for fresh bread or pudding to bring up for a troubled stomach with two tiny stomachs in it? I had thought that Brandel’s Reach would have been a viable option. That’s what you get for not finding out what’s going on. I didn’t say I planned for it, merely considered it. ’You have drug out all of your stomach remedies for Moira then?’_

“But of course, though frankly Ignacio set his little cranky mabari girl to it. She is relatively skilled, much as it surprises me.” Relaxed, the tension that had been there for a brief moment dissipated at Ferox having given up any thought of protest. “I for one am glad I was not in a position that made it possible for him to request me teaching her.” A theatrical shudder, “Child has a temper. But she has a soft spot for females, the old buzzard of course, and Cesar.” 

Armand was nearby and protested, “ _El Jeffe_ , Mio is not so bad. Little one was hurt bad by the old arls, escaped with help, but all that help was was a lockpick and knife. The rest she wrested on her own.” He leaned over and spat on the road thickly, “Too bad that _pendejo_ was not there, no? He would have met a fitting end on that blade rather than yours.” Cocking his head and shrugging shoulders, “No disrespect _amigo_. But loss of family or months and months of brutality - who had more right? Eh, the Maker says you, because you was the one to do it. Either way, it is done. Two bad ones down, two less to deal with, eh?”

Ferox felt the furrows on his forehead form, puzzling over which Arls as he tried to fit this story into what he knew, “Which two was that?”

“ _Hijo de puta_ and _pendejo_ \- Howe and Vaughn,” Armand explained. “Her cousin is arlessa, and that is some good of it. But Mio did not get away the way Shianni did. The little one, she bargained for the girls to go free. Was interesting enough for Vaughn to keep I guess. Maestro Ignacio could not find her and had no excuse that would fit to let him search until Howe hired us to...make room for a new Arl of Denerim.”

The path illuminated, the elves from the wedding at the Alienage, the ones drug off to the Arl of Denerim’s estate. _Maker, she was there for months, no wonder she’s so jumpy...damaged. Has every damn right to be._ “Vaughan was a bully when he was a child and the illness never left him. I would have gladly given him over, had I known, though it was not my blade that found him, it was Zevran’s. However, Rendon Howe, as a vassal sworn to the Couslands, had a prior reservation with the family sword. And who was I to deny him the pleasure of that justice?”

The Crow shrugged, “He still had her for a good while, but the Maker gave you the opportunity rather than her.” 

Zevran quirked an eyebrow, _’I think our head of security might be smitten, hmn? Now if Ignacio knows, that would be interesting to know...’_

Ferox gave a noncommittal “Hrm,” to the Crow. Whether or not it was chance or actual opportunity given, he could not give an opinion. _’I know where I’d place my coin, given that they have been separated for this journey and the one to West Hills. Sounds almost like someone’s being overprotective.’_

 _’Care to make a wager as to if that plan backfires...? Or perhaps that he intends for it to...? The man is getting older, perhaps he wants some grandbabies to bounce upon those arthritic knees, hmn?’_ snickering quietly.

_’What I think is that he has separated them to see if it’s actual interest or just proximity. Although why he is taking such an interest, other than a romance between his cells, I couldn’t guess.’_

His lover’s mount sidled towards Armand’s, “So what do you think of these other cells? Having a few hundred rogues and fighters to call upon - that is a tidy little kingdom, no?”

“Not very tidy, no. Orphans, those trained already, thugs from other places, established whores - it is sloppy.” He shook his head, “Some is good, very good. Good enough to be counted as Crows, no difference ‘tween them, yes? But free. No Guild to force them. One problem though, _El Jeffe_ , is that then no way to make sure they stay loyal. He buys them with favours, keeps them with work, maintains them with friendship. Faugh - unreliable.”

Ferox grunted, “How is that any different than what has been done here?” Leaning forward in his saddle as harness jingled, “And since when do you have many people lining up to come to the ‘outer regions of Thedas’?

“Crows do not turn on the Guild,” Armand stated evenly. “We cannot.”

“I turned,” Zevran pointed out. 

The Antivan _shemlen_ rolled his eyes, “You still served the Guild. You went with the highest calling.” Then he clammed up on that subject, when Zevran bared his teeth. “So the arguments in Antiva went, yes? That is what was heard. But there is not enough years of training - not just the skills, but of the mind. You know it, _El Jeffe_ , Warden. Crows can run from the Guild to the ends of Thedas, but never, truly turn to bring it down. Our heads, they are not made that way. Maestro’s group...it is uncertain. We will see what happens. Might be more risk than most are worth though.”

“I think that sums up Ferelden, its people, Wardens and various other groups perfectly...more risk than it’s worth.” _I think you just hit on our motto. That or ‘practically uncivilized’. Oh! I like that one too. Or ‘snowbaths in summer’. Maybe we can combine them?_ “We appear to think very differently.”

Armand’s head tossed back, laughing boisterously, “Yes - like someone dropped too many times on head as baby!” He slapped his thigh several times before settling down. Seriously, “Maybe, maybe no. Risk nothing, gain nothing. But it must be calculated, with less variables. Besides, here Crows get much better treatment. Ignacio is soft, in Antiva there would be contracts for this,” gesturing at the flock. “We fight, but we get security. In Antiva if I had several friends, we would have just made first big purchases. Here I have an entire _building_ that makes rents. Not much money, no - it is for the widows. But it is still mine. And one or two make me meals when I am there. Some others of the flock live there, we guard it and make repairs. I get free beer from Oliver’s bar, he gets free room.”

“It doesn’t sound bad...appears that you are receiving compensation for the harsh duty location.” It sounded similar to the adjustments of tithing and taxes based on the resources and size of a bann or arling. 

“That is from Ignacio, you, and _El Jeffe_ , _not_ the Guild. The Guild, it does not bother much with here, not enough profit or risk to Antiva. Only came because Maestro Ignacio was chasing down Crows long ago,” he paused. “He likes troublemakers. Buys us from other cells, mostly dual wielding warriors who can pick locks. Finesse is not necessary here. Brute strength, some brains, some medicine, some poison. It is here those who are no good for Antiva’s uses, come. The House of Crows does not know how much freedom we have here, if they did, well. They might care.”

Zevran interjected, “They would not, not much. I have a plantation and several apartments...”

“Yes, and you are nearly as old as Ignacio,” Armand countered. “Your Masters tended to wind up with unfortunate cases of ‘terminal death’ if they were too harsh. You also had _three_ Crows working at your wealth and building it. And you play stupid, so no one thinks you have thoughts. Most Crows at thirty have some things. At thirty you had nearly all the same things as you have now.” The Crow shook his head, “Why you did not make yourself Guildmaster...augh, it makes no sense.”

Ferox thought about it because Zevran’s expression had turned bland, “Being Guildmaster would make a good target, wouldn’t it? Either to be killed or to want to be.”

“I kept my head down, I got what I want, and I lived simply,” Zevran sighed. “Ambition gets you dead quickly in the Crows, Armand. Better to take the good things, work through the bad, and let people underestimate you, no?”

Armand agreed, “Both right, yes. But I am not so smart as either of you. Smarter than many, but it is difficult to match celestial minds. Just a street boy and cut-purse, bought from the block before my hands were cut off.”

Later once they were aboard their ship, _’He rather neatly covered his slipup.’_

Ferox glanced at his assassin, _’Who?’_

 _’Armand. He realized he revealed too much, hmn?’_ Arms crossing beneath his head, _’I had to think about it for a good long while, but I think I have it figured out, **amora**. Ignacio came chasing  a Crow. About, but not quite, thirty years ago, possibly closer to twenty-five years, it was just some general gossip - oh look a Crow ran to Ferelden, move along, yes? I was still in being vetted, and he was not that long in his Master levels. Just recently attained. His Crow Master was how shall we say...not a very nice man? Particularly nasty, even for an elven Crow Master. A Crow, one who was younger than Ignacio even, and did not even have her Master’s level - she killed him for some reason that has been lost, then ran. Most unwise, yes? The old buzzard chased her down to Ferelden, reported her death, and that Ferelden had a population that bore watching, as under Maric’s rule the country was growing and becoming more stable. Of course the Guild wished to keep an eye on that, so allowed him to stay... But I wonder - how old would you say Miolanai is?’_

 _’Is this a new pastime? Have the shem judge an elf’s age? Either you didn’t bring a book to read or you think I’m an easy and forgetful target today.’_ Ferox didn’t growl, but playing games just to be wrong was something best walked away from.

Zevran patted the bed beside him, looking far too charming. _’Oh she is not Dalish, **amora**. She would age more closely to a **shemlen** rate,’_ it was waved off. _’Let us just hypothesize that Ignacio did not kill his target. Who would have reported that he had not done such a thing? No one. The only other Crows in Ferelden were Adaia and Cesar. Cesar being Ignacio’s brother would not always mean loyalty, but he is anyway. And Adaia as the target, her interest is vested in not being known to still live. Then later, when new Crows came to fill a cell for Ignacio - how would they know Adaia? They would all be young...not even very good in all likelihood, yes?’_

Making himself lay down beside his lover, he growled a little, _Cat with the cream. ‘I’m listening, but I don’t want to play a game I have no chance at winning. I’m too tired.’_

“It is not a game, _querido_ ,” Zevran rolled to drape an arm over his waist. _’Such information could lead to very large problems. Ignacio let Adaia live, has taken her daughter under his wing, has killed - without pay - to keep her safe. He has imparted skills to not just her, but to others, who are not Crows. He has to be very careful of what Crows he imports, **amora** , there are such things as Crow secrets. Being a simple assassin is easily taught, but there are...other things, other abilities and modes of thought. Duties even, yes? It is highly unlikely that he has withheld such information from that girl. That very unstable girl, if she is the daughter of Adaia. I never met the woman, but she was said to be very peculiar in looks, striking actually. What is more striking than an elf? Perhaps one with skin like that, eyes like that, hair like that...?’_

_’Although I have a strong preference for the one before me, I can see where it would be an attraction for others.’_

Zevran stole a quick kiss, _’Ignacio broke all of the rules. All of them. And Armand has figured it out - but does not seem to care.’_

 _’So he will use that when pressing his intentions to Ignacio - which may or may not get him killed. And my guess to the age of your elf would be about thirty, however with her...age is more about the miles ridden and not the actual years. Not to make light, but Vaughan’s treatment was less than gracious.’_ There was much movement in the corridor, as the ship followed the tide out to sea, “Not to take us off topic, but did I ever tell you that Fergus, Horse, and I beat him up?”

“No, you had not,” hands happily slid under Ferox’s shirt, the blond head tucking in close. _’I was done with the topic anyway, **querido**.’_

 _’You were going to make a guess at paternity - I think you’re right. Only logical reason why he is so protective of the girl.’_ “We had come for Landsmeet with Father and while playing, Vaughan decided to guess my middle name. Most of the guesses were nothing that would have caused a fight, until he landed on Arland. King Arland nearly killed every Cousland and their relations in Ferelden - I suppose he could be praised for being thorough. Horse and I were on Vaughan first, but since he was much older and bigger, Fergus dove in after us. There may have been biting involved, but that would be telling on an ally, although he did receive a bit of roast under the table later at dinner.”

His lover chuckled, “In some ways it is a shame that Light is so gentle. She will not be likely to tolerate such a ruckus from Ulfric and Len. Let alone allow anyone to say such things.”

“Light has her own ways and is very patient. Horse was a brother; he knew when I got in over my head and would help out, but an all out display from him was very rare. I only remember it once, and it was against Fergus, of all people, but I already told you that story. That said, Light would defend her pups more viciously than either of us. _She_ is a mother and is to be trifled with no more than Moira when it comes to her pups.”

Strong lips moved towards his warmly, “It is a shame the two of them never had a litter. I am sorry he is gone, though it seems so recently...” Wrapping his arms around his lover, hugging him fiercely as he kissed him, _’I miss him too, **amora**. He was a good friend. I am just happy that he went where he was happiest - by your side.’_

Rumbling, “I have dreams or moments of the day when I expect to see him coming round the corner or barking in response to something I’ve said. Or I forget while reading and reach down to play with an ear...as for pups, Horse had a few casual girlfriends at Highever. It’s likely one of them had a litter or two. Light is young enough, but she’s going to have her paws full in a relatively short time...we’re all going to have our paws...err, hands full. I am so glad that I prevented Sarah from being hired out completely and leaving the crown’s employ.” 

“Hmn, yes. Though there is one thing - we will need another wetnurse. Moira can easily produce for two, but three is...going to be difficult, I would think,” Ferox watched gold eyes seeking solutions.

“Sarah’s been nursing another family’s brood. When that was discussed, I was clear about wanting her back full-time. That was the reason for continuing to provide housing and care. And anyway she and Nan are family, I didn’t want to break in a new one to my growling.”

He nodded, “Though I will also see about gaining some fenugreek and alfalfa.”

Confused, “Alfalfa? As in hay? We’re growing that for animal feed and it’s good for returning nutrients to the soil.” 

“No, no - the green leaves, _amora_. Fenugreek and alfalfa is what Zama always prescribed for new mothers, so that their milk supply was sufficient, yes?” 

“Fennel grown for the same reason and apparently originated from your fair country. It seems to be a hardy crop, growing wild in several locations. It’s often made into silage to be fed to livestock. Smells bad, but they love it.”

His husband winced, “It is not for livestock but for people. It goes in _soup_ or salads, _mi hermoso corizon._ ”

“Since it volunteers to grow in such great quantities, it’s used for everything, love.” Rummaging through his memory, “Roasted over a campfire, it’s quite nice as well.”

Zevran chuckled, “I know.” There was some wiggling and Ferox found his tunic had magically disappeared, allowing his elf to rub his face against his chest contentedly. “Well, you will experience real food soon, hmn? Nothing like a home-cooked meal by a Zama, no? Though I will warn her about the blue peppers...”

“Blue?” Warily, “What other colours are there?”

“Many shades of red, green, yellow, orange...the blue ones are truly just such a deep shade of red that they have gone burgundy, then when dried they become...blue,” it was explained. “The smoked sweet ones will have to suffice, but you eat those frequently enough.”

Making a face, “I hate peppers.”

“Yes, and if you have yet to have figured out when and where you have had them so often, then you should not worry, hmn?” he teased. “That spiced brownie I made? From the pan that mysteriously disappeared into your office with only you there? Smoked jalapenos - first you let them age from green to red, then you roast and smoke them slowly so they dry out, pack them in spices, salt and vinegar... A small amount goes well with chocolate, _querido._ ”

“I thought that was just cinnamon...” trying to recall the exact taste. It had been very cinnamon flavoured, but there had been something else - not that he had cared. _Those brownies were tasty..._ “And why the frell would anyone put peppers in chocolate?”

“Because the ingredients smelled good side by side, _amora,_ ” explained patiently. “The nose knows.”

Settling in, afraid to learn what other foods were being adulterated, even as he shook his head wonderingly, “What else is there, other than food, that excites you and makes you do that hop skip thing right before you get around the corner out of sight?” First time he saw it, Ferox sniffed his tea to see if there was something more than honey in it. _Like you could tell. Hey now - my nose got better. Someone fixed it. Yeah, still not like his nose... Which is probably a good thing, else you may not be able to stand the smell of most people and you already can’t stand most people. Touche._

“Zama,” the look given peculiar. “Anicada will be seen also if we are lucky. _Amora_ , I have not seen, heard, spoken with, held, or otherwise truly interacted with them since _before_ I left Antiva the first time. I sent a quick message to Zamitie to let her know I was well, but that was _it_. When I came back to deal with the Guild while you were in Amaranthine, and when I visited long enough to deliver Vigilance - I had _no time_ to see them. It would have put them at risk. Food, family, gardens...my plantation. There are some things I wish to retrieve from my apartment. I probably should have someone clear it out and to put it up for rent. The coffers could always use the extra money, yes? Not that there would be much from a single apartment, but, what ten sovereigns will buy in Antiva is very different than ten sovereigns in Ferelden. Deflation and devaluing of coin, braska, do I hate it.”

“Perfectly understandable staying away for those reasons. Those particular coffers have no need of your coin, but I have heard of a generous benefactor who assists in matters that are not on the -” _’Harpy’s’_ ” - Queen’s list of suitable projects.” Stroking his favourite ear to make it twitch, _Or was it the left? No, it’s the right. No, I like the left. Shh - both are good._ “I was curious if there was anything else you were looking forward to, where we would be staying, little things.”

Zevran hummed, thinking, even as his head tilted into his hand, “I have been considering making a purchase of a large townhouse, not in one of the business or residential districts though, hmn? Not like Zama’s. Perhaps closer to some of the many Free Blade barracks. It is not the most prime of locations, nor is it the worst, yes? A relatively good place to form an embassy. I must admit I balked when Ignacio named a price for his little villa in the city, otherwise we would have that waiting. However, for the time being, the family can stay at Zama’s...the others...well, Ignacio said we could borrow his place. I just wish to be...close to Zama, for us.”

“Is his villa close to her townhouse? The distance alone may make it more desirable, as an embassy. It is in your hands, of course, but again, I am curious.”

“The villa is close to many other Crow Masters, though mostly those of lower importance. That old buzzard does not like to draw attention. Newer Crow Masters come in to enough coin to purchase a nice little home in the city, and do so in that area before accumulating enough wealth to go for more...ostentatious displays, yes?” Brown fingers traced meaningless designs over Ferox’s side. “But nine-hundred sovereigns is...a bit much for me to swallow - nearly all my wealth is tied up in assets rather than coin, what coin I have is quickly poured into Ferelden’s economy. So even if it _does_ come fully furnished, with house-slaves and guards...hmn too rich for my blood. As for how close the Free Blades quarter is...well, it is not so far. Sa’id did purchase his place to be on the border of a high traffic area. Close to customers, yes? Or there is the possibility that the adjacent townhouse’s tenants would be willing to relocate. But having the embassy there would be...eh... We will make the decision once we see Ignacio’s and check out a few of the other possibilities. Worst case scenario the embassy could be my plantation, but that is two days from the city. Well, a day or so with how I normally ride, yes?” He tapped a quick cadence, “Seven hundred should be possible to pull out from my accounts. Though I usually try to leave that for further investing on Vela’s part. Of course there is also the cost of keeping us all outfitted and fed...and any other purchases, though I could easily pilfer a great deal of coin, as always... Then I have...well...perhaps I will just sell my old loft. It serves no purpose. Three, four hundred sovereigns for that possibly...auck, but we put so much work into the painting...I hate to see it go to someone else...”

Interrupting with a kiss, several actually, as he rolled on top of Zevran, _’Stop. Please. Too much, you sound like me arguing with myself and that is just wrong. Really wrong. We’ll just look. Just look. Nothing must be planned now this second.’_

Zevran pretty much melted under him other than lips parting to return those kisses, _’I do not sound like you, **querido**...but looking we shall do, yes?’_

 _’Regrettably, you did sound very much like me.’_ He tugged Zevran’s arms from around him, holding them down so they couldn’t be distracting, _Good luck there. ’Indecisive, too many things in the air to be worked through. Trying to see the whole picture and not quite having it. Attachments that cannot be broken, history to be respected, obligations to family, political and financial ramifications... Oh, it’s all there, I’m afraid.’_

_’Well the loft is just a loft, it can be sold,’_ shrugging, a leg hooked around Ferox’s thigh. 

_’Reasonable, but then you run into the emotional attachment. And nobody said that anything should be sold. Keep it, sell it, rent it, don’t rent it - just don’t make the decision based on any need, other than your own.’_ Breaking from the kiss, Ferox paid attention to his favourite ear...the left one. _’Besides that, you don’t need to support Ferelden - let the Harpy do that today as that appears to be her wish at this present time. We are just looking, no decisions. I was just wondering what to expect and asked a thoughtless, idle question. I didn’t mean to cause rambling, indecision, and whatever else that was.’_

There was a light growl, teasing and interested, _’I am not indecisive...generally...unless someone very attractive and broad shouldered going by the name of Ferox is around, yes?’_

 _’I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,’_ catching his tongue in the point - favourite location of favourite ear attained, _’because I’m always around. Can’t seem to get away from me no matter how I try.’ Now isn’t that the truth? Distractions are bad. At this point? I’ll concede._

Zevran sighed contentedly, arching against him, _’And I would have you no other place than around, hmn?’_

_’Just around? Hanging about with a vacant stare? Or something else entirely?_

His lover laughed, _’I will take you any way I can have you, but a vacant stare had best be because you have been left drained from a sound round of lovemaking, yes?’_

Rumbling quietly in the ear just released, “I like these words very much as they sound wholly like yourself and no one else.”

A purr came, _’And just how much do you like those words, hmn?’_

“For someone with such delectable ears who is so easily distracted, I will be glad to repeat myself, _‘I like these words very much’, love,’_” saying within the link and aloud, enunciating each word with a slide of tongue over his favourite ear.

Zevran’s back bowed and he hissed faintly, _’You are wearing entirely too many clothes.’_

Chuckling, “And you,” dipping his tongue and swirling it within the bronze shell, “are wearing even more than I,” beginning to wonder where his shirt had been hidden. The vague itch becoming more pronounced even though Zevran was a good thing to focus upon. Pausing in his attentions, “Love...I hate to interrupt - but where’s my shirt?”

Beneath him was a distracting squirm, “Hands are occupied, but it should be folded on the nightstand, yes?”

Glancing to the side, “Yes.” Ferox exhaled releasing the tension of the need to know, “Thank you.” Able to focus again, he turned to his second favourite ear, nudging Zevran’s head to the other side, and giving it equal attention. It may not have been his favorite, but he was very fair, painstakingly so - every taste, every nip, and inhale of scent, listening to every sound made. _’Yes, there are far too many clothes, we are agreed.’_

 _’And what do you plan to do about it, **amante**?’_ the thoughts almost stuttering, clearly it had been too long. 

A sound not quite unlike the beginning of a suppressed laugh, “Oh, now you are trying to trick me again, assuming that I wasn’t paying attention.” Easing the bit of weight put on the wrists under his hands, they were released. A final tasting kiss and Ferox rolled to the edge of the mattress to complete the task of ‘gear first’. 

Of course as soon as his back was turned there were lips on his shoulders, at the back of his neck, whispering wetly over the muscles, but the kisses stopped as soon as he stood to put his clothes away, the temptation there was to ignore for a moment longer the drive to see to gear first and instead see to lover first. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t, yet he felt no pressure, those kisses were there, the moisture still present until he rejoined his husband upon their bed. Who was nude already - of course. _Of course, as always. Why does he have to move so fast? It’s not fair. Would you have him any other way? That has got to be the stupidest question... Exactly - now shut up and enjoy it._

Nimble fingers were already coasting and stroking his thighs, the pleasure of giving such a simple touch on Zevran’s face was rather hypnotic, the easy sensuality of the caress being besides the point. The blond head dipped, lips pressing soft kisses from tip to base, a quick flick of tongue wakening his partially turgid length, and Ferox let himself relax, gripping the muscular tattooed back as he drifted. His lover didn’t tend towards the sweet, but when he did, it made Ferox ache strangely. A leg pushed back and those kisses travelled, ticklish because they were light, yet too fast to annoy, interspersed frequently enough with a long drag of pointed tongue, a swirl here, a lick there, many kisses pressed. The journey back up was faster, wet heat and slick muscles taking him in deeply then drawing away, mouth moving once more up his torso, those hands, still moving, still stroking, still making him shudder. Thick arousals heavy and hot between them and Zevran pressed close, nuzzling and holding. Ferox wrapped his arms around his assassin just to bask for a moment.

In his memory, there were few moments of being utterly content, where everything was perfect, not one more thing to add or to take away. A Saturnalia morning looking out over the snow before any trudged through the training yard, a bonfire at a rocky beach looking up at brilliant stars just out of reach, a bit of fry bread a little too hot juggled between hands and quickly torn open and devoured... Then a long time of nothing, no peace, little satisfaction, pleasure in small things vanished. Darkness ate him while cold held him fast and joy curled in a corner hoping not to be noticed, left undiscovered, unfound...until Zevran unlocked a door and a thin line of sunlight fell across the floor. From across the room, from the supposed safety under the table in the back corner, he stared at the narrow ribbon of bright light. Occasionally a shadow fell across the light before vanishing, a rustled jingled movement outside. The faithful creature at his side got up, padding to the new thing to lie in it, to show that it was safe - and still he did not move. Door nosed open wider so that the other could move back and forth between the light and the darkness, bringing one to the other. Somehow the temperature of the room had warmed and he was able to move to get to his feet, skirting the dangerous intrusion. 

As he became comfortable, quietly the door swung open all at once and he took a step forward to the edge of that light. Something he wanted was on the other side, something that belonged to him, and to get it, to bring it back to himself, that line was going to have to be crossed. How the sun filled the room or he ventured to the threshold, an instant of peace was had where everything was absolutely still and nothing more was desired...a tiny creature in his hands, in the presence of the sun...and a hunger for more. No sudden invasion, no forcing open the gate or breaching the walls...the sun wasn’t tied to the ground and easily overcame those barriers, rising higher, finding cracks in the defenses, lighting the darkness, until regular occurrences of the longed for moments of tranquility and joy were caused by this stunning light or by the others drawn into that orbit, he was never left alone in the darkness. In each of these minutes of perfection, his arms were full. Sometimes there was a squirming bundle eager to be coordinated enough to bounce around the room, ecstatic in its freedom and the delight of being itself. But more often, he was held or holding the sun itself, the luminosity dazzling, stunning. 

Here was one of those moments, nothing more was wanted, nothing more was needed, everything was here now. Ferox sighed contentedly, hands petting the brown physique pressed to his own, fingers tracing the markings on his lover’s back. All he wanted was right here, right now, nothing added and nothing subtracted. The flavours of the light, the tang of his own scent on this one, the quiet strength pressing against him...an inhale, a rumbled exhale - perfection. Reaching between them, Zevran’s heavy weight clasped in his hand. The comparison perpetually made was to the weight and luster of white-blue silverite. Prized for jewelry, rune making, and weaponsmithing amongst the dwarves, it was also favoured by healers and was believed have protective properties. A fine and beautiful thing that could have been a weapon to harm but had never been wielded against him. Even when pressing want and urgency overrode, there was always care and gentleness. 

Ferox reached over his head to the nightstand to find the ointment he knew without looking would be there as Zevran always, thoughtfully, planned ahead. Smoothing it over, down, and around the impressive elven length, the rumbling in his chest answered the reassuring purring. He knew he had been distant, was distant, and had always been, even though he wanted this sunlight so very much, and no matter how much light seeped into him, he was still somehow lacking. That this proof, this evidence in his hand, the lips on his throat said over and over again that _he_ was wanted, it was too hard to comprehend. But it gave him peace, all of it, the silk covered metal, the liquid flow of muscles and tendons beneath copper, and when sun had been taken in long enough, darkening to the bronzed brown. This was what he was accustomed to - what was wanted. He wanted Zevran pressed tight within, surrounding and holding, saturating every pore of his being. 

Yet the inaction, which regularly gripped him, gained nothing, that much was certain.

Taking a kiss, exploring that mouth, Ferox focused on the here, the now, seeking to not think, a difficult task. He had been in that space for a brief moment earlier, until his need to be sure of his gear took over, and sought to return there. Zevran’s lips were not smooth, but they were soft, the dips of a few scars and weathering slid over his, the tongue slick and strangely rough on the top, like a cat’s. Hooking a leg over the back of his lover’s knee, a conscious showing of the desire to keep him close, Ferox continued tasting while stroking the muscular back and the dipped indentation at the lower reaches of spine, which made for the flexing of lean hips. His lover’s head was tilted back to continue the kiss even as hips angled and a slim finger slid, testing and opening, making him groan as it worked its way in. Yes, that was what he wanted, wanted the taste of Zevran’s mouth in his, the feel of him in his arms, against his chest, inside his mind and his body, filling him. 

It wasn’t rushed, there was no room for that, just more of the same gentleness as earlier, sweetness that spread with the slow thrusting, the position on their sides not allowing for vigor. Bronze hands were slipping over and around him, those lips touching and alighting briefly before always returning to his, and Ferox felt Zevran’s comforting tension echoing to him. In some ways, it wasn’t sex or even lovemaking, but simply connecting bodies as closely as minds.

“Why?” Ferox was still convinced that he didn’t deserve this. Even as he asked, the litany of, ‘love is not deserved, rather it is a gift’, ran through his head. Wouldn’t surprise him if it was one of his last thoughts. 

The gentle pull tugged him into Zevran’s mind, that huge light that could not be comprehended was there, the ache in the breast shared, _’Because it is there and it is what I feel.’_

 _’Oh, love.’ It’s too much. You can’t stop it. I’m not worth this. So become worth it. And besides that, it’s not your choice, it’s his. Stop fighting what you can’t win._ Ferox couldn’t see for the brightness, he needed Chasind eye coverings, felt exposed and vulnerable, and yet the sun was all around him and he was safe. 

Rocking slowly, there were strange and frequent pauses, as though Zevran just wanted to feel him and nothing more. Wrapping his arms around his husband, Ferox clung tightly to the elf, hiding his face to one side, trying to give and share the same thing, knowing it was woefully inadequate. Opening himself, his mind, his heart, his body already was, he strove to give in equal measure to what he received, until there was a harsh moan that quickly turned to the guttural snarl, heralding the hot flood, and the echo through the link sent him over the edge as well. Dragging him down and down and down, until Ferox’s toes curled and his body went tight.

....

Quiet, rocking from heel to toe and back again, Ferox played a balance exercise with the rocking of the ship. He wore a light pair of linen pants and tunic, wondering at the clothes his lover had slipped into his baggage. _Was it really going to be as hot as he said? Zevran doesn’t lie to you. Hrm. I thought some summer days were too warm in Ferelden. Well, you were fighting in full armour in the middle of the Bannorn which heats up unbearably for a week or two. And at the time you weren’t in that nice dragon plate either. Well, at least he let me bring the leathers, didn’t substitute that out like most everything else._ He felt silly, but he looked no different from anyone else, it just wasn’t what he was used to. _None of it is going to be what you are used to, so watch the growling. I’m not growling...well, not right now._

Rising and sinking, synchronizing his breathing. _Should have figured something was up when the furs were left behind. Are you unhappy? No. Then why are you brooding on this? Good question. I suppose instead I could consider the book on food bottling and canning experiments out of Orlais. That just sounded dangerous...too many explosions. Could put one of the surface dwarves on it, would like something to work without magic being involved...without tiring someone out that way. A method that everyone could preserve food to store for the hungry days of late winter, things that did not dry, salt, or cellar well. That and to have primary food supplies grown far from the towns and villages to arrive unspoiled or to salvage food that needed to be salvaged prior to spoiling._

The crackdown of Templars against mages in Kirkwall was beginning to worry him. If elves, dwarves, men and women were all being treated the same in Ferelden, there was the issue of mages...if he believed that that race or sex didn’t make a difference, ‘the best person for the job’ being one of his guiding principles for Ferelden, why a difference of abilities? This was uncomfortable as well as the logistics of dealing with not only the unhappy population, but the Chantry, and mages who weren’t familiar with the world at large either. Certainly it was possible as Dagna had shown, but... _Was there a but?_ The experiments at Haven and Honnleath seemed to be going well, not that he had actually traveled there, but the reports indicated that both towns were close to turning a profit. The farming town was definitely more self sufficient, but the ore found in the tunnels of the mountains, and the salvaged, thick skinned eggs and immature dragonling hides gave Haven a very profitable position...provided it could obtain food. The farmers at Honnleath needed ore for tools and other implements. It made for an odd cooperation. Both towns were dependant upon each other, one would not survive without the other, while the other could manage but not well on its own. The mages were happy to help, so in many ways they had the ‘better’ deal, because their perceptions didn’t need to change, but the scholars and Chantry-sent envoys to Haven were the ones who had issues to say the least. _Had issues. The scholars aren’t so bad. True - but there was that Templar problem though... The giant lyrium mountain might have had something to do with it - remember, that’s why they’re not supposed to be there. True, true. And now pilgrims are starting to trickle in, with the roads not quite finished, but mapped out... Which of course makes Haven even more dependent on the mages for food and other supplies. Wonder if anyone will learn some humility? Unlikely - but we can hope._

Willing the wind to stiffen, _How long is this trip supposed to take? Too long, always does. Doesn’t matter where we’re going. I bet those history essays are done. Fine. Look at me, I’m going back inside. Oh? You have to move your feet towards the hatch to go back inside. Yep, that’s me. No, that’s your imagination. Our imagination. Fine, I’m going in now, for real. Sigh. I don’t want to. Me either, so suck that lip back in._

“Uncle Fox!” Eleanor was the first to pop up to him, grabbing his hand so she could hug his arm. “I did the Orlesian Occupation! My essay’s all done.”

Fluffing her hair a little, “Alright, I’ll look over it in a minute.”

“Claudio de beebur,” Ulfric was sounding out the words on the hand painted book made from stiffened leather, Len beside him, and Light looking over their shoulders. “Wiked tu...tu...”

“Pway,” Len supplied, jabbing a finger at the word, which Ferox knew wasn’t ‘play’ at all.

Light woofed, shoving a cold nose at Len’s ear, and tapped a large paw on the floor making him squeal and giggle, flailing guiltily. 

_Just how smart are mabari? Can they read?_ watching as Light made Ulfric and Len start the page over again by keeping a paw pressed to the page until they got the word right. ‘Swim’ was the correct word, and once they figured it out, the hound let them turn the page. _That one can, apparently,_ as he checked over Elissa’s shoulder to see how far she had gotten on the history of the Almarri. _I don’t remember Horse doing that._ Scholar Aldous didn’t want ‘the dog’ in the library, so Horse was made to wait outside. _But he could count and knew when he had not received an equal share when splitting apple slices, cookies, or nuts. I swear he could read a map, knew what the symbols means for river or a lake, which could explain why we often couldn’t find one after Wynne announced that the hound needed a bath. Hrm. Hadn’t thought of that. And Eleanor reads to them often enough, Light probably learned to read with her, bet she can read maps too._

Reviewing the essays and making corrections to spelling, both subjects were of interest to him and well read, as much as was possible. Most stories, especially those of the occupation, were still carried by word of mouth. Brother Genitivi had made a major dent in subjects that had nothing written, but there were still many not put on paper yet. Those alive during that time were rapidly aging,..the first person view would pass before it was memorialized. The next large event, the Blight would be next. He could remedy that, provided he ever had the time. _Perhaps put the Wardens on that. Although Alistair would fill it with lack of laundry, ‘lamb’ and peas, and Maker knows what else. Hrmn, Anders could easily do the events with the Architect, perhaps a collaboration with Nate? No doubt Leliana still has her journal, if they were combined with the notes I kept...hrm. Maybe she’d write it? That would be one less thing to do... Wait a minute, you’re passing up an opportunity? No, I’m delegating and last I checked, it happens all the time. Anyway, I’ll read it and make notes, but it’s not something that requires my skills._

There was an experiment with Light that had yielded interesting results. Her ability to read was on par with Eleanor’s, who would sit and read with the mabari all the time. Zevran thought it was amusing, Ferox thought it was useful - what could be done with a bunch of educated mabari? That would be a frightening thought... Military units and such, though Zevran had just looked at him like he had lost his mind. Perhaps he had. It still was an intriguing puzzle to poke at along with the thought of making mabari Wardens. Since the hounds usually lived to about thirty anyway, perhaps putting them in mixed units with soldiers who hadn’t Joined would work. Then again he didn’t want to make more Wardens. Ias and Everret were good examples - young men whose lives would be cut short. But that was not for him to say, not truly, as any who sought to Join were informed of the consequences after they had become part of the recruits. And if they chose not to take the cup, they were still used and trained as Wardens anyway, in case they were needed. 

Other than that, the trip was boring, uneventful. There was some strangeness on Zevran’s part, lots of scribbling and drawing up images that made little sense to Ferox, a fountain was one of the few things he could decipher next to measurements and a series of strange numbers with symbols. When asked the answer had been something about ‘physics’ and ‘thermodynamics’ that sounded like pure gibberish to him. There may have been a mention of ‘pie’ but they had wound up distracted. Likely because pie had lead to searching for some, then of course some bits had fallen which needed to be salvaged quickly, which had lead to a few hours of pie on various body parts... Letting good pie go to waste was never a good idea after all.

There was excitement in the link, anxiety and joy, waking Ferox from a nap with Len and Ulfric. _’Is something wrong, love?’_

 _’Wrong? Oh no, no, no. Oh it is beautiful, **amora** ,’_ a wistful sigh, a fine tremble and the feline was making odd noises in his head.

Groaning, Ferox rubbed his eyes to get the sand out quicker, _’What is it?’_

The longing, the joy, the love, it sang and sobbed at once, _’ Home.’_

Looking at the little bodies pressed to him, he figured that he could not move without waking one or the other. _’Zevran, show me.’_ Ferox settled back so as not to wake the boys and to prepare himself for the disorientation, closed his eyes.

Long fingers of stone spirals soared over a bay, dazzling with aquamarine clarity, in the water, when Zevran glanced down, ghostly wrecks were seen. The wound was clothed in odd growths, dolphins and other fish darting through them. His lover leaned over the rail, squinting and focusing, the images unsettling and otherworldy, no matter how beautiful. Quickly the images of that pulled back, sensing his unease with viewing sunken vessels and such, refocusing on the city. An ocean of masts were glanced at, buoyed quays unrolled to get close to the farthest ships. He knew which ones were Antivan, as the knowledge was Zevran’s, and shared immediately. The sleekest of vessels, some with banks of oars - those were identified as warships and belonging to the small navy, while the others were merchant ships, yet he knew that these too were easily converted for war. Then up, and up, and up, a cascade of colourful roofs and buildings, interspersed with long white areas, houses and businesses that eschewed colour, but he knew as Zevran did, that sills and doors would be rimed and coated with bright pops of rainbow scintillation. It was a sparkling gem, that was of a certain, onion bulb domes on some buildings, stepped and tiered roofs marching onwards, interspersed by great buildings, that if were of Ferelden design, Ferox would call keeps or castles. The skyline soared majestically, the improbable and delicate minarets flashing back illumination wildly from their glass tiles, providing beacons to incoming ships. 

As the sun was slowly lowering in the sky, the city was ablaze, rivalling the sun while using its light to showcase its grandeur. Gulls swooped and danced in the air, their screams turning to a song, the snap of sails, splashing of water, and off in the nearby distance the music of the city, an opera of life, in finials broadly echoing. The Maker would weep at its beauty, His Golden City naught but a gaudy mockery compared to this city paved with light and colour. _How could anyone live here? How could anyone leave here? I don’t know... Maker I don’t know..._ Further out, the city was embraced by low mountains, a gap in them providing a perfect notch for when the sun fully set, as though to embrace the haven and bow to its glory. Beneath Zevran’s hands the wooden railing was clutched, the whipcord muscles straining as though to bodily drag the ship into the port, to haul it after him as though it could be made to move faster. The need, a desperation and agony that subsumed all, limbs shook and he felt tears rolling down the bronze cheeks, and thus, his own. 

_’ Home...’_

_’I see it, love, and it is beautiful as you have said - more so as I could not possibly have imagined it from descriptions alone.’_ Ferox wished that he could slip away as Zevran would have from the child sprawled over his leg, another with a face pressed to him and arm flung over him. _Trapped - I told you. I know - be content. ‘I wish I was there, but I would need help escaping my captors...and set a guard on them,’_ an apologetic bit of humour as he shared back his situation. 

Zevran shook his head, the vision sweeping back and forth with the motion, _’No...this is...that is alright, **amora**. If you were up here I would make a spectacle of myself, yes? A messy and tear ridden one.’_

 _’I would not mind and would shield you, growling at the idle and the curious. I do not wish you any other way than you as yourself. As incentive, not having shared with Moira today, I would even offer you a fresh handkerchief.’_ The humour was still there, but it was mixed with assurance of protection, the ability to take the attention, to withstand the strikes to keep one, more lightly armoured. Safe.

He felt Zevran climbing over the railing and moving up the prow to hang on to the figurehead with one arm, a leg locked around the base, otherwise his body straining forward, a hand shielding the eyes from the glare. _’No, **querido** , I shall be fine. I will persevere until everyone is settled, yes?’_ Amusement, _’The flock are all up in the rigging making nuisances of themselves, hmn?’_

_’Are there really seven hills somewhere in all of that city or is that just a story told to try to explain to the disbelieving how large it is?’_

There was a snort, _’More like seven foothills, hmn? Last census I heard it was over two million people, **amora**. One would need far more than seven hills to house the populace. There are also ruins beneath the city in some places, from during the Qun’ari invasion. The Castle of Burning Flowers,’_ perspective swung to one of those impossible buildings, situated on the highest point, walls snaking in serpentine fashion around the top of a ‘hill’, _’is from before that era. Half the walls are the originals, the rest had to be rebuilt after the Exalted March. When the Blight came here, it was a bastion that held off much of the worst, yes? If one were to go inside, one could see the scars from those battles. Though the Alcazaba is now the true fortification, the **Castile** is still not to be trifled with, as lovely as it is. I should take you to one of the high points so that you can see the way the roads are truly set up, hmn? Then you will see one of the city’s secrets. Any fool stupid enough to dare attacking my city will pay dearly and turn the streets to rivers of blood. Their blood, no?’_ There was a glowing pride that tingled over every nerve ending in Ferox’s body, making the hairs stand on end, feedback from his love. _’Denerim’s port is being set up similarly, staggered streets, yes? Perhaps one day Denerim will be as beautiful, but not in our lifetimes unfortunately. But we will make it as defensible at the least.’_

It was evening by the time they disembarked, the humidity strange, the air clinging and the harbour itself did not smell particularly good. Yet it wasn’t foul, and the answer given was that dumping waste into the harbour carried hefty penalties, and that there were trawlers and poor who cleaned and fished out the unwanted detritus and so kept the trash to a minimum. Odd carts were waiting for them, a bird that had been released by Armand homing straight to Ignacio’s villa with information that they would be arriving. So transport was taken care of, and to the potential embassy they went almost immediately. But there were so many _people_ in the streets, as though it were market day and in the early afternoon rather than an hour after sunset. Lanterns were hung everywhere between buildings, large glass enclosures shedding light in all directions, some jutting out from above windows and doorways or beside them, the squares and plazas they were taken through, lit even brighter. Vats of oil with huge wicks, protected by glass, stood taller than a man, raised up on square columns making it nearly as bright as day, hawkers and booths open to the public, strange taverns open in the air with nothing more than an awning, while braziers cooked food. It was cacophony and chaos but everyone seemed to know where they were or where they were going. Signposts announced street names, numbers lined doors, scrolling scripts in several languages on massive stands announced directions to eateries and residential areas and inns. 

It was sheer madness and order.

Every few blocks were interrupted by gardens, laden with fruit trees and vines, vegetables stacked one upon the other, calling to him as they drove past too quick for him to get more than a glance. In some places parks opened up, troughs and grass, and pens with animals, milking stands, all guarded by bronze limbed youths at small booths where customers walked up and paid a few coins, while lightly armoured, occasionally mounted guards patrolled, keeping an eye on things. Street performers were on every corner, singing or dancing or performing magic tricks. It was dizzying and Ferox had to relent and just close his eyes, drifting while keeping a hand on Len to prevent his son from trying to get out and cavort. Zevran was beside him, watching everything with avarice flowing through his veins and in the link, the desire was an agony of need, the urge to jump out and kiss the cobblestones tingling at his lips. To go up to buildings and embrace them as a lover, to rest a cheek to the colourful plaster. To catch that bliss for a brief second, or to scamper up walls to rooftops and dance from one pinnacle to the next, playing as a child skipping over chalked lines on the ground. 

Finally settling in for the night, the villa was airy and beautiful, sweeping lines elegant and simple, Ferox was just on the edge of sleep when Zevran slipped from the bed. 

Frowning, he reached out to catch hold of the corded wrist, “What is it?”

“It is singing, _amora_ , I must go,” the words came as though from far away. “My city, she calls to me, I cannot deny her plea to make love to her any longer.”

Concerned that he was dreaming, “Zevran? What...” _Don’t sigh. You aren’t needed. Breathe._ Calmly, though not feeling composed, “When will you return?” _There is still connection and he will not be lost. You were not brought here to be abandoned or forsaken._ Terrible thoughts were just on the edge of his mind and Ferox tried not to look at them. They were horrible things of being brought here to be handed over, or being left behind, of having brought Len and the rest of the family - so vulnerable. 

“Dawn, perhaps after, it has been...so long...” the heartbreak was there, a need, the flash of images of the sun rising over the bay, of the early morning foot traffic and setting up of stalls. “But, yes, I will return, soon, _amora_. I just...I must dance to her song.”

“As you wish,” even as the words were said, Ferox wanted to take them back and hide them away. A spike of fear had been run through his gut...yet his hand let go...he made his hand let go. Gruffly, to hide the a wash of anxiety of losing the Antivan, “Go play.”

Zevran paused after he was dressed, coming to sit beside him, kissing his brow, _’I love you and shall return to you always, **amora**. This is home, but you are more than that.’_

With that, he was gone, sliding out of the small window, vanished into the night. Rubbing his face, Ferox fought to stay calm, stared at the ceiling high above and the netting that had been carefully draped over the bed to keep the bugs away. Until the singing started. Startling, he looked around, then knew it was Zevran, the city, the people. Singing without sound and without words. Urthemiel would have been envious, perhaps that was why the other Blights had swept towards Antiva, following that song. Jealous of the city and wanting to Taint it. Yet that was all distant, thin boot soles moved over rooftops, hands found purchase, a freefall from a great height, spinning in the air before landing and rolling forward, the ground kissing shoulders and back then hugging feet as they sprinted forward. People were still everywhere, the night was young to them. Laying heavily in the bed, Ferox’s head swam with sensation, his body nearly twisting as it sought to echo the movements, leaving him tossing and straining against the silken sheets that would be prohibitive in Ferelden, but were just ‘moderate luxuries’ here. Groaning, he clutched at the mattress, at the pillow that had already picked up Zevran’s scent from the frenzied sex as soon as they had hit the bed. 

When Zevran said he had to hear the song and to make love to his city, it was nearly a literal thing. A moment of laying upon still warm shingles, smelling the thick terracotta clay, baked and glazed, earthy and pungent, muscular brown arms had clung to it, before being up and off again. Weaving through people, the throngs bumping and touching and caressing, a bliss that was sexual and not, agonized joy, and on his-their feet moved, stepping this way and that in a complex dance. Dawn found Zevran sitting, squatting more like, in a perch high above the city, held there by nothing but careful balance, hands and feet. Ferox was too caught up to be afraid of the swimming height, was long since drained from the ecstasy of his assassin in his truest element. Beneath them Antiva City lay, spread like an exhausted and beautiful lover, waiting to be told she was lovely, waiting to be claimed again. Taunting and tempting, the people slowly trickling back into streets after they had finally sought their beds once again. The smells of wild foods were cloying and thick like the air in a bedroom that had held long hours of sex, a muggy funk that begged for more energy so it could be added to at least one more time...

One place was paused at more than once, a crimson door, the desire to knock, to enter, overwhelming, but refused. To enter that door was to not leave, not with enough time to reach those who needed him. Another stop in the midst of returning, swinging down, roof to roof to alley, nose in the air following the demanding scent, and words were traded, coin passed, and a glass of something that Ferox thought was coffee, knew was coffee, but was unlike even what he had tasted before. Complexities between plain cows’ milk from a bovine fed only grass and natural grazing, local, perhaps from one of the grazing yards not so far from that street, beans from a plantation, hand roasted in small batches, perfection. Sugar that was dark brown, unbleached by sun, sprinkled in slowly spoonful by spoonful, picked up and folded in until it was just right. Rings of some light and fluffy dough fried and dusted with a mix of spices and sugar, vanilla and nutty wheat dissolving on tongue. The importance that Zevran’s senses lent to things was numbingly intense, what little Ferox had felt before were blunted with memory, but now they were real and solid, more real than any reality he had been subjected to before. By the time Zevran pushed himself through the small window, all Ferox could think and breathe was the city, left awake and drifting in a perpetual dream.

Zevran had a small satchel in hand that smelled good, but it was set aside as his husband realized that he was being watched, “ _Amora_? You did not sleep?”

It blurted from his mouth without thought, the foremost thing in his mind, “How could I? You are beautiful.” 

Ferox had always known it, of course, but to see from those golden eyes, to see what they saw as important or missed, sharpened it again, all over again for the first time. When was that first time? What had made them light up the sky? What caused that moment? And made a tiny piece of this night’s joy show through...thinking that small chip of stone that had been revealed was the entire piece, not seeing the entire piece of bedrock it actually was. Or was it a vein of something more precious? 

His lover pushed the netting aside enough to sit down, boots kicked free, legs folded, the satchel in his lap, “I am sorry, _querido_ , I did not mean to keep you up, truly. But, I have breakfast,” he fished into the sack and pulled out odd folded pockets, as though too excited to have heard the compliment. “Coconut bread with shredded chicken and cheese. Empanadas, yes? Hmn, no wait, that is one of the chocolate ones,” head ducking to peer into the bag, rummaging out wax paper bundles, sniffing them before passing one to him. “Beef, goat, lamb, chicken, cheese, chocolate...ah...I think I have - yes, yes I do, a papaya-guava-mango one with goat cheese... I _might_ be persuaded to share that one.”

Untwisting the sheets from around himself and releasing the fat pillow which had been clutched close for security and scent, he scooted closer for the real thing. “They all smell and sound good. What do you recommend?” It didn’t matter, the reason for the question did not lie in the actual answer. Certainly helpful, but not required. It was the voice - that elation he had spent all night listening to through the amulet - having sound, that joy here, was the real reason.

“All of them!” a quick grin, expression dancing, already tearing into one of the packs, while a jar was pulled free, the cork torn out with teeth, releasing the scent of pungent coffee. “However the goat and lamb ones you will likely not care for, hmn? A bit on the spicy side for you. Slivers of zucchini and flakes of blue pepper, however the potatoes dull it down so it is a slow burn, yes? Perhaps you might try a bite or two of that. After a chicken or beef one, yes?”

Upright, cross-legged with a leg against Zevran’s, Ferox tried whichever one he was handed, which upon taking a bite revealed that it was chicken. He had been hungry before from the evening’s activities and the travels that he would have guessed had Zevran all over Antiva, yet other than the bay, the edge of it was never observed. Now that the scent and flavour of food was nearby, he was starved. The pocket of food was spicy, startlingly so, but not of a strength to burn his mouth, only to make it warm, swallowing it down he made to grab for the crock of coffee, but was waved off and passed a smaller one. Opening it quickly and taking a swig, honey laced tea flavoured milk went over his tongue, cooling it before the fires began to burn. Taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully, he tried to analyze the meal but found other than ‘spicy but not too spicy’ he couldn’t really identify anything. Ferox was surprised when his hand was empty, the last bite gone, washed down with a sip of tea, and was presented with a partially eaten pocket, with chunks of fruit and melted cheese. A bite of that was consumed, and he found himself echoing Zevran’s happy groan. After that they worked their way through the satchel’s contents, and he even dared the pocket that had blue peppers in it. Oddly his tongue was numb enough and easily cooled by the tea thinned milk that it wasn’t unpleasant, even though it made him break out in a sweat. Afterwards he felt cooler, even if his mouth was warmer than he thought he would like. And he was slightly light-headed, almost as though he had taken a little puff of ganja, a mild euphoria buzzing in through his body. 

“You like it?” licking fingers free of a bit of grease, golden irises twinkling at him.

Flopping back on the mattress,“I think so...but what did Len say when he spun around in a circle and forgot to watch the spot on the wall...’I’m busy [dizzy]’? It’s like that.” Ferox was so stuffed that the muscle running along from his neck to shoulder ached. Yet, if another of those things was produced, he would make a heroic effort to eat every bite. 

Zevran burped contentedly, finishing the coffee, then the tea, rolling onto his side, legs hanging off the bed, “Mmmn that is the spices, yes? It makes the blood flow better and helps the air from your lungs travel to the brain quickly. Secretly I have always thought that that must be why we Antivans are a friendly lot, no?”

“Because of the spices? Or the quick blood and air?” Interesting to think that something so small could affect the body that way, but look at what medicinal herbs he knew, there were certainly powerful ones in just that limited knowledge. 

“The spices cause the faster and more efficient blood flow and airflow, _querido_ ,” a hand waved in the air making shapes that had little to do with the explanation. “It keeps the gut healthy, the blood healthy, and so it keeps the mind healthy, yes? If it makes you feel good and tastes good, you eat it, yes? Mmn, and milk tea, ah...it has been so long since I had that. Strange that all it is, is water, milk and tea leaves, yes? But there is something about it that is not the same as milky tea in Ferelden, no?”

“The tea is not like the raspberry leaf or mint teas used in the south. As for the milk, Fereldens tend towards the fattier milks, with more milk solids in it...for cheese making as it’s one of the few ways to preserve milk for when the cow dries up. This seems to be a milk that the cream has been skimmed off.”

His husband wriggled on the bed, shedding clothes like a snake shed skin, to lay beside him, stroking his stomach, “There are things here I know you will wish to see, yes? The communal dairies, hmn? Usually a few blocks band together to care for and purchase milking animals, and every dairy has different cheeses, yes? When they have too many animals they sell some, or trade for a different one, or kill it and sell the meat, or sometimes sell it to butchers. There is a...a cheese maker’s guild, for the larger dairies to be part of, but those dairies are in the basin where our farms are. For a few coins they give tours. But the local street cheeses are good too. Much of them are soft and used for daily things, hmn? But many are also hard - some use mixed milks. A personal favourite is the ah...leftover cheeses. Where they take the dregs from the day’s milking, and pour all the kinds together to make cheese. Each batch is a little different from those. It is funny as it is wildly popular amongst the well to do. Some have herbs, some are made with fruits - oh, oh you will have to try some with mango in it, it is always good.”

“Cold duck - but with cheese instead of wine,” thinking it over, and even as full as he was, it did sound tempting. Taking the hands petting him, Ferox kissed the palms one at a time before releasing them, so very grateful that he had not looked at the nightmares just over that horizon and had not been gripped by them.

Zevran cuddled up to kiss his shoulder, though the room was becoming warmer, however the bed was surprisingly cool, “How did my - what was the word you used? Ah, yes, beauty - keep you awake, _querido_?” He sounded drowsy but not tired or even sleepy, more of a contented drift post coitus. “It is an odd thing to keep you up, yes?”

Ferox had thought that his rash confession had been overlooked. Nothing that he hadn’t said before, however. “No, not odd at all. You were most descriptive in the evocative images and eloquent sensations supplied.”

“Mmmn, I thought to share and give good dreams, yes? Not to keep you awake, _corizon,_ ” he bounced from the bed long enough to close the window and pulled a pan from a slot in the bed frame, checking what was apparently a pile of frostrock. “Is your side cool enough, _amora_? I could take some from my side of the bed and put them on yours, yes? The temperature will climb through the afternoon and since you did not sleep either, we should simply try to adjust to the hours kept here, hmn?”

Rubbing his face with a lazy hand, Ferox shifted and stretched his back on the oddly cool bed, “It is perfect. Was this something of your creation?”

He snorted, “No, I have my own modifications to do to make our future housing more comfortable for you and the others, _amora_. This is a trick of the rich or middle-class, as we sleep the hottest hours of the day, it is hard to sleep if one is too hot... Similar to the warm coal-pans and bricks, hmn? But the drawers are built into the frame, and if you were upon the floor you would see that there is an insulating box in the frame to keep the cool from sinking.”

Like the cooler boxes the duplicate had, only larger. Those worked by runes, these by frostrock, but were essentially the same. Did frostrock wear out? Or, for that matter, runes? If so, did they, or rather could they, be renewed, or revived? What would you call that? Or, was it something so distant in the future that a Warden, unless he had an eye towards leaving a legacy, really had to wonder about using either to depletion? _You mean someone with the lifespan of a dog. Hound, but yes._

“How long does a piece of frostrock last? Wouldn’t runes be more cost effective over time?” For that matter, did frostrock ‘grow’ like lyrium? And what caused that? Once upon a time all of the elves could use some form of magic, or so it was said. Was lyrium a pooling of that magic that was no longer being used? _Okay, that one hurt my head. You, stop thinking - Now._ “Is it possible to run out, of frostrock, firerock, or lyrium?” Ferox revealed how far his thoughts had skipped elsewhere.

“Well, here, few use such precious resources for bombs,” Zevran stirred the pan and grabbed an urn of water, dribbling it in before shoving the drawer closed. “It is too useful to waste, yes? A wealthy _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ will have a few vials of these to use for various things in their day to day lives. A very rich clan will have nearly everyone with a frostrock necklace to use when it is too hot, a bit of firerock to use in place of steel and flint - touch it to tinder and you have a fire, hmn? Here when miners find the crystals they are quickly separated from the other minerals, as the only way to ‘wear it out’ is to use it in a destructive process. Like making bombs or grinding it up. I suppose it eventually dissolves if one only has small pieces.” He climbed into the bed and sighed, tucking the silk blankets up around them, sealing in the cool that was radiating from the frame’s interior drawers. “If ground up and suspended in liquid, it will dissipate into the air, thus destroying or wearing it out, yes? However if one were to use some form of sealed container or tube in a loop, using gravity and pressure, it would stand to reason that it would only wear out if the tubing did, yes? That is something I have been thinking on. A way to make a room warmer or cooler, hmn? At the loft apartment where Taliesin, Rinna and I lived for so long, there is a kiln and jeweler's bench, I would like to make use of it, if there is room at Zama’s perhaps I will move it there. After all she could put down wards to contain any explosions and heal any accidents...” He laughed, “I am an alchemist far more than a metalworker, but I know enough to get myself in trouble, oh yes!” Zevran propped up to kiss him languorously before settling back down, “But all Crows must learn some of many trades, as infiltration can take many forms, no? I spent months as a scribe once, a chef for nearly a year, and an apothecary for many years if one were to add up the amount of time in that role over many places and jobs. So I know more than enough to at least build a model and test out some of these thoughts, and there is likely to be a few trustworthy individuals to discuss smithing’s intricacies more intimately with. If licenced properly we could have yet another form of business and export to Thedas, yes?”

Snorting, “And you might stay warm back home.”

“And you might stay cool here!” a finger poked him gently.

“It has certainly worked at the Peak and the Vigil for hot water, runes on one and a hot springs at the other.

“That is not so uncommon here though, _amora_ , else there would not be enough fuel and wood to keep we Antivans as clean and prune footed as we prefer. But what I am thinking is of free standing contraption, a form of box or fountain - fountains for cooling rooms, something else for warming, perhaps a fountain for that as well, but it would need replenishing more often,” he shrugged.

Ferox thought aloud, “That way it could be changed as to the season...if one lived somewhere where that was needed, or take it with them back and forth between here, where cold is wanted and elsewhere, for heat...or even from bedroom to office.” Scratching his head, “That could be yet another side business. I’ve been thinking for some time that there aren’t enough of us to do everything,” he caught up to where Zevran had been just a few moments before.

“We need exports, _amora_ , other than the runestones, yes?” his husband tucked his head on Ferox’s shoulder. “Weapons and heavy armour - that Fereldans are very good at, no? And we are building upon the runestones, but with the amount of elemental rocks that our miners are starting to pull up, there is much that can be done. Both to make the lives of Fereldans easier in the here and now, but also to bring in trade and put out trade. A legacy for Len and Iona, hmn? To leave the country better than we found it... Though, truly? It would not have taken much!”

“I suggested exporting darkspawn, but for some reason no one really wanted them...although wouldn’t that be interesting for blood magic? If only...no wait, I take it back, I don’t want Tevinter any closer.” He wasn’t going to argue that Ferelden needed something, but then, didn’t it always? Never ending. _Isn’t that why you took on this task? What are you talking about? Well, you’ll never be bored and would rather die in the traces, being helpful. That’s cheery, Ferox the Ever Friendly and Generous. Now you’re just being mean, bad enough being the frelling Hero. So you’d rather be Ferox the Cranky and Obstinate? Uh, I thought that was your title already? Oh put a sock in it. Can’t - the socks were put away._

With the bed cooling and his stomach slowly digesting, Ferox sighed, aggravated with himself and yet physically, entirely comfortable. Remembering something, he gathered Zevran closer, “What’s behind the red door?”

“ _Home_ ,” a leg slid over his, the foot stroking his shin and calf. “Zamitie lives there, but if I had gone in, it would have taken a team of horses to pry me away from her skirts, yes? I paid a little street child to run a message to her, to tell her we are here. Though I had wished to simply tell her myself, hmn?”

Curious, “Will we go? Or are you hoping she will come to you?”

He snorted, “Zama does not go to people, they come to her. Something in her code of ethics, unless specifically requested, she does not go. Else she would be exhausted from constant healing and Working. She goes to _La Villa Bonita_ to keep an eye on the health of my slaves and the plantation, and some brothels and poorer quarters upon request, yes? We will go to her.”

“Nap first then. I’ll not hear it said that I’ve run you ragged over Antiva.” _No, you just do other things. Sigh. So fix it, we’ve already talked about this. ‘cept for the part where we come up with something to actually do to fix it. The stop fighting part was something you could do, well not do. Trying to work on that..._

There was a throaty chuckle, “Hmmn, yes, but I think I need a snack, _amora_.”

 _Snack? But we just -_ “Snaa-?” cut off by a mouth on his and hands moving over his torso, then further down made even the usual obstreperous part of his mind quiet. 

He was too full and too drowsy to participate much, not that it seemed to matter. Full mouth made its way slowly down him, making a beeline for his groin, and the contented sounds from beneath the sheets had Ferox groaning in time with the licking and very gentle nipping. The silk of Zevran’s hair spilled over Ferox’s thighs, the sensation of being nuzzled at before being swallowed, then drawn back to lick the sides or rub a cheek to his quickly shown interest, was like the last bite of perfection or last swig taken from the crock of tea - a good end to a good moment. Rippled roof of mouth slid against his crown, a hand grasping the base and massaging and twisting the skin with the motion, the wet ring at the back of a relaxed throat milked him slowly, vibrating with a pleased hum, sending shivers through Ferox’s body. He hadn’t realized how pent up he had been from the sharing of the city and senses so his orgasm struck him by surprise, even as his assassin made a happy sound pulling back to taste his seed as it spurted out in short bursts while Ferox had to grit his teeth or risk thrusting his hips up forcefully, breathing heavily through his nose as he shuddered. 

A growl that could only be considered ‘chubby’ came from Zevran as he scuttled towards the headboard, knees on either side of his chest, hands stroking Ferox’s face, presenting him with a straining and weeping length. Grabbing weakly for those slim hips, Ferox pulled them closer to reach and ran his tongue over the ridge, sweeping the droplets that had leaked from the winking opening that had coated the gold hoop. Above him, his lover had to grab the headboard one handed, the other plunging into his hair, massaging his scalp as the hips arched forward, pushing between his lips but not deep enough to force, the sounds and feeling from the amulet only begging for him. Working his way up, the hand in his hair supporting him as he stroked the hard line of flexing buttocks, Ferox glanced up to see warm golden orbs staring down on him, before they closed and a hiss came as the pulse began. Apparently neither of them were going to last long. Mouth filling with salt, he suckled and worked the last of it free while Zevran finished with a quiet snarl, rocking away in a heap.

“Mmn, huzzah for bedtime snacks, yes?” snickering as he fumbled back under the covers to get situated and kiss him.

_Huzzah indeed..._


	36. Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters

Crimson, a colour made from the dried bodies of kermes insects that ate the sap of the evergreen oak trees, despite the source, was a beautiful colour. Taking roll call again, everyone present and accounted for, Ferox still questioned bringing the entire family all at once. Zevran was insistent, and there was no changing his mind however. And other than asking if he was certain, Ferox was trying to abide by his own directive of not fighting. Whether that was originally of Zevran or just himself, he was trying to avoid struggling with either - one was more difficult than the other. 

The younger two children had played out most of their excitement, mostly in the fountain pool in the courtyard with Light looking on. Having tired themselves out a bit, perhaps all would go well. As he looked at the mabari at his feet, the more Ferox thought about it, the more he didn’t believe that Lightning had Imprinted on him at all. It was him and Fergus all over again... _Well not like that. Okay, not like that at all_, except for the belief that the Imprint was on Len. Or, if she hadn’t actually re-Imprinted on anyone, she had made a choice to be with them, to have a family of her own, to have importance and place again. Which was more than understandable.

Little things clearly showed Zevran’s excitement, even to others not so connected. Len eventually helped himself to the amulet on his other father’s wrist and began to seek answers. _Don’t be a Warden, my boy. I don’t wish to see it. Any path but that. But, he’d be like Sig, easily getting others to do what is needed. I meant not a Joined Warden. Like Zevran? That might be tolerable. True, non-Joined, I wouldn’t fear so much. Ah, well. His choice, regardless._

Helping the girls down from the rickshaw, that dark red door in the sky blue building was there, the one previously observed from Zevran’s own eyes. The little lifeboat of the family gathered or brought about by his lover’s actions, had arrived at another shore. As the door swung open a gust of wind that was not physical passed over them, embracing and kissing them with the scent of sweet flowers and tea with a hint of ozone. Zevran ushered the girls in first, Len on his hip as he explained, showing images quickly to their son, Sarah with Ulfric and stroking his head, Moira had slipped her hand into the crook of Ferox’s arm, while Armand went last as Light had gone first. Inside was a large sitting room, with madcap fanciful cushions strewn everywhere, and a Dalish hunter was sitting there, smoking from a heavily carved bone pipe, adding his own perfume to the air.

“ _Anath ara lethallin,_ cousins, Zamitie is in the kitchen,” he pointed with the pipe’s mouthpiece, then to their feet, “Shoes off if you please, else it will be my ears, neh?”

Zevran was already busily toeing his off while working on Len’s one handed, who was looking down at the brown hand inquisitively, as always, fascinated by the motion. The others followed suit, himself included, while Armand merely nodded at the elf and took a post by the door, and forewent removing his own boots. A huge form came barrelling out and Light began to stand then immediately flopped down, and arms snapped around Zevran, and Len, squeezing.

“Papi!” all Ferox could note even as he had already moved to intercept, was red hair, tall, so tall, and loose pants and a vest, long, long golden limbs, and tattoos running down the length of them. A gabble of information, shared through the amulet was too fast for Ferox to understand as languages clashed and mixed, elvish, some staccato tongue that he knew must be the mentioned horseclannish, what seemed to be an archaic form of Antivan, and Common all at once. “Papi, Papi,” a spill of words with the excited keen of nearly childlike glee.

“Slow down!” Zevran laughed, “Now what is this? You are not three years old, this is not our first meeting - why must you call me this? Never mind, we can talk about that later and I can scold you - I wish you to meet my family, Ani. Ani - this is Ferox, my husband,” a hand was waved, reaching out to grab and drag him forward and Ferox found himself squeezed hard enough that the air fled his lungs, and kisses plunked on his cheeks as the huge form leaned down enough to do so, “Moira - _she is with child, be careful!_ ” he snapped even as the young woman had moved on, cooing and touching Moira’s loose hair, “Sarah, and her son Ulfric, Nan, Elissa and Eleanor are the lovely girls there, and this young man in my arms is my son Len. Light already has gone on it seems, and back there, the silent statue is Armand, yes?”

All Ferox could gather from the whirlwind was that the young woman was Anicada, the daughter who was ‘a little bit older than him’, and had given Zevran her first baby tooth when it had fallen out. Ani that liked horses. And bows. _And apparently takes after her father... Maker...I’m going to need to invest in coffee or brownies. Large quantities of them to survive parenthood with his brood... Although if this keeps up, a scorecard might be helpful. Weren’t we talking about genealogies? No, please. Don’t get them started._

“Now, who is this man here, and why are _you_ here, Ani?” the tone was friendly as everyone was ushered to sit, but Ferox knew it was entirely deceptive.

“My man, Uailil, is here because I am,” Ani said simply leaving for a moment and returning with a huge tray, as the Dalish hunter came back out with another one on his shoulder. “And we are here because we live here.”

Zevran blinked very slowly and smiled, “I see, that is interesting, yes?”

She grinned quickly, “That would be amongst other things to speak of once the others are having their tea.” 

Ferox managed a sip of his before Zevran had finished his, standing and motioning for him to go with Ani, while Uailil entertained the rest of the family. Into a huge open room, the smells of foods in grand quantity, a table laden with plates that were covered and another tall woman, hair wrapped up and away from her face was leaning over, cooking madly. She spared them not a glance, waving for Ani to continue leading them up a flight of stairs and into another room with a crib.

“Papi, I wish for you to meet two very important people,” it was said with only a hint of nervousness, her hand reaching down into the high walled crib.

“Ani,” Zevran warned. “I am not -”

She came up with a small babe, blonde with small ears, perfectly sculpted. Very pointed, very elven ears. Ani tickled one of them, making it flicker and the baby huffed awake, then seeing it was only his or her mother, held back the crying. “You are a grandfather. You both are, my fathers, grandfathers now for five months. This is your granddaughter, Fymatisha, Fymie for short.” 

Ferox caught Zevran as he swayed, “What...”

“She’s got your ears,” he supplied helpfully.

His spouse was trembling, leaning against him heavily as the small girl was handed off to him, eyes of a sunny yellow amber, much paler than Zevran’s blinked at them curiously, while Anicada picked up the other child. “And this is Varane, your other granddaughter. When I saw them, I knew that what I had always suspected was true, Papi. You can speak your denials, but you cannot ignore those ears, those eyes. Nor can how I am, be ignored either.”

“Maker...they are...they are beautiful,” Zevran whispered. “You...you were not supposed to know Ani. For your protection, yes? Why are you here, why in this city? It is not...”

“We are Free Blades, Papi,” Anicada shrugged. “I am a second captain of fifty riders. Uailil is first leader of his scouting patrol. The same company, different units. We have been given leave for two years to see to our daughters. And life - life is not safe, Papi. It is a terminal disease of which we all die. Best to enjoy it.”

_’Not that I know all of the parties involved, but can’t imagine that her mother is very happy, if it was supposed to be a secret.’_

_’No, no she would not be, not at all.’_ A kiss was touched to a tiny nose then he traded for the other girl, examining her closely, checking fingers and toes, and smiling helplessly at tiny nails. “Fewrlin must be pleased, hmn?”

“I left to look for you when the Blight was taking hold of Ferelden, and found that you had gone seeking death, unlikely to return. I could not leave Abuella alone to suffer that loss, nor my own, so I took contract with the Free Blades,” the shoulder of her robe slid down, casually baring a tattooed breast and Fymatisha was set to the nipple. “What she has to say or feel about it is not my concern. While she did come for the birthing, upon seeing the girls, she left. Her rejection does not burn, it was long since obvious that she and I are not of the same minds. Put it from you and be unworried, I have all the family and clan that I require. Besides, I have always been your daughter, my wandering ways and thirst for knowledge are not the same as the clan under her guidance. Perhaps when she is older, I may return.”

“She’s an adult, Grandpapi. Let it go.” _Better you than me. Wait - she said you’re her father too... Oh boy that’s awkward. Nope, not gonna happen...she’s about your age. Nooo - I remember, she’s **a bit older** than me. No grandfather here. Nope, nope._

Fymatisha turned her head away with a burp and moist pop from the nipple, to be burped once more, then was passed to Ferox, “Give greetings to your grandfather Fymie, it is only polite.” She took Varane and set her to suckle, rocking her lightly while Ferox held Fymatisha gingerly. “It is good for them to know their kin.”

“Sorry little one. Zevran is all the Grandpapi you need, that and he’s used to being the old man here. You’ll have to stick with calling me Uncle Fox just like the rest of them.”

Milk scented breath came out with a quiet burp and the little face wrinkled up at him as though telling him he was crazy. The expression was so typically Zevran that he had to laugh, the sound which made both girls stare at him more, and little limbs bobble. 

“If Papi claims you as his husband, then yes, you are their grandfather,” Anicada was firm. “That is how family works, father. Unless you dissolve your situation with him, a father to me is what you will be and be honoured by me as.”

 _Just wait until you hear about the Harpy._ “While I may counsel Zevran to not argue with you, I believe in flinging myself at immovable objects regularly. Even my own son attempts to stick me with the name, Uncle Fox. Grandfather, father, or no, I would prefer it as there is no disrespect given or received by it.”

 _’You have no idea how many years it took for us to get her to stop calling me ‘papi’, **amora** ,’_ amused. _’You might be stuck, hmn? It was when she was about twenty-nine, my last visit, when she finally relented...’_

_’I may grow selectively deaf. As for you, old man, congratulations.’_

_’Mph, you do not need to grow selectively deaf, you are already most of the time, yes?’_ Zevran grunted, while carefully lifting up Varane to place her on his shoulder, rubbing her back. “What of your man’s clan then, hmn? Twins no less, do you know how...”

“Of that I am aware, Papi,” she was readjusting some of the bedding and grabbed a very large quilted blanket that was more of a rug, motioning for them to proceed her. “It is your blood that does it, Abuella says. It is strong and flows well from your line, refusing denial when it is in place.”

_’Wait ‘til you tell her about Moira and the twins’_

The steps were taken carefully, _’She already thinks all the children must spring from my loins, including Ulfric, hmn? Half that conversation was about myself and not taking precautions...’_

Rumbled laughter like thunder on the horizon rolled out of him before Ferox could think better of it and keep it internalized. _’A very busy old man. How did you fight the Blight if you were so exhausted and how did you haul all of these fine women with us without anyone observing them?’_

_’Apparently I am ‘magical’, yes?’_

The children were fascinated by the two little girls with their wiggly ears and small limbs, while Light was busily sniffing around the place, a velvety ear pricked towards the play blanket. Everyone had eaten their fill, even Moira whose stomach was touchy, found that the hotter the sauce, the better, at one point snagging a bowl of blue sauce for herself and drowning everything in it even as she sweated and turned pink all over. Uailil eventually coaxed Armand in to eat, the two warriors comparing scars and discussing different terrains. At least that was as much as Ferox could follow. The meal itself was strange and bizarre, everyone eating from large communal dishes, small bowls by their elbows to rinse sticky fingers in, glasses upon glasses of poured tea or juice or milky fruit mixtures that were slightly fizzy and salty but soothed the heat of a too hot tongue when needed. Nan had been hesitant at first with the foreign food but even she settled in with some simple rice and meat, using bread to scoop it up and laughing every time bits of it fell free. Ferox just did his best to not get up and flee and to focus on his food as the conversations rose and fell around him. Only the occasional question posed to him required input, but there was a frequent touch to his thigh or back or a head laid on his shoulder, while inside his mind a contented feline rolled about showing belly and purring so loud it was like the roar of a waterfall. He was allowed to be present in the storm but there was no demand he partake, except when a small one would crawl into his lap to be held, or a tiny mixed blood granddaughter was passed to him. The girls were extremely docile, as though this tumult was nothing to be afraid of, instead making noises or bopping an arm or kicking legs in response, cooing and giggling, the rare angry sound had to be communication that they did not agree with something, far too alert, far too aware, unlike anything Ferox had ever seen before. 

_Well, based on Zevran’s senses, which he overloaded you with a time or two, he can hear everything in the city and smell it too. That was funny. Why thank you, thought of it myself. However, if you really could hear everything...at least in the house, wouldn’t this be too loud? Too much for me...but you can ask him. Later._ Distracted thusly, Ferox’s shoulders had not crawled in his ears, he had not r-u-n-n-o-f-t, nor had he growled at anyone - yet, the day was still young in that regard.

 _Is this what Moira’s copy of Zevran is going to act like? Now that’s interesting. How will the copy affect what the other children notice? Good question. Well, you’re the one who wanted a part deux. What? You don’t? Oh no, no - you won’t trap me with that question. I’m on to your wily ways,_ remembering the images of Zevran little and dancing or playing in the street. He had wanted that, to see that, to hold that close, to cherish a living creature that was an extension of his sun. _Right, so why are you complaining now? I’m not complaining... Uh-huh. Try a different one and maybe some village idiot might believe you. Okay, fine, just think about all the mischief a miniature Zevran could get up to and with that personality, talk the others into... Uh, have you ever paid attention to oh, I don’t know, Len? You know, Ser Find-Your-Knives-And-Play-With-Them? Ser Steal-Things-From-Locked-Boxes? Ser Child-With-A-Thousand-Fingers? Although he was very helpful when Zevran was unavailable and you couldn’t find the key... Maker. You win. So we’ll wind up with two rogues. No, no, likely all of them, except Eleanor and Ulfric who seem to be hellbent on being all orderly or knightly. Oh Maker... You can say that again. Fine - Oh Maker. That wasn’t emphatic enough, besides, I was being sarcastic._

Somehow space was made, or had mostly been made beforehand, appearing far too ready for Ferox’s tastes, as what had once been two storage rooms had been converted, another room formerly a library he was informed, and extra armour stands and weaponsracks had been brought in to the salle. It looked as though weeks of planning had been made rather than a single evening. Not only that, but all the rooms had been outfitted with bowls of frostrock, keeping the tall, loft style townhouse much cooler than the villa had been. Fresh sheets and bedding, trunks for personal items, all were in place. In a room that was obviously Zevran’s, just from the smell of it, a strange hanging incense burner leaked fragrant smoke the entire time they had been there, had bookshelves shuffled in, it seemed like. Toys were all over one side of the main room downstairs’ floor, fit for little boys and a hanging loom was in place, an apothecary's bench, and outside, Ferox had spied a set of woodworking tools, a strange kiln for fire-hardening things amongst all the planters filled with plants, and a stables in the back... Space had been made, obviously so, just for them. For _all_ of them, though the flock would not be contained there, that much was clear, even if space was provided for one or two.

_’When exactly did you send that message?’_

_’Shortly before I returned to the villa, and Ignacio’s homing pigeon was sent a day or so before we made landfall, **querido** ,’_ deftly changing a tiny gold bottom and dusting it with a sprinkle of some soothingly scented powder and giving it a quick blow, scattering the excess. _’Why?’_

 _’You wouldn’t be wearing an amulet with her name on it, would you?’_ thinking of the healer’s ability to be able to sense them, as his own hands were busy with Varane’s nappy or was it Fymie? They were hard to tell apart. _What had she said, two days out? Still that wouldn’t have been enough time to ready all of this. Unless others have longer ranges, like Zevran._

The soft linen was fastened deftly, the girl was left naked except for the nappy to kick and be fascinated by tattoos and ears, _’Ah, no. She is not a Warden, which you well know, else you would have sensed her yourself. Zama always knows where I am, or so it has seemed, yes? A mother’s instinct she calls it. Or perhaps because of the magic she Worked to bring me to life and cause my first breath, hmn? I do not know.’_

Until the bit of jewelry had been introduced, he hadn’t even considered tracking anything with his mind, then when shown that he could contact other Wardens, that widened the world further. No, the Zama wasn’t a Warden, but his experience was limited in this realm...magic, or what appeared to be magic. Considering that thoughts were being shared because of some blood, didn’t rest exactly easily, so he had long given up thinking about it. Unlike what the Chantry and the Templars would have one believe, he hadn’t been tempted beyond what he had already turned down years ago... _Except for your own personal king of the Desire demons. I knew you would bring that up. Which brings us back to being in the Fade. Wait a frelling minute, I couldn’t have made up even half of what has happened in the last two days. True. I mean, would you make up him saying that you were selective in your hearing? I wasn’t listening to that, and if I did hear it, it was because you called him old twice...actually, three times in a very short period of time. Sounds like the comment on loss of hearing was deserved._

“Interesting to consider that the uncles and/or aunts of these two have yet to be born. Are families here normally as mixed up as what you have gathered? Or am I looking at the tip of a boulder that has yet to be uncovered?” 

A small hand was smooched, and a trio of ears wriggled happily, the girl in his own arms looking up at Ferox expectantly, offering a very tiny pink foot, which he blew on, earning a disappointed frown, while Zevran leaned over to kiss the miniscule toes. “For the average, freeborn Antivan family...? Yes, this would be madness.” He was chuckling, eyes dancing merrily, “But for the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ \- no. Relations are fluid. For units such as the Free Blades, or the Crows, or places with slaves - family is what is present, yes? But the _Ga’hals_ take the mercurial and make it normal, hmn? In many ways, not unlike the Wardens, yes? ‘Join us brothers and sisters’ if my memory serves me correctly. Such gatherings are not solely the purview of Wardens.”

“I have always said, the doors should be open in that regard. Even Sten called his traveling companions his brothers...although he might have been literal in that regard. Bonds are formed with those who are family and not formed with those who technically are family.” Trying to wrap his mind around the differences in the groups and finally resorting to travel, risk, and companionship as the basis for forming odd extended families. “So, because you are the patriarch of this little band, is that why all of the children belong to you...or are of your creation? Or am I reading something into it that isn’t there?”

Zevran cocked his head, “No, it was simply thought likely because I said Len was mine, yes? And Moira has dark hair and blue eyes... Leaving most of them possibly being mine if they did not take after my looks. Or so I think she thought, hmn? Though just as easily all of them could be yours, with all this dark hair and sweetly quizzical expressions truthfully.”

Putting the little girl on his shoulder so she could eye her Grandpapi as they descended, “Oh that’s helpful, at least in regards to giving me heartburn. I would rather think of you well fed and rested enough to reproduce with your harem of females. Although, none of them carry your eyes or ears as this pair does.”

He shrugged, “No elfblood, yes? Though it is possible that spontaneously it might carry over, but honestly, some elf has to be in there somewhere on both sides I think.” Fymie had managed to get a hold of Ferox’s braid and was rubbing it over her face, gumming slightly on the tip before hugging it. “I think you have a fan, _amora_.”

Turning his head slightly to wink at her, he brought out ‘Earle’, “Tha’s rite, little ‘un. Now tell Unka Fox how purty he is,” and softly kissed Fymie’s cheek. There was more than one way to get rid of the title Grandfather. Cruel to stick that name on someone who was just beginning to have his own children. He wasn’t looking to have grey hair this early on. Even if he found one the other day - Ferox still denied its existence, which was easier to deny now that it was no longer there and quickly discarded.

Fymie cooed, head wobbling into the kiss, her voice soft and warm already, hinting at what would come in many years from now.

It all seemed a little too precise, a little too perfect and well prepared. He had already indicated this earlier and received the response that the ‘Zama knows’. Suspicions were already raised because of the healer’s directions to be here, Zevran’s hidden preparations, and then everything being ready for them. The trap was too neat. _No ser, I don’t like it._ Ferox didn’t like being led, but this was worse because he was working on the directive of not fighting...which meant that he was fighting that, or fighting not fighting, if that made any sense, which it didn’t, not even in his own head. 

Passing the proud Grandpapi the other little girl, Ferox went outside to have some air. The boys running around with Ani, as Moira took a nap, curled up like a kitten, a hand over her stomach, while on a mound of cushions, Sarah and Nan were helping Uailil clean up, and Armand’s almost playful discourse with the girls was too much for him to handle, his discomfort at how perfectly cozy everything was, making him too wary to be neck deep in it all. Sitting at the workbench, Ferox made sure not to disturb any of the many tools as he sought to assimilate everything, barely seeing the green growing things, or noting the large open box stalls with their equine occupants.

He didn’t notice Zamitie until she announced herself, slowly pacing away from the back of a stall, dusting her hands off, handsome and willowy, “And what brings you to this humble garden, Warden?”

If she had been a man, she would have been almost a rival for his emperor of the Desire demons. The strong jaw, broad cheekbones, high forehead, not to mention the sheer size of her or those wide shoulders, all of which would not have been out of place on a man, made her a handsome woman. A powerful one, beyond simple looks, striking with some strange enigmatic quality that Wynne had sought to mimic, but had only been a poor copy. Almost a touch of the ageless knowledge that Flemeth had reeked of, the wildness of Morrigan, but ancient without being old, tempered by time, exuding serenity from every pore. 

To the garden? “Air.” That answer he knew. The answer to why this _particular_ garden, house, city - that was more complicated and somehow he knew that was the real question being asked. _You’re doing that fighting thing again. I don’t know what ground is under my feet. Leave me alone._

“Air - it is a thing that is everywhere. It surrounds us, it moves through us, it sustains us in some small way,” closer she came, gracefully sinking to haunches before a stepped set of planters, palms caressing leaves, which shuddered, droplets of blood forming over those leaves, then dribbling down into the soil. From there there was a burst from that particular plant, berries forming on it as she kept her gaze upon it, lips moving silently. Once the berries had grown to the size of a thumbnail, they were plucked free and the plant seemed to shrink back to the state it had been in before it had been coaxed to bear fruit. She dunked the berries into a bucket of water, then presented the perfect fruits to him, spread across her large hands, “Everything is a balance, a struggle and surrender, the cycle repeating itself endlessly. It began before we were born, it will carry on after we pass.”

Taking one of the fragile jewels, Ferox examined the berry closely. Although he was curious as to what plant it was and the type of berries and several other dozen questions all plant related, the snort was out before he thought, “Next you’ll be telling me that we are the universe. Made to experience thought...the healer’s favourite topic when she thinks I’m not listening.”

“And were you listening with more than your ears or not?” Zamitie sat beside him, upending the berries into a fold of her dress-robe-thing, before selecting one and popping it into her mouth. “If you were not, then of course someone with knowledge would seek to instruct...but if the soul and mind and heart are unwilling to hear, then there is naught to do but allow them to fail from their own foolishness until they learn to listen.”

Savouring the taste and texture for a moment in hopes that it would indicate what family of plant it was related to that he had experience with, it reminded him of wolfberries which were very popular with birds. Often they were dried and used as any other dehydrated fruit in the winter. “I don’t know if I believe it or not, but the idea puts into perspective everything I try to do. It’s either very important or not at all.”

“Or perhaps it is important to those around you who find value in your actions, but mean little to you beyond simply being an activity to try your hand at until you are bored,” she was definitely some kind of maleficar, that had been obvious, but she didn’t seem to be using her magic for anything in particular, not beyond the creation of the berries. “Importance is a thing that cannot be defined by others who are not exposed, only by those who are near.”

“I don’t recall giving up on a task because of boredom - I enjoy seeing things through to the end. However, if someone is found who fits the role better than myself, I will give the task to them as they are the right piece in that place.” Although, he was being guarded in his answers, Ferox was trying to be thorough when the knowledge was there. “As to what is important...I try to do what is in front of me and as much as I can that I am aware of. There’s not enough of me, and if I let myself think of everything that needs attention, I would - ” _What? Finish going mad? That seems a little extreme. Keep spreading yourself thinner and thinner until you vanish or finally snap for good? Sounds mad to me. No one asked you,_ “ - take on yet another task.” 

Rubbing his forehead with thumb and fingers as if chasing away a headache, Ferox was very aware that he was sinking fast and had lost sight of the shore, “Being bored has never been my problem...there is too much to do, too many to save, too many lives to make better, too many to feed, educate, and care for. If everything was suddenly done, Ferelden would have no more use for me.” _There would be no more reason to, what? To live? To keep walking? No one would want you anymore and why would they? My usefulness would be done. Might keep you around in case something goes wrong. Doubtful - no one thinks that far ahead. Well, I won’t hang around sticking my nose into things just to find something to do. No, you’d go climb a Tower. I thought that we weren’t supposed to think of those cause it makes him upset?_

Ferox felt rather than heard his own sigh, _Maker. Your foot is so firmly wedged in this trap, it’s going to have to be amputated._ Getting to his feet and reaching to his manners, “Pardon me for disturbing you, as I said, I need air...perhaps a walk would be more appropriate.” A shrugged apologetic confession, again giving more than he knew he ought, on top of what had already been said. “I am not good company.”

There was a note of command, gentle, but undeniable, “Ferox, have a seat. Whether your company is ‘good’ or ‘not good’ is not up to you, but to those who are in your company. If not boredom then, cowardice, running away from everything unless it holds you fast, running is easier, or sabotaging what is there that is important to you...easier by far to know when it ends and end it yourself, rather than the uncertainty... Sit, Ferox Algere Cousland. I would know the man who holds my child’s life in his hands. I would know just how damaged you are and what threat you pose to him - in full.”

Hand shaking and breathing harsh, _Confinement - a leash, a box, blood, chains, even words or a ship - removed choice._ “I will answer your questions,” but he made no step to return or walk away. _Remember that no fighting advice you were given...well not really advice, more of an instruction._

“No, I will answer yours,” she passed him another berry and he sought to resist but her eyes were swirling hypnotically, something he hadn’t noticed until they proved to be such a strange slate green. “For it is your lack of understanding that will instruct me best. I know your history, I know words upon pages that have been read to me. I know what my child has gone through for years to remain by your side. No, I have no questions for _you_ , but your ignorance will show me where the disease in you lies, and that will be where I start. Your Taint has clearly been slowed, pushed back, I can See that. But there are other things in your mind that are worse than the Taint by far. Speak now and I will listen and answer as I may.”

He always had questions, it was his only entertainment while being confined or limited in his movements. Ferox did not ponder the universe, as he tended to stay with more practical matters, when he wasn’t attacking or finding himself frightened by the horrors he came up with. So many, where to start? “Which topic would you like to hear?” _Where is that gate out of the garden? Hello? The no fighting rule applies._

“You are the one with questions, it is your decision where you wish to start. Let it flow.”

Wracking his mind on why he was here, Ferox followed a thread of possible loss, tracking it to where he had given up. “What is wrong in Kirkwall? Why do the Wardens gather there? What is so important? Is it something that will affect Ferelden...my Ferelden? I know that this is a useless line of thought because I don’t know enough about it, yet when I am confined, it is one of the directions my thoughts go.” _Will my own Wardens be taken from me and become lost there?_

“The only person confining you is yourself. Kirkwall is many places and none. A series of folds in paper to make a fan, that is what the world is. When pressed tightly together, the connections between the same space are close together, mirror images and yet reversed,” Zamitie took his hand, pulling him to sit back down, something shooting through the touch, a serene languor. “There has to be some driving force of great power keeping all those places tight and close. I have never been there, nor ever wish to be, no person in their right mind goes there for long. As to whether it will affect Ferelden, yours or any others’, I do not think it has much of anything to do with power in terms of...monarchical. Not from what I have been told, not from what I have asked to others similar to myself. A...person...or entity...desires something strongly enough that it is able to hold the borders close.” 

“Flemeth is there, or so I have been told by the healer - “

“Flemeth? Oh I never did like that hag,” she shook her head. “But yes, within her vast powers, this is possible. Yet it is not her way, she prefers the use of agents. Pawns to move here and there, delicately in a pattern that is never truly revealed, no matter how many pieces are found and defined. No, what is present is heavy handed. Powerful but unskilled. Indelicate and ugly. Sloppy, untrained in the matters and manners of doing this.” 

_Hello former pawn. Yes, I know, knew. I just hope it’s former. That would explain the great joy in killing her. Um, hate to burst the bubble, but she’s not dead. Fine. Temporarily incapacitating her for at least a minute._ “Flemeth healed me too.” Without thought his fingers ran along the crack in his skull. “Pretty sure it was just so someone would take Alistair away...” Shaking his head, “I find it very convenient that the healer tells me to come see you...but then she seems to be attached to Zevrans, so maybe it’s just because _he_ wants to be here.” Sighing, “I’m not saying that I don’t wish to be here, but I wouldn’t be here on my own without him, instructions or not, given by someone who may or may not in their right mind.” _How long has she been there, is that part of the reason she’s broken?_

“You would not be much of anywhere without him,” bluntly. “You may tell your healer this - someone of great power, but little skill, wishes something personal and will stop at nothing to get it. Because this entity has little finesse it is possible that it can be sidestepped, perhaps even thwarted.” She cocked her head, ropes of hair slithering and chiming, “Many hundreds of years ago a great cataclysm sundered the land near Kirkwall, there is something sealed deep within, it is this that fuels whatever this entity is. However, once it gets what it wants, it may accidentally release whatever is sealed, and to say that this would be unfortunate would be speaking like _mi gatito_.”

“I don’t know the details, Zevran does, but the story is that a duplicate of his is being held hostage there and the healer keeps him company. Having seen enough of that, I don’t wish my own people to find their way there.” He shook his head. “I went to Kirkwall on my own the first time at Zevran’s urging. When the little healer indicated that it was safe, apparently ‘safe’ means having the ability to come and go, we have taken two other trips there. But the duplicate doesn’t have that option.”

Clearing his throat as he thought to clarify a point, “I don’t wish to argue, as I am trying to give it up, but when I met Zevran, it appeared that he had a death wish. I thought that I was saving a life that was going to be ended by my inaction.”

“And held yourself and himself in a forced stasis for years, wasting away,” the serenity was still there, but he felt a faint snap of anger directed at him, something that Zevran rarely, if ever, showed. But then again, this was his assassin’s mother for all intents and purposes. “To think his death wish was bad then, you are blind. Now it is greater, but he is not like other men, he was not made that way. None who contributed their blood and bone to him were. _Mi gatito_ as you know him, will die with you. He dies more each day, and each time he fails to stem the tide of the disease you cleave to, as he seeks and pours himself into holding back from the mind you hold between your ears. And still you throw yourself at the path directly before you, though it is blocked, rather than surrender and close your eyes, allowing someone who is not afraid of heights to guide you along the path to healing. The pain you cling to is a disease and all that remains of what you lost. To finally let it go would be to let them go. Until you can learn to trust him fully to guide your footsteps around that which blocks the path before you, to see nothing else but the light that glimmers to a road away, what life you have will only be this repetitive pain. And you will do what you are doing now - wasting what time you have. Love and life are precious things, gifts unlike any other, capable of making or breaking a soul or mind. To hold them at arm's length, continuously looking for some trap it is...”

She was using _words_ , words with weight. Like they had been plucked from his mind. _Maybe they were. Don’t think about that, Maker, please don’t think about that._

“This suspicion of anything good is unhealthy. You sit out here, looking about warily for where the enemy lies. You are sitting out here, when your life is already short. Looking around, _peering_ , searching for the threat, simply because it is too happy here, and happiness makes you paranoid.” Zamitie’s grip on his wrist was strong and it squeezed, her fingers over the veins in his wrists. Each word was enunciated clearly, “This is no doubt the last time I will see my son before I pass on, I will not live much longer. When he leaves, no matter if he returns here, I will not be alive. Perhaps in a year or two, or even ten. Yes. My time is not at hand. But he will never leave your side. Not ever again. The _man_ cannot survive more than a day or two without you. And when you die, he will become the Crow, and the man will die with you. But I will long since be gone. So of course I wish this to be perfect. I wish his memories to be good, for what little damage _I_ can prevent. Not only that, but I would like to see him happy, when most of what I have felt is a vast weariness and agony. So you are ruining it with your paranoia. Cease. You harm not just him, but yourself, and all who actually care for you."

Growling the words, struggling not to actually snarl outright, “I have released him multiple times and I did not gather this lifeboat of people he has collected. That said, he stated that he’s not bound to me, that a promise has been given to Len and the sibling who hasn’t joined us yet.” _Your improvements are not enough. Again you are inadequate to the task. Shut up, you sound like Sten._ “However, it is easy to say there are ‘no worries’, or stop being angry, or stop being afraid, as there is no actual action to take, it is difficult to do, despite intentions or desire to do so.”

“It is clear your awareness is muddied - this ‘lifeboat’ mentioned, a gift collected to heal you, it was not to give him joy, but you. Nor can you release what has been written in blood - that vow was for you no matter who holds it. You would not wish him to die and certainly not with you, and so it was made - to protect you, not just your son.” There was a hint of sarcasm, “ _Then ask for help rather than trying to do everything on your own_. You are a man and not a child, you have nothing to prove by doing things alone when they are too hard for you to do under your own power. Instead of waiting until a time when things are so overwhelming that there is no choice but to ask for help, think upon asking before that point.” All of it was stated firmly. “It is not about being not enough or seeking to be strong or any one thing. Learning to actually share and trust and ask for what is wished for, not just needed. If help is what you wish for, then ask for it. If you are uncertain, rather than suffer and mull it in the small dark space of your mind alone, seek the light, even if the route is frightening.”

Whatever it was going to be, was going to be the wrong thing to say. Agreeing or disagreeing, either way there was no air. To admit that things were better meant admitting they had been worse. To say that he would change, was the truth, but did not seem to be the right answer either, because aging was change. To go back and address earlier concerns was arguing again. _First you worked on trust...I thought we were doing well on that? Apparently not. Well, you laughed today. So what. In the big picture it means nothing. But what about the little picture? Are you taking lessons in speaking cryptically from Ani? Well at least it seems to be a family trait since all three of them do it... Why are we here again? Because Zevran wanted to come and you didn’t argue. Put that one on the list. What list? The list of things to do different. Ha ha. So if I’m not supposed to fight, not supposed to argue, and not supposed to get up and walk away so I don’t do either one of those things, what the frell is left? I think you’re left with the going mad part. Well, if it comes with a side of brownies, I’m all for it. As amusing as that thought is, what are you going to do here? Apparently wave a magic wand or go back in time, because the steps taken aren’t fixing anything or aren’t fast enough, I’ve forgotten which and since I’m you, I’m a little close to the subject matter to actually have an objective mind. About that trap, might want to cut that foot off, ‘cause you’re never gettin’ it out._

Sighing, knowing if he responded to that he would say something wrong, he asked a different question. “How did you know he was coming? You said you could...feel...him. How?”

“Do you know where your hand is?” punctuated with another squeeze, gentler, but for some strange reason it felt as though her fingers were sinking through his flesh, almost as though she were made of water.

Frowning, “Yes.”

“Can you feel your heart beating if you think about it?” Zamitie reached out with her other hand, pressing it splayed-finger just to the left of his breastbone, and he felt it beating even more than usual.

That sensation was dizzying, a strange mimicry of Dulsanaya’s ‘promise’. Blinking, disorientated, “Yes.”

“Well, no matter how far he goes, all I need do is think and notice where he is,” the hand pressed harder, yet he was caught once more in her swirling eyes, unable to check, as it seemed as though she were reaching in to touch the pumping muscle. “It is distant, yet what he feels, I can feel. There is no way to block or hide himself from me, because he is a part of me. My hand cannot hide from me what it is doing. Nor can my heart stop being present and functioning simply because I am not paying attention to it.”

Ferox’s lungs filled as he drew a deep breath, his blood in his veins travelling at an odd rate. Whatever was being done was different, very different, from what the little healer would do. _She said it would let her know where the illness lies... A place to start. Is that what this is? I don’t know. Maker, I want to be sick._

“My magic and my blood were all that sustained him for many years, just as an umbilical cord does the babe within the womb. There were cords and connections that were as vines between us. From me to him and from him to me.” Around them a mist had risen, or maybe it was just in his head, some sort of hallucination, but it looked like many tentacles or whipping vines stretching from her in a clear ruby towards the townhouse behind them, and golden threads having reached for her. “I have changed that, or had changed it, years ago when it became obvious my child was aging too fast and I too slowly. However the magic seems to have remained, keeping my form static for the time being, but only a fool would expect it to last forever. The cords that cannot be severed are all that remain. The ones that allow him to draw upon me without his notice, the ones that allow me to feel him at all times, with just a thought. He cannot hear or feel me, he will not be physically affected by my passing as he once would have. If there is any effect, it would only be a returning of shared lifeforce.”

Daring himself to ask, knowing he would hate the answer, “How long should he live?” 

Another image, a horrifically scarred Zevran, hair snarled and wild, face scarred, but then Ferox realized with a start, the man was _not_ his husband. The body was shorter, broader, denser. The bones of the face less aquiline, but no less handsome beneath the wreckage of dots and slashes over brows and cheeks, the bared teeth sharpened to carnivorous points and ears ruined. Muscles bulged and the man was bestial and fierce. 

With a snap the image that coalesced in the air between Zamitie and he flashed away. “My guess is nothing more than that. But that man was a great deal older than I am now. The bone charms whispered of mountains and streams that are far to the west. Of life being counted by many decades rather than a handful of them. I first saw him more than seventy years ago. I last saw him fifty something years ago. _He had not aged._ My child’s life will be very long if that is true. Arainai was in her mid-forties when he was born, and she looked no older than your pretty haired young mother. _Mi gatito’s_ face is badly scarred, ill-used by masters and sometimes himself to hide how ageless he is. Those furrows in his brow and at the corners of his eyes are almost entirely cosmetic. Else he may well look younger than you. That is the only answer I have for you Ferox Algere Cousland.”

 _So, now you have your answer. Happy? No, I am not. But can we talk about this later? Why? ‘Cause I’m trying not to argue about my name. Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear that and was trying to block it out myself...that and ‘your young mother’. Um, not to point out that she is carrying…shut up. I am definitely going to be ill. And you thought Dulsanaya was bad. I take it all back, she’s fine, lovely, and doesn’t pry. Just so long as I don’t have to take back anything about the duplicate, Dassan or Emma whatever. Fine with me. Isn’t Emma a girl’s name? I dare you to tell him that, double dare you. No, no. Triple dog dare you. Hah! I don’t ‘dog’ anything! Fine - quadruple hound dare you! Oh, thems’ fightin’ words thar - and I thought we weren’t doing that? Also, she’s like, his mother - so that means, I think, she’s allowed to pry. Right? Uh...do I have to agree? Is this another trap? I thought that reading minds was rude. No, the healer said she wouldn’t do it for that reason, she didn’t say it was something everyone avoided and she sent you here...so she knew something about what you were in for. If not all of it. Who’s to say they don’t know each other? That’s a good question. I can imagine them discussing the universe over tea._

Carefully, “Thank you, it is more than I had.”

She pulled away, depositing the remaining berries in his hand, her lips twitching as she stood, leaving him in the garden, “Do not thank me when you do not mean it.”

 _Can I go home now? No, he’s inside and I really need air now. First you coope me up on a ship for Maker knows how long, then you assault me with more children than I can count - You can’t count to five? - Not the point. And finally when you need air to put everything straight so you can go back in and continue not growling, you get interviewed. Oh that was your fault - You should have looked. You were a sitting duck and you know it. Ah ah ah! Arguing! Shut Up!_ Setting the last of the fruit down so the flash impulse to be destructive was in no way acted upon and didn’t harm, Ferox found the garden gate. Keeping to left turns and the building in sight, he walked while venting, continuing to argue with himself. _Healer’s gonna get a piece of my mind. It won’t be enough. What? It won’t be enough, she’ll need more than that. Shut up! Oh, and make sure that when you do it, that you’re far enough away that you don’t get yourself killed by the duplicate. Then I better take up letter writing and soaking it in poison or something. Maker, I really hate you. Uh uh uuh, none of that. I’ve behaved myself, it was you who got us in trouble._

There was a smell of sandstone and honey beside him, walking quietly and Ferox glanced over to see Ani padding along, unobtrusively there. In spite of the height and hair, she reminded him strongly of her father. When she saw him looking she shrugged a shoulder, full mouth quirking into a grin and waved a hand, as though to silently say to continue whatever he was doing.

“If it is not rude to ask...perhaps I should say, if it is, don’t answer, comment on the colour of the sky, and attribute it to not knowing anything rather than a lack of manners, which I do try to make use of... How old are you?”

She cocked her head, thinking, “Thirty? Thirty-nine? Forty-two? Forty-five perhaps? Time is not always measured and counted, for my people time means nothing. Season to season is the only thing that does. Kings, queens, cultures, they rise, they fall. We remember Arlathan. What is time to that? Besides, we live longer than most _shemlen_ , mixed as we are. Abuella may be a century or she may be eighty.”

“Makes sense if looked at that way,” rubbing his forehead. “I was just curious how close we were in age. Are the children your first then?”

“Age is a number, Father, roles are what we act in, connections and context.” A hand pushed through her loose hair, pressing it back from where it had fallen to obscure her neck and the side of her face. “They are my first. Possibly last. Fecundity is lost from power in my mother’s blood. But some returned from my other father’s, more maybe from my man’s.”

“That is a shame. They are beautiful girls. Len is my first and the Queen is pregnant with another. There will be no others after that one, as there are difficulties being a Warden and having any children.” Purposely, he did not count the tiny one Moira carried or Morrigan’s.

Ani looked at him, eyes sliding over slowly in a way that saw much. “A very sad thing that is then.” Glancing away, “Wisdom says that a wise father knows his own child. And a wise child knows their father.”

“And you’ve always known who your father was?” Alistair both - what secrets to hold. _There are others’ secrets. Don’t remind me._

“My mother lay with many men seeking to catch a child and could not. The spirits made it so. It took someone with the correct luck to give her that.” Their path no longer kept the townhouse in sight, but Ani apparently knew where they were going. “Papi is the luckiest man that was known. Also...he smelled correct. I knew the moment he came and was told he was an uncle. He smelled of home that I had no knowledge existed until then. Denial is nothing against fact. But...if denial is all that others will accept, unable to believe, then it is not my place to force them, foolish and painful it may be. No matter the fact that denial always butts against fact and truth, secrets always come to light, it is better to orchestrate and choose the ground battle takes place upon than be cornered by inevitability.”

Considering the other words - another polite secret - he absently provided what he smelled when he breathed in Zevran’s scent, “Sunlight...although since being healed I know some of the other scents now.” _How are you going to deal with that? ‘Deal’ is not a very nice word when it comes to a child. I know, I was describing the situation. Can I get back to us on that? Certainly, we seem to have a couple of months. Can you imagine the Harpy’s screaming? Oh yes, I already have that headache. No, you forgot about the base of the skull pain on top of the headache. You’re right, it’s like cranberries and raisins in the cookies. Yeah if the cookies were poisoned. Can I run away from home? Umm, Zevran’s home. Okay, can I run away from home if I take him with me? That doesn’t make sense._ “Ani I don’t want to go back to the townhouse.” 

_Seriously, you have got to start thinking before you start talking. What? It’s true. So you’re back to running away? No, it’s her house and I’m not exactly welcome. You did screw up and you’re not there supporting any of them. Remember, you’re the one who’s supposed to get hit. Get the attention, hold the attention, pick yourself up off the ground...good for everyone. Roles, weren’t you just listening? That’s yours and you’re damn good at it. Maker, I still hate you._

“Abuella is not very protective of my mother, they do not know each other, and mother hates her for it. She also hates Papi for ‘stealing’ Abuella and keeping her for himself,” Ani did not say anything about going back or not going back, but they apparently weren’t as he had no idea where they actually _were_. “What Abuella and Papi do not share of birthing, they share in every other aspect. His hurts are as the end of the world to her. She cries the tears he cannot if what I have heard and smelt upon her is only some... What would you do for my brother? Len? If you were without power to do anything for him? Would you then wish to know why it was he was hurt repeatedly? Why he aches? You would be...ready to defend. Reason, when normally it is present, is hard to find. I did not understand until I was a mother.” They reached whatever the planned destination was, the area surprisingly empty of people, the garden was like being swallowed up. First they were on a narrow street, suddenly they were surrounded by greenery. “Also, perceived willful dimwittedness grates upon the experienced and intelligent, causing a dwindling supply of patience.” Ani found them a small area with a fountain, its spray making the tall shrubbery, fruit covered just like the tree spreading branches overhead, cooler. “Her time is not as long as it once was, so, as any parent, she wishes to see things put to rights before she leaves us.” Hands reached up, snagging a strange fruit and it was sliced into a wedge passed to him, then one for herself taken, the retrieval and putting away of the blade fast and nimble like her father - too fast to know the weapon’s location. “So she would expend her last breath, as you would, healing what can be, if given the chance.”

Munching on the slice, again trying to place what the plant, flavour, and texture the fruit was most like in his experience, “I do not deny your words regarding children or their parents’ actions and thoughts. That is natural, expected, and - ” memory caught in a kitchen in Highever before he could set it aside, “ - previously experienced.”

“And yet, you are her child as well,” as she tucked a foot beneath her, as though more used to sitting on the ground or a cushion rather than a raised bench. “The hurt inside you is there and untouched. It must be found so that it can be cleansed as any other wound.”

Quickly, “Oh no. I had parents, couldn’t keep them. I do not need another to lose.”

“Then it is sad to say you should have chosen someone else. Someone with no family to share joys and burdens with you. Regrettable.” Another teardrop shaped fruit with thick green skin and pink interior was plucked, “A person is like a turtle, life experience, knowledge and filial connection builds the shell, a set of baggage that protects and causes slowing. To seek to deny that the other person, the other turtle, has a shell, is to kill it, or to say that the person who is supposed to be important, is unwanted. You are my Father, you are her son. Denial is only an illusion meant to protect those who cannot bring themselves to see. I would not presume to give unwanted advice, likely it is that this has been done this day. Yet a simple thought springs to mind - in your shoes, I would enjoy what I have, not think about what I stand to lose.” She smiled, “My prattle is tiring, so I will quiet and let you to your thoughts. Tell me when you wish to return and I will guide you.”

“I spent two years being quite intimate with loss and now there only seems to be recuperating from that time...” Frowning at the fruit in his hand, still unable to identify it or liken it to anything other than perhaps dried currants, “Certainly there’s improvement along with replacing and rebuilding - I move too quickly and tear something open again and am back to resting amidst much anger and growling, and I know that drives them away, frightens them, or worse, makes them worry.” A vague gesture in the air not knowing what direction he was from the house. “So, instead of growling out loud, which they do not like, I keep it internal, which apparently is not liked either, and causes more problems, and I become angry because I am not allowed to show anger. I am not one that sits around and talks about their troubles.” That was the irony, and a dry laugh issued. “Current actions notwithstanding. I usually have few words.” Shrugging, “Troubles...I try to get up and do something about them, but if there is no action to perform, there is no need of me, as that is what I do best. I know that particular span of time added to what I already carried, so in some ways I was unable to move forward. I don’t mind what other people carry and try to assist with their burdens, and did this even when everything was gone and I couldn’t move. All that said, I still don’t know why Zevran chose to salvage me.” 

“Love does not follow logic, some ways, yes, many ways, no. Instead of asking why he loves you - ask yourself, why love him? Then you will have an answer you might understand.” Ani leaned down to drag a hand through the fountain’s water quiet for a moment, either thinking or just enjoying the water’s touch. “If you are...growling? Then it is thought something wrong was done. You do not understand the culture, only your own, so do not comprehend another way or think of it without prompting. Problems and anger and pain are met head on, not bottled, not hidden. Problems do not all have a single cure, a single fix. They do not require physical action or remedy of movement, but words can heal just as they can harm.” It was said utterly without judgement or reproach, only a very gentle curiosity, “Has this not occurred to your thoughts before?”

“I am often overcome with words from others, words which require thought. However I’m often pressed to give a response nearly immediately. It has always been thus. Often when I say something without thought it hurts others, so I try to avoid it as much as possible. Actions are often thought ahead as well…like practicing with a weapon, so the movement becomes unconscious. I became a man that I wasn’t and successfully was that man for a long time, an outgoing, charming creature unlike myself. I don’t think this assisted in the healing, likely it did further harm, and may have allowed rot to enter those wounds. Knowing how much that man used people, I shy away when even approaching anything like that.” 

A long finger rubbed at the tattooed chin, “You are dealing with people whose minds gallop at rates that are hard for even the most quick-witted to follow. So pushing yourself is logical to you who knows only that, or digging in as a balky horse. Has it ever been a thing uttered that a moment to think is needed? If not, this might assist. Uailil must do it regularly. He may scout, nimble his limbs may be, but he is not _fast_. His intuition is not like those spirit touched. As soon as it is noticed, say that you _must_ have a moment to let the thought settle. It is not difficult, unless overcoming the thought label of weakness is held to. Something that is a grand failing of most men.”

“The little healer who worked on me, once gave an excellent description of the great quantity of words that come from Zevran. It is a waterfall of words, flowing over, around, and supporting. If one doesn’t struggle and keeps floating all is well. As soon as you struggle, you’re in for a dunking.”

“Then it is the belief that is the problem, the instinct to fight to shore instead of allowing the tide to do the work,” she agreed. “There are things that could help with the instinct that works such harm.”

Ferox couldn’t help the bit of a snickered laughter, “If I had wanted to become a mindless puppet, I have had many choices of puppet masters.” Becoming serious again, “However, occasionally I have thoughts of my own and the wash of words must be forded.” 

Ani’s face twisted as she puzzled out what he meant. “How is it mindless to allow the current to take you where you _want_ to go? Is it not a wise use of resources? Is it not possible then to find a way to work with the current rather than seek a different direction? And how would any of these preclude using your own mind or thoughts? This is not something I understand about men. They equate so many things with a loss of control, rather attributing to faith or belief. These Chantry people, they poison the spirit and ruin the option for belief, as it is something observed amongst those of your kind the most.” She seemed downright bewildered, “Even _women_ suffer such malady. It is a very sad thing to not see the world with faith and belief.” 

Thinking it over in that context, Ferox found himself slowly musing aloud, “It is probably because our faith and belief is vested in our personal self rather than on something outside the self. We stand alone, we have independence of self, so much so that relying on others to save us is...foreign. Frankly, it is a wonder that Ferelden could band together, let alone work with what most would have perceived to be as outside forces - although most of them didn’t. It took a Ferelden to see the worth, and to make the compromises, to be able to work with others.”

“Not just Fereldans, for I only know a few, all Free Blades. It is something I hear of from other countries - Nevarra, Orlais, Anderfels, also, the Free Marches - they cannot even decide on a governing body. It is Andrastians that seem to have this problem. Is it because the Maker has abandoned you, that one is then left with nothing to believe in but themselves? And why does this Maker who created you, matter when He abandoned you because He was aggravated with the unruliness of His creation?” He realized her eyes were an odd lime green as she swung to face him slowly, blinking in complete confusion. “Would you abandon your children simply because they threw a tantrum? What sort of Maker or Creator is that? And if true, why waste time on such a parent? And to berate oneself, struggling to find approval and cry to bring Him back? So that even while crying out this ‘Chant of Light’ one cannot count on the Maker for anything, only able to have faith in self, even when it makes life and tasks far more difficult than they necessarily need be? This is maddeningly confusing.”

Ferox couldn’t help a small smile at that, agreeing, “Which is why I try not to ponder the universe, because it hurts my head. Certainly these issues, beliefs, affect my people and I must deal with the Chantry almost as if it were its own independent state within my own. I have wished to have removed, and not just for the obvious reason, that Orlais still has a hold over Ferelden because it’s from Val Royeaux and from a mouth that’s almost always Orlesian, that the Chantry’s governance comes.” 

Fingers rippled, flicking droplets of water with mild dismissal, “This mindset is what I speak of. It is like a poison. You will witness your granddaughters work magic, or so that is what it will be called by you, as that is something you know. Belief is the root of all power. They believe that some effect can be made, so it is. _Ga’hals_ ward themselves not against outside threats, but against the mischief of their own offspring.” Now that sounded strange, and he watched as she patted the water as though it were solid, then waved at each individual thing she described, “This fountain has a spirit, it is water. This ground has a spirit, it has a power. This tree, these bushes. This air. If believed enough, something can be done.” Pursing her lips, “The...Templars? Are they mages? Shaman? They are of certainty witches - attuned to the energies that flow, like someone taught the many things that make up the smell of a perfume and are able to then identify it anywhere. It is not just Templars who do these things. Papi’s tricks and games with light and shadow, with speed. You are a warrior - surely you have some special skills that someone untrained could not draw upon? Ways that not even many trained soldiers could move or actions they could do? This is a magic of a sort. This is witchcraft. Does that make sense?”

Now that was an interesting concept, one he’d thought on many times, and Ferox repressed a brief shudder before relaxing, “It makes perfect sense. I’ve had these thoughts, or similar ones, before and have wondered if these skills are some form of magic. The Dalish and the healer have said that nature is so empowered, but I let that be, as it is, again, pondering the universe and as yet can’t be applied to the tasks before me.”

“That may be. But that may not be. Belief and faith, Father,” she let her hand hover over the water, not touching it, and her brow furrowed, a string of words chanted softly, and then the water began to reach towards her palm, until she could cup it. Gaze still turned inwards, she held it up for him to see, ducked her head and sipped from the little mouthful. Tension and control slid from her bearing, “The water will come because it is called with need. I believe this. So thus it is. The words provide focus for my need, a language that the water understands - it comes willingly. Does this not mean that the words you choose to assist or be assisted by, are a language, a song or spell, to help fill the need? This is not ‘pondering the universe’ but applying a skill. Belief is a skill.”

Scratching behind his ear, the perpetual strand of hair having worked its way from the braid due to the repeated action, “Belief in self has been established for the Ferelden, the door widened enough to include belief in the Maker...or perhaps it is belief in the rejection of the Maker - interesting when one considers the previous nature worship of the population - it would be worth studying to see if the break in the worship caused an internalization of the belief of community into self...yes, I’m thinking aloud...but I would enjoy a treatise on the subject. Perhaps Brother Genitivi or some other will indulge my curiosity some day.”

“Anyway,” Ferox returned to what he believed the subject was or where it had wandered to. “Belief in self, makes magic suspect because it is seen as outside of the self...which is why I don’t point out the hypocrisy of the Chantry with their magic Templars, who in turn imprison mages... I just seek to change the situation, and by that affect change on the views and opinions of the people.” 

“While the people are important, truly it is _your_ instinct and belief that is troubling in this situation,” the long sided vest was smoothed. “The people can be affected in time. Yet it is you who is wondering what to do with your own situation. What do you think we could do, or you could do as it may not yet be within reach to accept assistance, to find ways of healing and reclaiming your own skill with belief? As a babe it was had, it is only through time and exposure to others who are ill and such reaffirmation to plant it in the fertile ground of your mind, that this skill can be lost. All have it, even _durgen’len_ who are blind to their connection to the Fade.” 

“Honestly, I had thought I was better than before...however I forgot that when frozen ground thaws, it can often turn to mud and it’s easy to become bogged down and stuck. Perhaps I am greatly annoyed because I see progress and yet continually find myself lacking and not living up to the expectations I, and others, set before me. Was the thaw and setting aside who I thought I had to be, actually the easy part? And am I expecting, what I perceive to be rapid change, to continue at that same speed? Without inventing identity - something I’m actively trying to avoid - what is left underneath?”

“Belief,” she shrugged. “Belief that those around you, who have spent the coin of their time and invested it in you, will not abandon their investment. That the clan loyalty is there, and that the water will buoy and carry you to shore. Quicker if you move with it gently than fight it. All of that is choice that you can reach. See through their eyes, through their action. Come to your own decisions, but not without the input and presence of those who provide context.” Tremendously long fingers wove together, “We are all interconnected, we are all individual, yet linked. You will be supported and walk easier if you find a way to step in counterpoint with them if not marching. Following their steps is not needed like...like... I saw dancers from Orlais once. Boring. Each had nearly the same steps to their dance. But they each had fixed roles, different steps but similar. That is a good example. A way to find your own measures and weave it with theirs rather than separate.”

Quirking a lip into the beginning of a grin, “I’m afraid that who I am discovering underneath is someone who is very boring. There is a strong preference for ritual and known steps, the familiar to the unknown. Change is detested, yet if taken in small enough bites, as it were, it is bearable until it is incorporated into the whole. Slow and steady is this plow horse, rarely surprising. With a goal set or in sight, there is little wavering from the path, other than to deal with obstacles or come at it from another side.”

A swooping blood-red brow rose, “Then you have chosen very oddly who you call ‘husband’, Father. They do say that opposites attract. But you and he are opposites in all things but what parts you have between the legs...”

Laughter, for the second, maybe it was the third, time that day rumbled through him, “As I said, even change can be incorporated...it just takes time...but yes, I don’t understand why he chose me, as I have said, and frankly I question him on this frequently...something that is not appreciated, I may add.”

“And you have yet to answer the question of why you chose him,” she pointed out.

“I don’t know.” Again scratching behind his ear, puzzling over it, brow furrowing, “There are many little things.” Alighting on something that frustrated him the most at the time, “Zevran was the only one who bothered to constantly step in my path, no matter how I kept trying to sidestep and go around. Even the charming monster had his limits and everyone else knew better than to be continually underfoot, as they didn’t like being growled at, but that did not deter him. And so, I kept tripping over him, like a cat persistently winding itself between my feet. Eventually the cat gets picked up just to avoid a fall. And if one is not entirely heartless, they become attached to the purring, the warmth, and the companionship.”

“It is only his persistence then,” Ani looked away from him. “Then no wonder there is such resistance - he was not chosen for himself, but only because he was there.”

“At least in the beginning, yes. He was also the only one to be rescued, of everyone who decided to throw themselves at my sword...no, that’s not true, I did send Loghain’s other minions back with messages...” _You aren’t explaining well enough. I’m trying to be truthful...well then, tell the rest of the truth._ Heaving a sigh, “My loss wasn’t just the life I had known, home, and family, it was also the willing sacrifice of one I loved...sacrificed himself for me...I wasn’t looking for a replacement and didn’t want one. It was too easy to put blinders on and keep eyes on the target and do whatever had to be done to get there. To drag those who were kicking and bickering to the bitter end.”

“And a decade was only enough time to take the blinders off, this is understood. Yet the question is still unanswered - it is not I who requires it. My belief is that you do love, so it must be true,” Ani fished a pipe from within her clothes and packed it with a fragrant tobacco. “The dance - simple, complex, it matters only so much as it is decided that it does. The partners, only so much as they may interconnect and mutually support and believe in each other and themselves. These are the things of import.” 

He watched as she lit it, puffing with concentration using a strange metal taper, “Agreed. I suppose that I am loathe to put my finger on one thing and say ‘This, this thing right here, this is the reason’, because what if that thing, that one single thing, whatever it may be, is taken away? And so there are many reasons, not least of which is the taste of sunlight, his persistence, a clever mind, care and patience, what is shared, and that my stumbling attempts to return just a portion of what I am given, are not rejected. I do consider it a personal victory when I can wind him up with a bit of a story or fun...those moments however are often difficult to maintain, as if they are really just out of reach.” 

“Finding a way to believe is the key. Believing and trusting that his...torrent and current of words, will carry you without demanding you become his puppet, without thought, without will,” the smoke wasn’t unpleasant, almost rose and tobacco with orange peel as she released it with her words. “Depending on someone, who also depends upon you, does not make either a puppet for the other. Such a thought is either symptom or cause for unnecessary strife within. Why add more, when life provides such plenty?” Without pressure, “My breasts ache - the girls must be hungry. If you wish to remain here I will send Uailil to wait until you are ready to return.”

“I will see you back safely. But I require more time on my feet, so I would not go in, as yet.”

“ _Ma nuvenen,_ ” inclining her head once. “Uailil can keep you from getting lost, though it will be much hotter, so I advise you and he return here where your thick blood hinders you less.”

He hadn’t expected Ani to be the one to show up after he and Uailil had walked a good long while, the sun lowering in the sky. She had not been lying about the heat, and he felt far too sweaty for comfort, but it served its purpose, he was no longer as anxious or troubled and the upset in his mind had ceased its churning. The confinement of being aboard ship was being worked off. And for most of the time, the streets were nearly empty, anyone sane being abed, or at the very least indoors. A quick burst of language and Uailil had kissed her before darting off on some errand or another. The back alley they had exited through came and the sounds of a disagreement came closer, not quite a shouting match, but certainly not quiet. 

Beside him Ani cursed, or he assumed it was cursing, for that was its tone. “The front door will be best, Father.”

Recognizing Zevran’s voice and, of course, knowing his location by way of the amulet, Ferox was concerned, “Is everything okay?” 

“Concerns are being voiced in the Antivan fashion, they are much...more vocal than _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ ,” they turned to go back the way they came. “The noisiness is something to learn to cope with. Even after much time, I struggle with that.”

Confused, because family arguments should be, or rather were handled quietly in Father’s study, except for fights between brothers, which of course led to the study, “Why have an argument out where an entire neighborhood can hear?”

“So that the children do not hear, or your young mother become distressed.The house it is proofed to sound,” she explained. “Most houses are - the walls are very thick. Besides none of it is private information. It is...concerns. Not anger. Worry. If Abuella did not voice them in full, then she would not be comforted by his response, because there would be none. Papi requires the push to find solutions and since quiet talk has probably been tried... Their emotions are high. Once it is out of their systems, it will abate.” As they approached the crimson door, “It is shocking to have seen him so silent. No - muted. He is muted. Dull. Washed out. Does the sun not shine in your country? Even his skin is grey.”

Puzzled, “Of course the sun shines, summers days are very long, but not overwhelmingly hot like here. And when we went to Kirkwall, I swear he was oiling his skin and taking every moment to be outside.” Returning to the ruckus in the garden, “What are they yelling about?” 

“Time, old wounds,” the door swung open beneath her hand and she locked it after them, slipping out of her soft boots, bare feet with long toes, nails lacquered and scrunching on the cool floor. “Debts and honour. The sort of things parents and children always argue about.” 

Curious, he trailed her into the side room that was attached to the sitting area, surprised at how bare the room was. The walls, ceiling and floor were inlaid with strange geometric, yet organic, and curving lines. Against his own bare feet, they tingled as he stepped gingerly across the artwork, no discernible seams in the stone met the pads of his toes. A long table near the center of the largest circle was strewn with bowls, jars, multiple mortars and pestles, baskets and hanging drawers, was laden with items that he took to be part of Zamitie’s craft. And a leather upholstered table was there as well, which Ani manipulated on one end, the clicking of wood making a section rise up like a backed chair, then to the other end, a leg rest by lowering that section.

“What kind of workroom is this?” failing to fit it in any work space in his experience or knowledge. _Floor reminds me of some of those ruins. Oh, the swirling inlaid circles on the floor. Exactly, those were interesting. Too bad so many were in ruin themselves, tiles and stones pried up. Always made me wonder if there were precious stones set in them. At the time that seemed like the only reason to remove them._

Her red hair was quickly gathered up into a braid and piled atop her head, sticks thrust through the mass to fasten it in place. “It is where healing takes place.” A stick with a thin needle like bone set at a right angle was beside another one, and bowls were picked up, moved around, and she began humming. “I will show you.”

 _Doesn’t look like any infirmary I’ve ever seen._ “Show me what, Ani? I am not injured.”

“Unlike Abuella, I have taken no vows, nor have mage talent or wellspring to draw from. But I have will, I have belief,” a pinch of something was blown to each corner, and the stones in the floor began to glow. “I also have knowledge. You are Tainted and I can help. For someone who prefers choice, you do not do much with it unless help is forced upon you.”

Absently, as he was watching the floor, “That could be considered a choice.” _I suppose if one was interested in disrupting whatever the spell was, pulling up a tile would have been an effective way to stop it from going off. But what spell would you put in a floor? Frell if I know, I’m not a mage. Hrm, I’d put in one to sense intruders and wake me up, but this is nowhere near a door. That would be a good use though._

“Yes. It is,” Ani agreed as the faint iridescence faded, but he could still feel something in the air. “They are yelling about you.”

“I think I’m done here.” Did he sigh again? _Arguing outside where any passerby could hear, about you. Just great._

“It is not what you think, Father. She is afraid,” Ani’s hand came out to grab but not hold him prisoner. “He is too. They are arguing about what to do to slow time for you. Apparently he is so...tied up in you, that very little else means anything. The more time that can be had, the longer the amount of time you can be at peace and happy together. They disagree on methods. He will not ask you to do things for him, as you would only do them out of obligation. Not because _you_ wished more time with him. _She_ is considering breaking her vows and spelling you and Working what she can to purchase time for you to find a way to work with the currents to get to the destination you wish to be at, so that he has more time with you. But without your permission - only his. He refuses to give it or to ask you.” 

“There is nothing wrong with duty or obligation, however who said I didn’t want more time with him?” _Or is it that he doesn’t want it? No, he has discouraged towers and she said that he is invested in you._ The growling came without thought, “Isn’t that what the healer has been working on for months? Wasn’t that a side effect of enabling me to have children? Why would I suddenly not agree to something that’s been done for such a long time already? What is one more thing on top of everything else?” _Maker. I’m going to need another walk._

“That is what he said. That he would ask things of you to have them done only out of obligation. I know nothing of this healer, so I cannot say. I can only guess at what he thinks - he is too close to the situation, she is too close. You are. I am not - so his thinking is likely unclear.”

“When I discuss, apparently I’m only arguing against logic and when I agree it’s believed to be only out of duty and obligation.” Snorting, “Seriously, it doesn’t matter what my action is, those are the two reasons attributed to it, even when I say, ‘I want...’ I’m still left with those explanations being attributed as the _only_ reasons I do anything.”

Ani shook her head, not in disagreement, but mournfully. “Those who have suffered, they find it far easier to think the worst. Ready to have hopes dashed. Always. _My_ life has been good, hardships - some, yes. But nothing like Papi or Abuella or yourself. A few hungry days, wounds, lack of sleep. Disagreements with my mother. Missing my father. A child lost from my womb. You appear to be quick to assume the worst, to be unable to believe or have faith, to see only the darker aspects of each side. He is quick to believe you want him only because he is there and fought to gain something. Rejection and betrayal are all he is accustomed to. And abandonment. She is ready to always see her children suffer while she has little power to do anything about it. Abuella is often powerless to do anything, no matter her might. That is how she became a slave - that is why my mother hates her. For selling herself into slavery to gain money to feed the clan during a very bad year. Mother thinks it is as simple as snapping fingers to summon up food. And when Abuella had her freedom because she was made _pintore_ , she did not return to the clan. So mother blames Papi. It is easy, very easy, to see only that which can make pain. He will not press, because he probably thinks he has pressed enough, and another push will send you to thrusting him away. Or worse, holding him near, but not letting him in. What you see, I cannot say, as I do not know you, so my guess would be even less accurate. Thoughts of being lacking or that you do not try hard enough? Being undeserving? Or that he is so fickle that there is no way for you to win? I cannot say, but that is what I think so far.”

“You forgot ‘is there a ship leaving tonight?’ But essentially, yes... Thoughts only, not actions considered. And I would not call him fickle, but the not being able to meet whatever bar has been set when I wasn’t looking...oh yes, I’ve given up on that one. It will have to tend to itself. If I’m going to fail, I would like to choose my battle.”

“And so they vent, trying to find a way to a solution. That is what they are yelling about.”

“One of the very few times I have ever observed them disagreeing, Zevran and Moira were doing something very similar. Unfortunately here I do not have the authority to tell them what they are going to do.”

“So do something else,” jerking her chin to the folded chair-table-thing. “Break the rules that they hold themselves to.”

“What do you mean?” following her gaze.

Her expression was serious, “To even approach the thought of Abuella’s power and strength is not something I can attain. But not _all_ shaman are mages. I can make protective signs in your skin. That you went and did it on your own without either of them...”

“It would break the impasse.” A bit of a laugh, “So that’s a no on any ships leaving tonight, eh?”

She remained completely, deadly serious, “If that is the route you wish to take, it can be arranged.”

He shook his head, “No, as entertaining as I find the days confined aboard a ship, by making a joke I am actually buying myself a moment to consider.”

“You have time, they were not arguing when I left to get you,” a shrug. “They will be at this a while.”

 _Is this what Antivans do instead of watching plays? Neighbourhood gossip is one thing, but street theater, even better than heralds._ “If you are certain that you wish to do this, then I will place myself in your hands.” 

“It is not I who will be wearing it,” Ani said. “My certainty is that if something on my part can be done to assuage or make things easier - I will do it. It is your decision alone if you wish to undertake it or not.” Her brows furrowed, “This might be why Papi thinks as he does. To say that you have your own thoughts, then bow to any pressure as though you are nothing but clay to be moulded, rather than saying it is what you require or wish to do - yes, I could see how that discomforts him.”

“Every day I give orders. Every day I say that I want this or that. The task is done. No choice given. None expected. Sometimes, such as in the kitchen, I only have to complement a dish and it will be prepared until I am sick of it.” Remembering a pickled apple dish, which was fine in small quantities as a good example, Ferox almost added that detail, but decided it was unnecessary. “In this, there is choice, which is why I have said that if you are certain, then I will do it. Returning the right of choice which you offered to me. A polite way out, if it is wanted.” Firmly, “Yes, if this will end the fighting, I would like to do it, however, since no one else is probably handy with whatever you intend to put on me, your preferences are important too, as they’ll both be coming to shout at one or both of us. Does that make it clearer and explain why my response is that way?”

“Some, yet the orders you give or the things you say you want, are they for yourself or for something that you serve? That would be the distinction, or what I would see myself,” however she had turned to the table, opening a basket and pulled out several bottles and began dribbling the contents into the bowls, stirring them.

Settling in the strange chair, table thing, “It depends. More often than not on behalf of the Crown or as the Warden Commander, but occasionally on behalf of family needs. I have learned to be very careful, always knowing who I am when I ask something, as it matters greatly. Some duties and responsibilities have more choice or discussion than others depending on who is asking and who is being addressed.”

“But then you are not asking as yourself, Father,” she moved to help him from his shirt, a fold of linen in her hand and began swabbing at his chest thoroughly with something reeking of elfroot. “That is a very, very important difference. What does Ferox want? Is this thing being chosen something that Ferox the man chooses? Or is it serving some other purpose? Remember, he is fast, he will see many of those things, and to know if it is you, yourself, without titles other than friend or lover - it is something I have had to learn to do myself in my own marriage.”

Gently, “I did not say, as I am nothing here beyond the titles you have given me, Ani. As for Ferox, he is tired of fighting and if this has a possibility of ending it, then it will be accepted.”

“It is not I who has the problem with seeing that,” her own voice also quite gentle as she pulled out a folding section for his arm to be propped against. “This will sting, Father once I start. For now, look into me...”

Ferox’s skin throbbed after they were done and Ani’s limbs were sweaty, her voice dry from the song that had not stopped, occasional directions not interrupting it. He was lightheaded, as though he had been out in the sun too long. _Fact check - you were. When sane Antivans are abed or sipping cool drinks, you were outside in the heat. ‘Sane’ is very subjective. True._ A sharp word was said and the very quiet hum in the air trailed off to nothing.

“Papi will show you how to care for your mark,” she helped him stand though she seemed completely drained herself. “Maybe convince Abuella to heal it quickly rather than the entire process. But...now we must exit...”

Kissing her cheek in thanks, Ferox looped his untattooed arm around her waist, as they wobbled out. Zevran was there, which surprised him. As was Zamitie, the serenity only slightly marred by worry. Her touch was exceedingly gentle and he felt healing flow through him, very unlike Dulsanaya’s, which had little sensation, prickles if anything. Zamitie’s was more like a wash of warm water - _Or fresh blood. Not thinking about that, so hush_ \- and then she was moving over to Ani while Zevran took her place. 

_’ **Querido** , what is this? Zama felt something, then I felt you go silent...’_ worry and fussing over him.

_’Breaking a log jam, love. It’s my choice, so stop worrying. However, I would not refuse something to drink, followed by a nap.’_

In what was just Zevran’s room, now theirs, even if it didn’t quite feel like it, a light oil was being massaged into the shoulder and bicep piece even though it was healed. “I did not know she could do this. I had hoped she would not risk herself becoming _ga’ni shedu’ni_. Let someone else take that mantle...” He shook his head then kissed the pattern, then Ferox, _’Ignore an old man’s ramblings, I am...surprised. But not unhappy.’_

“I’ll just make you explain it while I doze to the sound of your voice. I’m glad that you are not upset, however.”

“The horseclans believe that power comes from all things, an energy that is taken in when we eat, drink, sleep... And generated when we fight, or are angry, or any strong emotion or action, yes? Much like keeping warm when it is cold by movement, no?” More oil was drizzled over his chest, one hand spreading and making the shaved area slick, the other pouring the clear fluid from a small clay pitcher. “This can be used for abilities, magic, or prayer to affect the current moment or things at a later time, yes? Like wards or runes. A very skilled and powerful _pintore_ or shaman, similar things, but different, can imbue a person with these wards and runes. Like my luck, speed, endurance - yes? That is what much of my Work is. Layers upon layers of powdered inks mixed with Zamitie’s blood to make it fluid enough to embed in the skin. She is shaman _and pintore_. Shaman almost exclusively avoid drawing upon the Fade. Certainly she could cast spells similar to Wynne or Morrigan, but not with the same force. Unless she drew upon her blood, yet that has a cost. It replenishes, yes, but still it is not meant to cast massive forces about like flinging cups or buckets of water.” The pitcher was set on the bedside table and his husband began working it into his torso, the bronze hands moving sure and firm, “Shaman focus on the energies in the material world that shed it, themselves and others, as well as rocks or wind, you see? _Pintores_ are a mixed lot. So that is different.” Zevran’s face dipped to kiss Ferox’s chin once. “Shaman being as they do not have to pull mana from the Fade, means that they do not have to have that talent. Anyone with enough training could become one. Yet it is usually only those with the natural affinity and inclinations who become them. There are also different kinds of shaman in the plains and steppes. The highest of the high, specializing in containing all of the oral traditions, knowledge of magics, the people, the land - they are _ga’ni shedu’ni_. It is a mantle, a reservoir of power that is passed on, from _ga’ni shedu’ni_ to _ga’ni shedu’ni_. Built up over many generations, like a reservoir of water, a storehouse of literal might, that makes the apprentice take up all the knowledge of prior _ga’ni shedu’ni_ of the clan, as well as a well to draw strength and power from. If Zama seeks knowledge, she can find things from a hundred, a thousand, or more, years ago. It is like a great library. But...she was not fully trained when she took on her mantle. It was not supposed to happen for decades...once done it cannot be undone, it can only be passed on to the new _ga’ni shedu’ni_. For the price of that is to become more a spirit than a mortal being - fertility is burned from them...” 

“She made milk for you though,” not particularly drifting, he remained awake and aware, but relaxed, taking in the information.

“...Yes. She did. It is not supposed to be possible, but she was _young_ when she took the Transference and there was a strong blood link between she and I at the time when I summoned up milk from a stone,” Zevran shifted on him to move over Ferox’s legs, massaging them. “She has no apprentice, no one to pass it on to, though once she joked that I would be the one to carry the burden if I continued to flee to her whenever possible.” He went still. “The other cost of being shaman is that you live only to serve. Literally, _amora_ , that is the life of a shaman. You may make no lasting relationship or joining to another, for you can love no single person above the others of the clan, excluding any offspring you manage to have. For those who are _ga’ni shedu’ni_ or are to become one, it is...even more stringent. One must seek to have as many children as possible, with any opposite sex partner you may find who is willing, so that the clan is not robbed of ones with such affinity... Zama told me once in essence the only difference between being a slave here in Antiva City while being a whore, was the pay.”

“But Ani has broken with the tribe, right? So she’s not dictated by their...rules? customs?” 

“And the clan has suffered a double loss - they have no _ga’ni shedu’ni_ , able to rely fairly well with the several shaman and their apprentices, but they are without history.” He sighed, “Fewrlin was likely right in her flung accusations to me the last I saw her - that Zamitie only remained in Antiva City for my sake. Leaving the clan vulnerable. Horses, a daughter, a wife, respect and an honoured mother were not enough to keep me, she claimed, the clan had offered up everything to seek to bring Zama back to them. So I am labeled selfish, though they are still honour-bound to assist me if I request it, as I am part of the clan... Now my child who has the honour of a Dalish man, _twins_ that are elven... To them I have robbed them blind and keep it all for myself. Ani is too much like me, if the mantle passes to her, she cannot leave them rudderless in the sea of rocks and sand.”

Grunting, “Their choices, not yours. If they return now or in the future, that too is their choice. Even if Ani’s mother was right, it wasn’t your doing. Your Zama is not easily led and certainly speaks her mind and can take care of herself. Ani is the same way and I wouldn’t worry about it; they’re going to do whatever they do, with or without you. That said, remind me of this when Len runs off with an Orlesian floozy, would you?” 

“Duly noted, _amora_ ,” as he settled down to join him for the much needed nap.


	37. Beat Me Up, Tie Me Down

He didn’t remember much of Ani’s working on him, but like Dulsanaya’s healing, Zamitie’s working was _Working_. Ferox could feel energies moving and twisting while melding to him with each impossibly light strike of the hammer to the stick. And while the stone borders had glowed faintly with Ani’s skills for a brief time, under Zamitie’s whispered words that crackled strangely, they flared and blazed. When looking at them directly they seemed quiescent but from the corner of his eye he could see them still blazing as though freshly cast. When asked what all the inlay was for, he was told that Sa’id, the man who originally owned the townhouse and was nominally Zamitie’s teacher in being a _pintore_ , was a maleficar in a more ‘traditional’ sense. He worked with demons and blood alike, studying them and their properties, many of his treatise and observations were housed in books that Zamitie could not read. But Zevran could, and selected ones in Common, few though those were, for Ferox to peruse. Many were in Old Tevinter, or even more perplexing, an old form of Antivan with a sentence structure that was a headache to decipher. 

Thankfully there were many other books, very many, on all manner of things, anatomy, history, medicinals, a few on plants - he suspected the latter were for Zamitie, no matter that she could not read. A large tome on language was found, so big it was broken into five volumes, that detailed phonetics for known elvish and the horseclan language - or _Zamas Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ as he was repeatedly corrected, gently of course - and most of the other languages currently spoken throughout Thedas. Including some dialects that were deteriorating and disappearing. 

There was something in the Work that Zamitie was doing to him, he could feel an urge to go a different direction. To not be bogged down. He sometimes found himself pausing on the threshold of asking for help, even stopping a conversation where he felt an answer was expected of him before he had had time to think about it, to say he had to digest and would return from a walk. The first few times it happened, he didn’t notice. Yet the fourth or fifth time it came to him, he wasn’t sure if he liked it or disliked it. 

And each day Zamitie put needle to his flesh, or set him into a trance, one that left him filthy with sweat and the overwhelming desire to void everything from his body and refill it with pure things. Those ‘pure things’ were even more bizarre. From the sheer volume of liquids, simple grains, nuts and fruits he was eating, he thought he must have woken up another person, or, on bad days, like several freshly Joined Wardens. Of course that didn’t mean he turned his nose up at the exotic and flavourful things, particularly not when someone could be convinced to make those ‘empanada’ things. A month in and he had a tattoo that covered the entire left side of his body, from toe to the nape of his neck. At first they were slim tracings, then covered with thicker ones over the same area and by the end of the month some places were nearly covered in ink, like his thigh, upper shoulder and pectoral and right over his kidney. And then another set was begun, in gradually darkening colours and thinning lines that were somehow bolder with each application. And on his hunger burned, he and Zevran both eating so much that the only way they managed to keep everyone fed was for whichever of the flock was guarding them to be set to cooking also. With each layer put into Ferox’s skin, Zevran seemed to ease, until the man who would awaken beside him must have been what he was before Rinna’s death, the toll of stress having vanished. 

And he finally saw that there truly were scars on Zevran’s face, that the rays that framed his eyes upon close inspection were razor thin lines. That the furrow that was always deeper over his right eyebrow was like someone had slashed at his face, deeper and broader from one side until it tapered at the other. The lines around Ferox’s own face had smoothed, as though a weight had gradually lessened, not undoing the damage of time, but replenishing strength and energy on a different level, one of the mind rather than the body. 

After a bath one day, while Zevran was in the garden with Uailil mucking around with copper tubes and glass, Ferox had flopped on a cushion, a book in his lap, while Ulfric and Len played with the twins. They were fascinated with the girls, particularly Len, who would gingerly help one sit up between his legs and talk with whichever one was receiving attention, and ‘baby!’ had become his favourite word, ranking up there with ‘MoiMoi’, ‘Papi’ and ‘Dadi’. Ulfric would play a knight and keep ‘bad nasties’ away. Ani was taking a much needed nap, while Moira and Sarah were experimenting under Armand’s watchful eye in the kitchen, coaching them and teaching them about the principle mechanics of spices. Something about ‘humours’ and balancing the energies in the body. It almost sounded like a science, but Ferox was too busy sinking in to read to pay attention. Nan was experimenting with Zamitie’s loom, and clacking away at it, all the sounds melding into a soothing daily melody. His girls were outside with Zevran, but mucking with the garden, or more likely in Elissa’s case, brushing the horses down. 

Zamitie had come up behind him, kneeling and began combing through the damp mess of his hair, first with fingers at the ends, then periodically the click of teeth against wood when she pulled a comb out to tease through a knot, before tucking it back. He had thought to tense, their touches to this point had been only in the workroom, planned and businesslike, but there was just the usual serene matter-of-fact manner that dissuaded him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he felt his muscles begin relaxing of their own accord. 

“Thank you, Zama.”

Her fingers found the seam in his skull and she hummed curiously, “You are welcome, _mu’poushu_.” As his hair was firmly but gently braided once it had been lightly oiled to keep it from becoming unruly or frizzy with the humidity and heat, “There are many things I need to apologize for. It is not the usual way of things to make a family member feel unwelcome, or to treat them with anger. Anxiety is no excuse. I wish only for my family to be happy and whole, as you wish for the same. It is entirely too easy to forget that we do not always know best. I find it difficult, and become impatient when I see a path to water, but the horse does not come to it as fast as I would like. That is silliness on my part. I am sorry, _mu’poushu_ for ever having made you feel as though this was not a home for you also.”

“Ah.” Aware that he had been rumbling as she smoothed his hair. “I am sorry as well. If I recall, I was not good company that day either...and truthfully I would feel the same for any of my children.” 

She hmm’d and continued, fingers moving to his temples, easily just as demonstrative as Zevran was, unless she was working, she was touching someone or someone was touching her. And even then her work usually required touching others... “Well, it is done then, _mu’poushu_. I am glad that you have remained.”

Reaching up to touch the back of her hand, “I am glad to be here and regret to have worried you.”

“All is well, no more thought should be put to it,” and he found himself tugged back into a tight, motherly hug and a kiss placed to the top of his head after she tied off his braid. “Now, I am going to check what those two mad boys are doing outside.”

“Boys, outside. Go find Papi.” Handing Zama one of girls, Ferox picked up the other, set the book in a safe location, and trailed after them.

As they stepped outside, Len met them. Leaning up from the perch of a wooden play structure that Uailil had whipped up, balancing against Ferox’s arm he kissed a chubby cheek, then moved over to Zama’s burden, for a smooch there, “Good babeez. Shooooosh, Gampapi wurking.”

Zevran and Uailil had on sets of darkened glass Chasind eye protectors, modified from a description of them, and were working with high yield fire runes, shaping copper tubes, their hammers clanging as they slowly folded them. Directions given and working in tandem as they finished another curving pipe and threw it into a trough so that steam exploded up, his lover jumped backwards as one of the flame runes came loose. Uailil began swearing and scooped it up quickly, using a thick set of tongs to force it back into its housing, so that the flame continued heating a heavy container of sand beside the smithing block.

“What _are_ they doing?” Ferox stared bemusedly at the continuing puzzle the two elves had been working on for the last few weeks.

“Whatever the invention it was that he said would keep a place cool, _mu’poushu_ ,” not intervening, though he watched as she shifted Varane in her arms to free a hand, ready to cast it seemed. “This is what I believe it to be.”

Ulfric had gotten into the dirt with Eleanor who was trying to tell him plant names. Len was still kicking from his little seat on the limb like play thing, and Elissa was with Light, communing with the horses. _At least she shovels up after them too... What was it she said about their shit? That it smelled sweet? Like hay. Except for the urine, I agree. Glad she’s putting it in the pile so it can rot before putting it on the plants. Would be a shame to burn them with green fertilizer._

“I remember, the movable fountains which don’t have anything to do with pie...although that _was_ good pie or rather, plural pies.” _I like pie. I wonder if we have any? There’s always odd fruit around here, I wonder how they’d taste in a pie...or a pocket pie? Moira would make one if you asked nicely. I always ask nicely. Empanadas would be good that way too. And now I’m hungry...again._

Zevran flipped up the eye guards laughing at one of Uailil’s quiet statements in elvish, “What? We have an audience, _da’mi_. Besides, I could eat a horse.”

“Fymataf is not yet at his time, so do not even seek to put him on a spit,” Zama’s tone was amused. “He might give protest.”

“Ewyugh, he is so old and is likely stringy...” emphatically even as he hoisted Eleanor up by her waist and plunked her squealing over his shoulder, his other hand snagging the back of Ulfric’s britches and swinging him back and forth slowly so he could pretend he was flying.

Children filed to the outdoor sink to scrub hands and under fingernails, singing a song to wash to, soap slipping between fingers and water splashed on faces. Babies were next, who really just wanted to splash a little, reminding him of Len when he was that small. Finding an almost sad smile twitching his lips, he longed for a moment, while carefully soaping Varane up, that Len was still that small. Even if the girls were much smaller at six months than Len who had been pudgy and stout, and quite happy with his many, many folds and rolls of chub. _There’s gonna be another. And another. Oh, but wait, there’s another. Couldn’t we have spread them out a little? I mean you’re never going to wish for another baby again. Or at least for a year or two or three. Oh these girls are so skinny though...but look at this little belly._ Tickling one of the popped out bellybuttons and gaining a pink gummed grin for the effort, Ferox rinsed Varane off. She was the quiet and undemanding one, but she certainly let you know if she was happy. _Will he or she be like this one? Put spots on them and they’d look like those wild cats from the plains he showed you... I want one of those. Uh, we already have one. Yes but one that actually has spots. Oh. He has stripes. Is that good enough? Not the same...I want something furry maybe. Are you feeling alright? No - I’m hungry and trying not to miss when Len was still this small and wasn’t growing up so frelling fast._

Leaning briefly into the warm brown body next to him, scrubbing clean, _’Miss you.’_

A quick lean yielded a kiss to his shoulder, along with a warm, spice laden wind in his mind, _’You are beautiful when you are content, **amora**. And I miss you as well. Very much, yes? Always.’_

Meals with everyone were still a bit much. When everyone gathered in one room, Ferox still found himself checking for exits and planning an escape strategy, even if he didn’t actually need one, it was there. Varane was on his lap, with a bit of flat bread in one hand, snacking on whatever was handed to her or spooned in her mouth, whether a bit of mashed fruit, cooked mashed squashes or other vegetables or a bit of ‘rice something’ as he was beginning to call it. Even if there were many kinds of ‘rice somethings’ and not all of them were rice. 

At a pause in the banter, Ferox interjected something that was rolling around in his mind, “Don’t the dwarves use moulds and forms for making pipes?” Recalling a forge they had found under the Vigil. “I think we found one in the thaig beneath the Vigil...”

“Honestly, I have no idea, _querido_ , as I did not go beneath the Vigil with you, other than the once, so there was not much exploration on my part,” Zevran was busily twisting and scooping food up with thumb and his first two fingers. “If you recall - I am a scholar, alchemist, apothecary, and chef. I only know enough about metalwork to get myself into more interesting trouble. Though, this first attempt is almost finished, just need to assemble and make a wet run of it to see how it functions for leaks... And then to test out a few of the possible mixes to see which works, make notes of what does not work, where the design is flawed...then take it apart and make changes, yes?” 

“Sand wouldn’t leak and it would hold your heat or cold, radiating it outwards.”

Zevran shook his head, “The travelling motion of cold sinking and warm fluid rising through a gravity push, in a loop from the copper pipes, ad infinitum, the water that the pipes are housed in will be the mode that carries the temperature outwards... It is not dissimilar to what we do to purify water using sand and gravel and such in the rain barrels and runoff, yes? Or how the running water works in the house - from the commode to the tub, to the shower. Like the blood vessels and lungs of the body - the fountain and water in it acts as the lungs do, while the pipes are like veins, yes?”

Having held the spoon far too long in front of her, but not actually having it inserted into her mouth, Varane leaned over and helped herself. Something was missing from the descriptions, but would probably be impractical, windmills and breathing provided the answer, “A fan, air movement would be beneficial.”

“It would be, yes, but powering it...?” Zevran shrugged. “A windmill externally could cause the air movement, but the size required for it to be remotely practical, _corizon_ , it is... Perhaps in an Antivan style villa, but with a covered atrium, or one of the apartments in the Alienage, or in a great hall...and the fountains would have to be much larger. But otherwise...? It is not a puzzle that I have an aptitude for solving. Small to medium sized fountains, that will just have to suffice, yes? I am no inventor.”

“Heat causes movement in water, perhaps the movement in your pipes could work a fan by passing by something like a fish wheel or a miller’s wheel at a river. The problem may be leakage, but your cork wood seems to swell up and stopper things well enough when wet. Just a thought...although, you could always use more pie.” Looking over at the merry brunette, Ferox had missed the joke told at that end of the table, “Moira?” Getting her attention, “If I sliced the fruits, would you make a pie or a tart or something like that? I’ve been craving one somethin’ fierce.” He made sad puppy eyes, “It’s all Zevran talks about...it’s like...like waving a steak in front of Light.”

His lover smacked his forehead, “Aiesh, _pi_ not _pie_! One is a mathematical representation of an idea and number with a symbol, the other, one eats!” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “I think my head hurts...this famed and much mentioned Orlesian based education...ah nevermind... Orlesians could not find the square root of sixteen if their lives depended upon it... Which makes sense I suppose, such concepts come from here and Rivain...” 

Ferox snorted, “Four, smartie. However that doesn’t change my dessert situation.”

“Mmmn, I could play with some of that coconut and there’s always mango around,” Moira had Len snuggling against her, his cheek rubbing happily at the side of a breast, his arms around her torso as far as they could go while she stroked his back.

“Ah, a lass after my own stomach.” Nudging Zevran under the table and a wink to Moira, “I vote we keep her, especially because she knows what pie really is. None of the three point one four etc etc that you keep going on about.”

Gold eyes were rolled, “It is a number with no calculated end thus far and it has been extrapolated to the hundredth decimal and it is real math and it is not a food and -”

Moira reached over to cover Zevran’s mouth, looking at Ferox, giggling, “I think he’s a bit touched in the head, but the children seem to like him. Maybe we should keep him?”

Unsuppressed laughter surprised him as he shook with it. Still snickering, Ferox tugged his forelock, “Well ma’am, I ‘sppose he could muck out Wart ‘n Hog. An’ Shorn an’ Ethel could always use a hand with’tha knittin’. If-an-a tha’ don’t work out, I ‘sppose he could sort rock, but ya know how par-tick-u-lar I am ‘bout my rocks...’specially tha grey ones.”

“Oh I’m sure we could find something for him to do,” Moira tweaked his assassin’s nose while winking at Ferox. 

_’No respect,’_ ‘pouting’. _’Still owe me several bowls of rock soup, my friend.’_

 _’Soup is for cold weather. No gazpacho here.’_ “I don’t know. Alls I hear is how soft tha’ blankies are. Seems ta me, lass, we might have’a laze-a-bout on our hands. I ‘sppose we could make him et some real pie, none-o tha’ fancy countin’.”

 _’ **Ajo blanco** is still better in my opinion,’_ opining playfully. “I want cheese in mine, yes?”

 _What I want to know is how long one has to sit around milking an almond tree to get that soup?’_ “I thought cheese went on top and melted, popular with apple, although nice on’a cherry...” 

“Well if one is playing with guava, cheese is good in it, nice, big soft chunks,” he made a happy sound.

Having acquired a taste for many of the crazy fruits he’d been introduced to, Ferox couldn’t wait for the trees his husband had had planted ages ago back home to keep a local supply. “Now you’re talkin’ my language, love. How long before those trees of yours bear fruit in the greenhouse? Because I have a feeling we’re going to need to stock up. ”

Zevran’s hands went about touching babies and children before stroking Moira’s wrist to her stomach, while the other ran over Ferox’s thigh, “Perhaps by the time we return for some, others possibly in another four or five years at most... Guava are forgiving in that they do not mind the indoors, but sometimes they take awhile...”

“Well now, ser, ya’ll did ruin me, this poor ol’ rock farmer, he’s mad fer yer weird fruits now,” catching his beautiful sun’s hand to kiss the palm, then each finger quickly. 

A laugh, “Well if we get Brandel’s Reach cultivated, it is certain that we could grow an even greater variety of those ‘weird fruits’ to sate your ravenous appetite.” _’Or perhaps I might settle it after we have these small ones abed from this pleasant meal...?’_

“Cultivated? Well, I suppose even outlaws can be cultivated...wait that’s cultured. Perhaps when the little one makes an appearance -” _’and she suddenly comes down with a well-planned case of colic’_ “- we could hie away to the Vigil and take trips over to the islands.” _’A run up to the Peak would be good too, see what Avernus thought of the healer.’_ “Give the Wardens a chance to ‘ooo’ and ‘aah’ over the babies and give you time to whip those not helping, back into shape.” _’What are you proposing to settle? I’m pretty sure I’m ahead and Moira’s on my side.’_ Ferox was clearly enjoying himself and didn’t care who knew it.

 _’Mmm your ravenous appetite, since you did not catch that, **querido** that means that I am ahead...’_ “That does sound like a plan... And a very sexy one, yes?”

Snorting, _’Whipping? Sexy? Sure you’re thinking about giving and not receiving?’_

Zevran’s expression was pained, _’You are being purposefully obtuse, **amora**. Teasing an old man, yes? The leaving for the Vigil and such like is the plan, thus it is the plan that is sexy...’_

 _’But of course, how would I ever regain my lead?’_ “The Vigil is very pleasant and the fresh air and hot baths are greatly appreciated.” _’Not to mention I avoid being underfoot and bothersome. Woe to we poor exiles.’_

 _’Enough, I shall haul you to the bedroom now if you do not cease!’_ teasing, while a mental hand ran over him far more intimately than the one squeezing just above his knee. “Of course, your desire for fresh air is well known to all, no?”

 _’Somehow, I don’t think you would...you want pie too,’_ laughing. “I am a creature of habit, at least the route varies...occasionally. So, back to pie.” Ferox returned his attention to Moira, “I heard something to do with coconut and mango. Those I can help prepare. Anything else?”

“Maybe I could put them in pockets? I’ve got some of that coconut dough - then we could fry them so they cook faster than baking them,” Moira tapped Len’s nose and pinched his cheek lightly as he kept trying to hug her waist, his face into her stomach that had slowly grown, but was still a barely there thing, only giving her a firm round when a hand smoothed over it. “Otherwise it’ll be an hour or more before they’re done.”

“Pokits?” Len had perked up inquisitively, eyes big and hopeful. “Pokits MoiMoi?”

Ferox listed all the ways, “Dumplings, pockets, pasties, all good and will satisfy a pie craving.”

“Pockets will be more pie-like,” Moira ran her fingers through Len’s shaggy head of hair and tugged him around more comfortably to look down at him. “Yes, pockets. You can share one with Ulfric.”

“Pokits - Oolfruk - pokits! We get pokits!” he scooted away excitedly, crawling over Anicada who laughed, patting his bottom to reach Ulfric who had been very focused on his food with single minded determination.

_’And cheese.’_

Beside him, Zevran purred, the feline in his mind hopping into his mental lap and kneading at his stomach with barely pricking claws, _’A man after my own heart, you are, my most handsome and luscious Ferox.’_

...

Later, stuffed like geese on Saturnalia, with mango pockets with a sweet cheese containing some kind of pepper added to the whole thing, children abed - all six of them with puffed up little tummies made sleepy by their respective meals and treats - dazed, Ferox looked up at the netting. “I really wish _you_ had eaten that last one by yourself. And Len was kind enough to give me that last pepper as well...it’s official, Ferox A. Cousland done in by a peppered pie.”

“It is official, you like proper food finally,” Zevran was sprawled, rubbing his face against Ferox’s tattooed thigh, hugging it and occasionally growling, only to rub more firmly for a moment and licking one of the designs.

“Yes, I can see that on the plaque next to my portrait.” Snickering. “Oh, that hurts...don’t make me laugh, else it be true.”

“Ferox A. Cousland - Finally Ate Well,” rumbling laugh, a leg slid over Ferox’s chest, a foot caressing his shoulder. Teeth nipped lightly when Ferox flopped a hand to rub the back of the thigh that was so neatly presented. “I do know what will have to be brought with us in quantity upon our return. Mmmn, or perhaps we could send a care package so that it is ready and waiting along with the extra that we will bring with us...”

Sighing contentedly, “Hurm? What’s that? Animal, vegetable, or mineral? I know, your retired Free Blade horsemaster. I want one of those little sweet lemon shrubs. And whatever those things were that Ani fed me - you know the park five blocks from here? The grotto... There’s a tree with them. Green things that are teardrop shaped...”

“Pink centers? Figs, _querido_ ,” a scoot and Zevran was up higher busily rubbing like a cat that had gotten into the catnip, his entire body twitching contentedly as he made all sorts of noises, and Ferox could only feel like he was being groomed as the hair on his leg was licked against the grain then back down again several times.

“She didn’t say, but that sounds like them...although I don’t like those date things, too sweet. Not that a palm would grow where it freezes, apparently.” Lifting his head and almost sorry he had, “Can I help you? I didn’t try any new oils or lotions when you weren’t looking.”

A rippling twitch from head to toe, toes which scrunched as they burrowed in to grab at his bicep, followed by more vigorous licking and rubbing, an almost possessive snarl-grunt sound, “Mmn, smell good anyway, _amora_.”

“Have you gotten into the ganja?”

“Mph, no,” another spot was chosen back near his ankle. “If I had, I would not have shared my last pocket with you, yes?”

“Umm, true. Good point. Made brownies and snuck them up here? Testing to make certain they were good on the way?”

The nude bronze body rolled over him too fast to put pressure on his stomach and the next leg was similarly ‘attacked’, “No... Why? I cannot help it if you smell and taste good, _amora_.”

 _And here I thought he was just tasting the markings._ “I have always been me.” _Too much pie._ “But you have not done this before.” _Uncomfortable? No, other than being too full._

“Mmn, yes, but you are...when one is more relaxed, content, so on, their body smells and tastes different... There is less bitter, more mellow,” squirming around a face planted itself in his groin, sniffing. “You smell...happy.”

Muttering, “Well if you stay there I will be...” Clearing his throat, “Not just less Taint then? ‘Cause I know you wrinkle your nose after some of those sessions with Zama. I have decided that it is the scent of Oghren after the Mother died all over him and we couldn’t find enough water to bathe him until we made it out of there. Although, I don’t know if he exactly bathed...probably more like scraped it off with a paddle...like oil.”

His pubic hair made faint scratching noises as the smooth cheek was rubbed over his groin, “No, it is not the Taint, _amora_. People smell different with different feelings, yes? Fear or sickness - they make for a bad smell, hmn? When body and mind are healthy, it smells better...” A pleased and satisfied sigh, “I want your smell all over me, _querido_ , this one that says you are well in all ways.”

“I do not know what it is that you smell but you are welcome to come roll in my skin.”

A lid popped open and a gold eye rolled up to look at him, “Who said I required permission?” His head popped up, “I have been unimpeded for almost twenty minutes of this, yes?” He blinked a few times before cocking his head quizzically, “Since there was no protest and you did not begin to smell sour then that means it is not unwelcome.”

Chuckling, “I thought I heard a request and was merely confirming that this, being here with you, is wanted. As for permission, you don’t need it, love, as I am yours.”

Zevran released a pleased trill and returned to whatever it was he was doing... _She said he was a cat. I believe it, what with the grooming and sniffing and rubbing thing._ There was a nuzzle at his stomach, and a pout when he groaned, still far too stuffed, but his husband scooted back down instead before a deep breath was taken. 

Ferox jerked when a raspberry was blown over his groin, a wet, tickling flapping over his manhood, “What? Why?” 

“Why not?” chuckling. “You appeared as though about to fall asleep, yes?” his face was pinched up in a wide grin, eyes twinkling.

Sticking out his tongue, “Uh-uh and now you’re gonna have to ask permission to go and do that again.” 

Looking smug, he scuttled up, straddling Ferox’s hips to stretch over him, still not putting pressure on the overstuffed stomach, so he could kiss him. Between presses of lips to various parts of his face, “Hmn, but,” a nip to his chin, “as you are mine,” tongue swirled over and between Ferox’s lips, “I thought permission,” hands found their way into his hair, tipping his head back so the line of his throat could be licked quickly, “was unnecessary?”

Eyes closing, he teased even as he was being teased, “Ahh see, gone and ruined it for everyone. I’ll have to redirect the complaint letters to your desk.” Finding enough energy to run a hand down the back of the feline hovering over him, Ferox appeared to reconsider, “Although, I may be persuaded to relent in a limited fashion, provided the speaker is well chosen.”

Rumbling beside his ear and the tip of a moist tongue swirled over his earring before the lobe was tugged in and nipped lightly, while there was an arching of hips that rubbed their cocks together. Ferox couldn’t help the sucked in breath or the fact that his hands went to his husband’s muscular hips. For a moment he considered forgetting whatever it was he was teasing and playing about, but that was until Zevran stopped and veritably hopped off of him.

Protesting, “Why - now what?”

“Well now, since I require permission for things...” Zevran taunted lightly, stretching to show off every taut line of his body. “You have to come and get me if you want me, yes? Else how would I know?” a hand moved to take the growing erection and stroke it, gold eyes alight.

“Humph.” 

This had been a sharp jagged edge not terribly long ago, one that would have had him on an angry footing wanting out of the room at the same time he wanted to stay; there would have been a frustration as he could not see a way out of the mess he had made. As it was, there was still a raised lip that his foot struck oddly almost making him stumble. It wasn’t so much that a magic wand had been waved and he was suddenly someone who would no longer become angry or react badly, but it wasn’t the instant knee jerk response to everything, a moment had been built in where he could choose. A breath then two as the flare of hurt, which once would have settled into frozen anger shutting him down, was purposely rejected. New ground was before him and all that he could trust was the scout with the dancing eyes.

Slowly, deliberately, Ferox sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, finding the opening in the netting. Just because he didn’t sink, didn’t mean that everything was suddenly easy. Yes, it was _easier_ because there was more choice in the actions he took, but the actions themselves were still new and unfamiliar. Crossing the room, with his hands unconsciously open at his sides to show that there were no weapons, he leaned down to kiss that pleased countenance. Arms quickly came around him in reward and the mouth beneath his opened, pleasure and joy thrumming through their amulets, the wash of love and want buoyed his action. Returning the embrace and delving into the warmth, a rumble rolled through him. This was good and Ferox nearly wondered why he couldn’t have done it before. 

Fingers tangling in the golden lockes while the other hand slid over the perpetually warm skin, muttering against that welcoming mouth. “I should not give with one hand and take away with the other. That was wrong and you are right to call me on it.”

“Hmn, hmn, yes, yes, I can see that point,” agreement in some form, but there was no recrimination. “However, that was not how it was meant, _querido_.” Palms slid up and down his bare back, “I wished only to play a little, yes? Though now I suppose I also wished to know if you would give chase, as I chase you so often.”

“So the hare wishes to know if the snail will catch him, or merely follow?” stroking his thumbs along Zevran’s angled jaw, fingers in his hair.

Zevran snorted, “You are far from a snail, _amora_. A tortoise possibly, hmn?” Face found its way to his chest and rubbed against affectionately, “I know you would follow, _corizon_ , as you have said such many times. But decide to hunt me down because you want me? Even if it is just a few steps...”

“There is no lack of desire, love. Rather, it is a lack of confidence which makes those steps into the unknown difficult. Dulsanaya said, ‘Zevrans are always quick.’ What’s interesting is that she makes me feel like I’m standing still.”

His brow furrowed, “You are not standing still, _querido_.” Ferox found himself tugged along gently back to the cool bed, “You came and chased me and caught me, _mi hermoso corizon_. See? You are not standing still, hmn? An instance where I did not chase you, but you chased me, yes? It is enough. You are more than enough.”

“I do see something. I would point out that a true chase would be more than a few steps - however, please do not rush off to make me feel better, as I still haven’t had my nap,” following Zevran. “Thimbleberries or not,” wryly. 

Ferox was drawn over his lover, “A nap is all you are interested in?”

Earnestly, “Oh no, I am very interested in you in you as well.” Nearly tripping and returning to cautiousness, Ferox rested his ear over the steady heartbeat, “If I’ve done something that indicates otherwise and I knew what it was, I would stop.” 

“Perhaps a nuance lost in translation, _amora_ , or general uncertainty upon my part, hmn? One cannot always be confident, else they would be foolhardy and arrogant,” more stroking and grasping at his back and shoulders. 

As always, Ferox kissed the heart under his cheek, one of his favorite places. Hand, heart, ear, mouth… “You are not foolhardy...well I take that back, I’ve watched you ride dragons, while laughing maniacally I might add. Fine, you’re not arrogant and only _slightly_ foolhardy - for an Antivan.” 

“Ohh,” whole face scrunching forward, “that is bad. Besides, I did not wish to have to pry a smashed and pressed meat version of yourself from a metal suit. Dragon teeth are sharp... However I do not much enjoy being made into a pancake either by their feet. Being airborne is far more comfortable...except for the landings that break backs, but, ah, enough reminiscing.” Zevran’s neck bowed forward so he could kiss Ferox, “Show me this not-napping you desire to share with me, _querido._ ”

Scooting up, he followed the taste of sunlight unwilling to depart from it so soon. The flavour of that light somehow had become a sort of lifeline. _Maker, when did that happen? I could review your memories and try to puzzle it out. No, it was an idle thought – leave it alone. It might be important. You have a whole boat ride home to figure that out. Do it then._ Absentmindedly, a thumb and forefingers traced his favourite ear - _The left one, right? Right, I mean, correct_ \- along the outside of the lobe to the point, down to the hollow then around the inside. Ferox may have been a snail - _Tortoise _\- but customary and familiar was comforting. The chaos of their daily lives was settling into a predictable chaos, but it hadn’t reached the point of being effortless yet. He needed the security and comfort of home.__

__He continued to explore someone he should know so well, but was persistent in surprising him. With mouth and hands, he kissed, tasted and touched the healed dents in the ears, wondering if Zevran would re-pierce them, the dark markings on the temple and cheek, the rays that only drew the observer to the golden eyes, the lines across the forehead, down to the delicious mouth that was so difficult to tear himself away from, leading to the throat from which came such interesting noises._ _

__And the hollow of the throat, where a bit of salty sweat pooled from the fiery labour outside reminded him that he had not been careful today, even if the boys had been smart enough to stay back. Had he thought about it, Ferox would not have told the boys to find their Papi while such dangerous work was going on. He had been thinking of when he had been an uncle for the first time. Rather, he had been much older than Len, but the same enthusiasm was there, propping up Oren, holding him, telling him everything he knew, making up stories and songs…his fingers knew he was daydreaming again as they flicked at the hoop threaded through a cinnamon brown nipple as if waiting for him to come back. Catching the other one, Ferox played with tongue and teeth taking care not to harm his lover as he stepped out of the memories and back into his place here, now. Fingers combed through Ferox’s hair, massaging his scalp as a quiet hiss came at the attention, a leg shifting beneath him to curl around his thigh._ _

__Sometimes he wondered if Zevran knew how often he wandered off, how something led to something else and he followed the trail without thinking, knowing that he was safe, even if it was not entirely the right time. Aware that he was often rushed along, bets had already been placed that the knowledge was there. Giving the nipple another swirl, he gave fair attention to the other. Hadn’t picked a favourite, hadn’t really thought about it, but this one had a dark tattoo nearby, which reminded him to continue moving forward, so he always saved it for second._ _

__Was he boring? Pulling back he looked at his husband. _Wait a minute, **my husband?** He is wearing your ring…or at least a ring with your name on it, an amulet you gave him, a pair of boots slipped into that box of keepsakes he thinks you don’t know about. You know the one with Len’s first knitted cap and little knitted booties and that mobile… The gloves you gave him are in there too. He wouldn’t have kept an empty bottle of brandy or the silver and gold bars, would he? Well, he was picking plenty of pockets, and money wasn’t really the biggest problem we had, he very well might have._ Those nimble fingers that had plucked so much coin were tracing his features or the line of a tendon alternating between the two as Ferox mused. _But it’s not your business, after all, you keep every scrap of paper with his ink on it. I beg to differ, I don’t keep every scrap. True, sadly some of it never comes back. Anyway, he introduced you as his husband to everyone here. Are you just catching up? You’ve been calling him your spouse for some time now, what did you think he was, your wife?_ He nearly snorted at his own thoughts, arguing, _No, no, no, no, no....already got one, don’t need another, don’t want another. That’s just what I need, two Harpies. Moira wouldn’t be a harpy. Where did you get that from? No one is marrying anybody. You mean anybody else. Fine, anybody else. Period. End of conversation. Now where was I?_ _ _

__Buying time with another nuzzle and lick at tattooed skin, _You know, not only does he know, but I’m certain he places bets of his own as to where you will get lost, which, by the way, is usually right here, and how long it will take until you come back. Oh that’s not a fair bet._ Ferox nearly frowned, it was a close thing, but it was quickly hidden by a somewhat forced, but no less playful - and distracting - berry-kiss on the space between ribs, gaining a jerk and laugh. _I got this - you know, a way to prove the marrying thing. La la la - not hearing it. Yeah, too bad, you accepted it back in Kirkwall. You know the day when he flopped into your lap - He flops into my lap all the time! Oh shut up and listen! Fine, not like I can stop you. When he flopped into your lap and showed you his ‘ring’ and you asked - you **asked** him to marry you - so, hah! I’m right, you’re wrong, and he’s your husband. Well, fine. But I said, not marrying **anyone else**. Um, have you ever noticed that the hand you kiss is always the left one, the one with that tattoo? No, it’s whichever one he presses against my face. And it’s always the left hand. Oh don’t tell me you didn’t notice that either? Maker..._ _ _

__Thinking that the conversation was over, Ferox returned to the dark lines that usually drug his feet forward, but was interrupted again. _Wait, what about the mother of your children? Gonna have some little bastards running around? Don’t say that, don’t you dare, that’s not - that’s not right. You know, just like if something happened to you, they’d be pushing all sorts of nobles on Anora. Um, they’d be welcome to. Well, what about you? Don’t you think they’d do the same, with her, you’d be ‘protected’. Oh shut up. True, they’d find you a matron who’s not about to have any children, but because you’ll ‘need help’. Who else will have tea with the ladies and catch up on the gossip? Umm, Zevran could. Oh Maker, I don’t want to explain that. In that case, you could just let it slip that Zevran’s our main squeeze. Like that won’t cause issues? Hey, if it causes some heart attacks, that just means more slots to fill with our own people. Look, it can’t be Moira, not officially, she’s ‘Zevran’s’ in other people’s eyes. Plus the whole ‘fertile’ thing. Are you trying to say that it’s okay for you to claim Zevran, but not Moira as she’ll already be ‘married’? But then, so is he! At least to their eyes, yes. But still...mighty illogical. Since when are people logical?! If they were, there wouldn’t be so many frelling issues for me to clean up! Or rumours to dodge. Forget it, you’re the one with thirty years once upon a time, and anyway, weren’t you doing something?__ _

__Apparently he was taking too much time, as a brown hand had slid between them and was moving with purpose and the hand in his hair was flexing in time with each stroke and heavy breath taken. _Either he thinks you are resting, dozing, boring, or he’s winning a bet right now. A berry thing-a-ma-bobber won’t save you this time - in the right spot about now it would, but running naked through the house giggling like one of the girls is not an option. If you had some rope maybe that’d work. Tempting._ A harsh groan and Zevran’s hips arched, sticky wetness pulsing, _Okay, where’s something to tie those hands up so he doesn’t keep doing that without us? The growling didn’t work too bad last time. Yeah, until you forgot and let go of his wrist - fool me three times shame on both of us. Okay, so yes, so that happens every time. Sigh. We need a better solution. A belt maybe? There has to be one around here somewhere. His won’t work. There’s the tie from your hair. That was a ribbon today, I don’t even want to ask what colour. Hey now, Zama put that in, not the girls. Yes, and remember to always answer that you love pink because it’s so manly and so few men can carry it off properly, unlike womanly blue or girly green._ _ _

__Quickly going through what was near to hand, even as his husband rolled his hips to spread the stickiness between them, practically daring him to make him stop, even though Ferox had a hold on the thick corded wrists, there were few options on hand other than the netting or their bedding. _Hey, I thought he wanted to wear my scent, not the other way around? Well, you’re taking too long.__ _

__Not the netting, it was too fragile. Pillowcase? No, they weren’t long enough... Growling, probably cursing in mabari, Ferox snagged a sheet one handed and twirled it into a quick roll and looped it around a wrist while Zevran’s eyes were closed, a smile playing about his lips, entirely too satisfied looking as the freed hand went directly back to his moist cock. _Well, time to take matters into my own hands here. Hey, hey now that’s a good idea - why didn’t you think of it before? Shut up._ Zevran made a surprised noise, then laughed as Ferox tied off one end, then got the other tied up, but the elf was still _moving_ too much. Giving the dip of waist a bite in warning, growling, he maneuvered into a loose set of ties, after all the sheet was rather large for the task, and secured hand-to-forearm beneath dark thighs. Rocking back on his heels, satisfied with his handiwork, he double checked his lover’s expression. Which was flushed, dusky with interest high in his cheeks, and a faint sheen of sweat had sprung up, lids lowered. If his assassin wanted out from the bindings he certainly could get free, but as it was, he was well prevented from pushing Ferox to rush in his puttering. _Besides, he said to show him my interest. Yeah, good call as that might get you out of trouble for that earlier bit of ‘dozing off’. Hey, that was good pie. Now, where was I? Not marrying Moira even though she bakes and is a lass after your own stomach. No. Oh...over here._ _ _

__Zevran’s manhood was flexing, swollen and much harder than it had been, straining to stand vertically in spite of its weight. With a shift, the assassin made himself comfortable in his bound state, clearly thrumming with want - _Comfortable? I wouldn’t be... Shut up, back away, leave it alone. He likes it, you don’t, ‘nuff said. But... Shut up. If you were going to protest it should have been done a few minutes ago. But... Okay, here’s the choices. Stay where we are right now and live with it or get up and go for a walk. But... Seriously, is a walk what you want? If you sit here and pick at that scab, it’s just gonna bleed and make a mess and we’ll just take a walk right now. We’re not gonna go though that, not right now. No, but...I didn’t ask. No ‘buts’. All the permission you need is right there, just look. Does he look uncomfortable? Worried? Scared? Or does he look like he wants to rip your clothes off, well, if there were clothes between you? No, I mean yes...you know what I mean. Then touch him you buffoon!_ Swallowing the hesitation, hopefully it had been hidden by his staring, Ferox ran his hands down the spread thighs slowly, twisting them from the inside to the top, then slid them back down the raised legs, watching the hitched breathing and licked lips._ _

__Starting over, ignoring ‘a pressing demand’, Ferox began once again. Perhaps it was punishment for leaping ahead without him, or so he told himself, it was to get it right this time. First a kiss to confirm, even though Zevran could speak for himself, that boundaries had not been overstepped. The flavour of arousal was sweet in the sunlight, like apricot jam. Each corner and crease was again tasted, a tongue running over them, then to the ears for the same, taking his time, not wandering off on tangents while a hungry whimper came and the head immediately tilted to give him better access. A low rumble began as the flexible cartilage curled in his mouth, caressing his tongue as it moved over the delicate tissue. First left then right, a kiss pressed to the marked temple before finding again drops of sweat in the hollow of the throat and rolling his tongue there before swiping each collarbone. To the pierced nipples, licking and catching his tongue in the jewelry, one then the other. Remembering that this was where he left off, here at this rib, he nipped it, purposely leaving a mark. Continuing down the ink, which he had become very familiar with that afternoon in Kirkwall - _See - you do remember_ \- a growl for himself wasn’t wasted. Despite his ‘bound’ state, someone wanted more attention and was arching in a way that had to be awkward but didn’t seem like it at the same time. _Next time, plan better, would you? What? Nothing, we’ll talk later._ _ _

__To take up the slack in the makeshift bindings, Ferox pushed legs up higher to discourage more rushing and dipped his tongue into the indent of a scar. The edges and raised areas had a shiny texture against his tongue, fascinating him momentarily, before he gradually moved down, licking away the evidence of earlier relief, while denying further as he skirted the twitching heat that tapped him from time to time with the flex of internal muscles. A scruff of a cheek rubbed against the upstanding need, he followed one of the tattoos down a leg, finding another scar high on the inner thigh. Last time he had looked closely, he had been examining the dark ink, apparently he had been so focused that he did not see the other markings on the skin. Remembering that there was some talk of removing the raised scars and inking over them, that was going to need closer investigation if they were disguised that way. However that would need someone who wasn’t able to rub against him, trying to get his attention... _Perhaps rope isn’t such a bad idea. Wait a minute, what? Well, remember when you offered to hog tie him and brand him? Yeees... I’m pretty certain it wasn’t so much the branding as the ropes that had him bouncing all over the room. Maker. What? Nothing._ Kissing along the newly found scar, he promised to come back to find the others later._ _

__Stroking the heavy elven shaft, Ferox rubbed the sensitive head with his thumb before licking away the pearled drops clinging to the ring. It was nothing to pull back for a moment he told himself as he went after the oil Zevran had been rubbing into his shoulder and hip. The brief taste had been teasing and he knew it, confirmed by the disgruntled noises of his lover. Moments later, oiled fingers pressed and persuaded rings of muscles to be loosened, causing encouraging words to flow over and around him. Curling, pressing, wanting more, just as the desire that loomed over him, did as well. _Maker, he is beautiful. You have said that and he has said that he knows. Is that what had made him scar himself? I know that if the healer knew she would say **’Oh gods’**. She knew - there is no other explanation. Why didn’t she heal it? Why didn’t Zama? Because it wasn’t wanted. I’d want it. Would you, really?_ _ _

__Looking into that shining face as his fingers teased and pleased, seeing both what his husband must have looked like before damaging himself, what he looked like not that long ago and what he looked like now... In each mental picture he was known, _Beauty isn’t just looks. It’s the person. I don’t care how pretty the Harpy may or may not be to others, she’s ugly in her ways. She doesn’t care for others and because of that, can never be beautiful. He never has anything to be ashamed of and is beautiful now. I’m only sorry that he believed there was cause to harm himself. And that I can’t get my hands around the necks of those who cut him out of envy. If you knew, you’d try. Then be glad that I don’t._ _ _

__Sliding his palm along the underside of heavy weight, pinning the straining and engorged member flat to Zevran’s stomach, Ferox licked the velvety soft sack before sucking a single large oval into his mouth gently, careful of teeth and watched as his assassin’s face twisted, mouth opening on a strangled cry. _Oh, I like that._ While beneath his massaging palm Zevran’s cock twitched, even as around his probing fingers muscles spasmed. Switching to the other source of seed and their shared offspring, Ferox continued until his husband sobbed out his orgasm, entire body straining to get closer, but held safely and securely as control was released and entrusted to him. Allowing the firm oval to slip from his mouth, nuzzling behind the sack, searching for the long expanse of skin between, he made sure to rub the line of his jaw gently, listening to and watching the reactions, enjoying the always new examination, uninterrupted and unimpeded. _ _

___So, I was thinking. What? You had time for that?_ incredulous with himself, that there had been any ability to think beyond tasting and touching. _Um, yes. This is really great, however... I knew it, ‘but what’? Well, this isn’t going to be every time, right? What do you mean? Well, I don’t get the fingers in my hair and they don’t run along that crack on my skull. Oh...well - sometimes is good. It’s not bread, something you have every time you eat. Um, it’s like those really hot peppers, couldn’t eat one of those with every meal, but once in awhile it’s okay...well, not okay, but you know what I mean. Unlike Moira, we’re not going to make a bowl full of them - I don’t think even she would do that - Hah, you weren’t paying attention at breakfast. Okay, so the babies make her want spicy stuff, it won’t last forever. There’ll be bread later. You sure? I’m positive. If not this time, then next time, don’t panic. I’m not panicking, I’m just...concerned, ‘cause I like bread too.__ _

__Held in position, granting access, even as muscles rippled, Ferox still had access to all of Zevran, which he made use of, kissing, sucking, licking, stroking everything he could find. Slipping fingers from the relaxed entrance, it was kissed intimately, deeply, garnering a plaintive moan and curling toes, a beautiful reaction that he couldn’t help rewarding further with a moan of his own. _Maker. What did you do to deserve this? Not deserved, it’s a gift._ _ _

__Pulling away to zigzag his tongue one last time over the sensitive area stern to stem, Ferox straightened to drizzle oil over Zevran’s spread legs and groin, working more of it into the relaxed channel, entranced by his spouse’s arching and the way the oil glimmered on the bronze skin, before he poured a generous amount onto his own manhood which jumped at the room temperature coolness as it struck his flesh. One hand distractedly set the cruet aside, the other making sure he was slick enough for their long anticipated joining. Taking great care, Ferox slowly slid in, eyes closing at how good it felt, how Zevran’s body willingly pulled him in, embracing his cock, the way it gripped even as the oil aided and made them slippery, his entire length pushing in with gut-wrenching ease and pleasure._ _

___’Ferox,’_ it was the only word that made sense, as Zevran was making needy sounds, plenty of vocals, but not actual words._ _

___’Yes, love.’_ Not a question, but reassurance and confirmation that he was there and that he wouldn’t stop._ _

__With each slow thrust, there was a thrash and more noises than Ferox could pay attention to, Zevran would look at him hungrily, before his eyes would roll back, spine twisting as his hips struggled to push into him. Panting, Ferox fought, a hand pinning a bronze hip in place, his pace gradually picking up, unable to keep himself back from the moist embrace and pulling as it sent shudders through his own body when there was a trembling pulse of muscles around his cock accompanied by his name gasped out in a indecipherable mess. Pressing on, he wanted to see if he could make it happen again, biting the inside of his cheek to hold his own completion back in favour of finding out if it would be repeated. Shoulders bunching forward, concentrating as he watched his assassin quaking, practically seizing it was so strong, the pleasure pounding at Ferox’s mind from Zevran’s was almost too extreme with the intensity and desire, the complete submission giving up to being nothing less than utter abandon in his arms. Another cry becoming almost a wail, startling and the whisky-dark tinted gold voice babbled without meaning._ _

___Personal victory. What? He’s speechless...for more...than a minute. Not normal, usually...hard to do. Always hard for you to do,_ thoughts hitching with his breathing and the nearly frenetic pace just before he fell over the precipice himself. _ _

__Fingers thick and too close to useless, any perceived dexterity just out of reach, Ferox fumbled at the binding which had ‘mysteriously’ tightened during the straining. His throat was forming words without the rest of him, uncomplimentary ones, if anyone ever bothered to translate mabari. Gold eyes watched him dazedly as he fumbled one-handed, amazingly trusting and relaxed, meaningless noises still coming from Zevran but they were warm and syrupy thick like the spiced coffee that was drank black. Finding enough slack to loosen the hastily fashioned knot, it was pulled off. If the assassin couldn’t get out of the other one, Ferox would eat Starfang. Frell, if he couldn’t have gotten out of both of them...but Ferox wanted to show that the game was over and one knot was all he had energy for. Putting his ear back over the rapidly beating heart, he didn’t move, didn’t really want to either, and was buoyed by the continuous flowing river of sound as a hand flopped out to struggle with the other knot. With a last tug, the bindings finally went lax and Zevran’s limbs quickly wrapped around Ferox, however they were still shaking with reaction and not very strong._ _

___’ **Te amo, mi corizon, mucho mas,** very much,’_ it was giddy and pleased and garbled all at once, the amulet all that made it intelligible._ _

__A grunt accompanied the kiss over the heart. All that was needed was here in this instant, the arms around him, the beloved heartbeat, scent of sunlight, and that voice, whether in his mind or aloud. Everything else, it was all just bonuses. Difficult to remember when he was in the middle of things, bogged down in details... _Perhaps it should go on a list? Maybe later._ He was here now, where everything was perfect and just the way he liked it._ _

__Mumbling, “That wasn’t so bad...”_ _

__There was a playful wriggle, exhausted obviously as it wasn’t the no holds barred enthusiasm that Zevran showed customarily in private, but the words were heartfelt, “Oh you were magnificent, _querido._ Tell me we can do this again sometime, please.”_ _

__“As you wish, love.” _You sure? Oh yeah, I’m sure.__ _


	38. Just Be Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umn...oops? *checks the date of last posting* Umn...super big oops? Briala and I have been alternating who's been sick, who's busy, who's got RL issues cropping up (good and bad ones), so on, so forth. Sooo....oops. Yes. Big oops. I mean, considering the fact that we've had these chapters *written* for literally years now, and not posted them... yeah, oops. That's all I can say.

Correspondence received from Nathaniel was interesting. Of course, everything had been written in some code that Zevran and Nathaniel had cooked up and inserted in one of the books on intricacies of cultivation of hard and soft, red and white winter wheat, which he had recently finished. _My poor books, traveling the length and breadth of Thedas. Well you know this one is yours, that’s the point. Not to mention it’s boring as frell to most._ Snorting, _Didn’t I hear Moira threatening to read it as punishment stories for naughty girls who scampered off down the street without telling anyone? Oh, ouch. Yes apparently one chapter of that was good enough. Even if Zevran said privately that children are pretty much sacrosanct and that anyone who lived on this street would look out for them... Hrmn. Good thing he didn’t say that where Moira could hear. Harrumph, that was only one outburst of cranky from her out of how many of sunny? Okay, okay._

The word on the Orlesian situation was a slow and deliberate waltz. Each step requiring a meeting to discuss how it would be taken, to discuss who would be there, what would be the agenda, the size of the table, and who would sit where. More often than not, there was a meeting to coordinate how the meeting to negotiate would also be conducted. Ambassador Eamon Guerrin, former Arl of Redcliff, had the honour of dealing with the Orlesians. Frankly, Ferox didn’t care what the Orlesians did as long as it wasn’t in Ferelden, and second, that it entertained the old busybody, _Meaning that it keeps Eamon and Isolde out of your hair. And out of Ferelden, can’t forget that part, too._

When a request had been received to increase the ambassador’s stipend, Leliana had let slip that Isolde seemed to be quite taken with the fashions, and despite her ugliness of character, seemed to have good taste in clothing. But as was customary, Isolde wore each ball gown or party dress only once. Ferox and Zevran, after consultation, decided to increase the salary, however, they arranged that any discarded items of clothing and accessories would be sent back to Ferelden by a fast ship. The royal tailors began to turn out copies, made in Ferelden’s finest fabrics, of course, which were then shipped out to the rest of Thedas. Why travel the entire Waking Sea to Val Royeaux when you can just cross it to Denerim? They were making a tidy profit as a result.

After years of maneuvering, Eamon was now, finally, eventually reaching the Empress Celene I with the plots. Of course, she denied them and assigned several Imperial Bards to the issue. Their loyalty was, of course, suspect, but they eventually determined that no one under the Crown had anything to do with Erlina. The mercenaries hired and sent after Ferelden’s Prince Consort and the Heir to the Ferelden Crown were hired from a tight circle of nobles and merchants, and surprisingly a few of them by the Chantry itself. The Orlesian nobles were all related to several old and well placed former Ferelden families and the merchants wished to acquire Ferelden’s resources at a pittance. 

The Empress issued no Orders of Execution, but she did make restitution for the ones who died, as well as cede over a portion of mares, some twenty or so, and five fine stallions from her personal stables. The horses were to pay Ferelden back itself, or at least the crown, for the personal attacks. They didn’t come with a horsemaster, just a few stablehands, and a statement that should the Prince Consort and Queen have any requests - within reason - they would be considered. Evidently Celene was rather upset because she was made to look as if she supported such goings on. It was an offer that Ferox had Eamon pounce upon immediately, via information from Fergus, so that a pair of large herds of bison was driven through the passes, to wander the west and south of Ferelden. And a goodly portion of mountain yaks, too. During the Occupation, both the hearty yaks and massive bison that could withstand despicable winters and hot summers, whilst not devouring all plantlife, had all been killed out on the Ferelden side of the Frostbacks. The Chasind would certainly be happy - they had only been living off of muskox, caribou, elk, and reindeer for the last two generations. Teagan was in thick with Fergus these days, and working with the Dalish and Chasind of the teyrnir of Gwaren. The nomads had lamented the loss of the old food sources, and how it had hampered some of their own survival prior to the Blight and afterwards. 

Further word in the coded messages was that Leliana, while visiting the Grand Cathedral overheard Templars discussing how the lyrium was being rationed, as since the Blight and Mikhael Dryden’s negotiations with King Bhelen, only so much lyrium was being exported to Orlais, as Ferelden was buying up as much as they could and reselling it. Bhelen had opted to not renew the covenant with the White Divine and Chantry on selling solely to the Chantry, letting the Divine know he must be wooed after her attempted incursions and regulations about the Orzammar ‘Circle’ that Dagna had formed. Since the Divine had broken faith, or allowed it to be broken through the actions of her subordinates, Bhelen had turned around and given Ferelden primacy. It would stay that way until the Divine bought Bhelen’s goodwill, but Ferox was working to keep it away from the Chantry. Subsequently, Ferelden mages working on projects vital to the country had first rights to purchase and then it was being exported, evenly and fairly with no regard to if one was a mage or the Chantry. The Chantry was beginning to realize that they had to deal with Ferelden if it wanted more than they were able to get out of the dwarves on their own. Ferelden had first rights to purchase now, for at least the next fifty years, anybody else was secondary, and that did not sit very well for those in Val Royeaux.

Also it appeared that the Royal Harpy’s frustrations, no longer able to be vented in his direction, suddenly had no point of focus. Her tea parties had been discontinued after some choice words were said, not once - when the offended woman did not return, not twice - when the next gathering was held and the next lady was taken down a notch or two, but after three separate occasions and three separate Ferelden noblewomen had been insulted, ‘never to return’. _I wonder what pushed her over the edge?_ The descriptions of the events had him nearly in stitches. _Apparently, if you knew the whole trail of whose niece's half-brother’s uncle’s cousin’s (thrice removed) dog was, that knowledge could_ be used as a weapon. Not one he would have chosen, but then he did not take to reading little black books full of uninteresting genealogies and useless facts. 

_Well, after she pitched you out on your ear, she started going through the nobles. Not winning any points is she? Perhaps that is the point. She’s sent away from her side what set her back on that throne, e.g. the Hero of Ferelden - I still hate that title - and is beginning to remove what little foundation stones she gathered on her own. She’s becoming isolated, and has little contact with the ‘little people’. Meantime, Camille funnels what goes out and comes in and Nathaniel remains your voice. Couldn’t have planned it better myself. You didn’t need to, that’s the whole point - you have chosen the right people for the right jobs._

Ferox had placed personal bets that the first choice words happened after she received the message he had written from Amaranthine advising that, pursuant to her instructions, he, with the Royal Heir, were taking a ship to Antiva to obtain a building suitable as an embassy and to establish formal negotiations with the powers that be, much like they had done in Kirkwall which acted as a focal point for many of the surrounding Free March cities. The second event would have happened after the Harpy had heard of rumours that she had set him aside, and the third after receiving several letters on said subject from his supporters, all urging her to reconsider something she had not done, or correspondence that expressed anger at her ‘appalling outbursts’. For all that, Ferox snickered again as he watched Antiva pass them by from the relative comfort of the rickshaw.

_’Unfortunately we will not be allowed to see **Flores Abrasadoras** , but Alcazaba will welcome us,’_ Zevran draped an arm over the backrest, curling around Ferox’s shoulders. _’It very much depends upon which little upstart prince thinks he has control at the time, yes? There is also the various **haciendas** of the Free Blade companies, some of the groups are quite old, quite respected - so much so that their halls are more fort than housing, hmn? Now some of them are full compounds, the largest being the size of a well built town. We will look at some of those if you like, **amante**.’_

_’As much or as little as you like. I’m trying to remember a journey that was just us. Well...seems we’re always accompanied one way or another, but I mean without family...Amaranthine to Highever... The last time was later that same trip, I believe, and then we met up with them again.’_ It wasn’t a complaint, but the situation hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Ferox was beginning to count that amongst the high prices that were to be paid for being Prince Consort. _’Insignificant princes and their delusions of grandeur...we should be able to find common ground on that basis alone.’_ Stepping away from the uncomfortable subject, one he rarely thought about, he focused on the issues at hand, _‘But tell me of your Free Blades. Ani has not said much...well not about that.’_

Zevran looked around, relaxing as he stretched a leg out, “The Free Blades were established when Antiva still had a standing army, well, the lack of a standing army is truly only a few centuries old, yes? When the Qun’ari invaded was the last time we had one.” Gesturing to encompass the whole city, “Steel Age in the forty-second year, all of Antiva was beneath the Qun. However, much of the layout of Antiva City as we know it today, came from prior to the Fourth Blight, hmn? It was still in the process of being built, so there was much that had not been finished for defense. Even so, as I said, the Burning Flowers bears scars from those days and nights. Once the Blight was ended, the people picked up where they had left off, as the horde appeared more interested in finding women and slaying fighters to remain long enough to Taint and Blight everything...” He trailed off, “And yet there are areas out in the Weyrs and Drylands that still bear the scars - but if that is from the Tevinter or the darkspawn... I do not know. Just that some places are...not quite right, yes?” 

Little ground in Thedas has been left unaffected by the Blights. However someone should have said something about the Mothers, surely they had not been the first to see them, to know the truth. Musing darkly, _Or the knowledge was repressed under the orders of First Wardens at the time. Or even worse - the knowledge is sitting in one of the many libraries here, but no one thought to consult them._ And there was also the consideration of scarring and making monsters under the beds and in closets. ‘Eat all of your peas or the darkspawn will take you away.’ _Maker. Isn’t it bad enough already? Must I add to it and tell the truth? Secrets are bad if people are harmed because of them. But there’s no end to it, knowing that women will be taken, can be...it could lead to the death of thousands, or in the case of a place as populated as Antiva - millions of women of childbearing age whenever a Blight is remotely possible. Any that remain, chosen, would be locked up and guarded to be treated as nothing more than breeding stock! Female Wardens would be first on the chopping block. Maker, we could all die out in a generation or two... Apocalypse._ If that was remotely true, the suppression of that knowledge might very well have been vital, saved for scholars, those in power, and Wardens. 

Glancing at Zevran then Alois, he could see them making such a calculated maneuver, and they were far from the ‘worst’ the House of Crows had to offer.

His husband gave himself a shake, “Ah, but you ask of the Free Blades - their history, it is entwined with all of that, hmmn? The disparate sections of society are nothing but layers upon layers, one cannot have only a single layer to the cake. You see, it has always been that the army did not travel the trade routes, at least not as guides and protection for caravans. What with how insular the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ and Dalish are, no caravan master wished to stumble into areas where they were...let us just say ‘unwelcome’, hmn? For the longest time the policy was to simply leave them alone, else worry over large portions of the army rebelling, as many had clan ties, and those who remained, would disappear in droves as the Drylands and Weyrs are not meant for the settled peoples or armies to move through. This was proved during the fall of Arlathan, when Tevinter’s armies of soldiers and mages raged across the land - they could never find enough _Ga’hals_ to leave a lasting impact, or their supply wagons were stolen, fired, or simply...vanished.” Hands made a large, knotted fist then fingers exploded outwards accompanied by a ‘pooft!’ sound. “The darkspawn, the Qun’ari, the Exalted Marches - the sheer number of losses was enough of a deterrent that no one in their right mind could truly come through with enough forces to survive and do any damage once the farmlands were reached, hmn? That is why they all come from the coast or the Free Marches if they know anything of history. And the Free Marches are more fodder to grind them down. It is our coasts that are most vulnerable... But we own these waters, _querido_. You saw the bay.” 

Ferox nodded, he remembered seeing, through Zevran’s eyes, the ships both above and below the water, every single one afloat that was Antivan, was a sleek predator with only a few modifications. If it was too dangerous to travel in the ‘back way’ and the bay was a trap in itself, what waited for those taking the southern route? Is that why Sten was in Ferelden and the Arishok in Kirkwall? Were they scouting that route? 

_Take Ferelden, use Brandel’s Reach, Amaranthine, West Hills, Denerim as launch points for multi pronged attacks, the forests would provide wood for more ships... And the populace broken to the Qun, made into slaves of a sort. How do we stop that? Sten said that he had been sent to find out what the Blight was. True, he isn’t one for lying. However, after the Blight would have been the best time to invade...perhaps a few months after, when everyone relaxed their vigilance and went home, yet we see nothing. Better still if you’re out of the country...okay you’ve gotten a pretty big head of self importance going there. There are others who can take up the defense._

Remembering sparring with Sten, _I could take him. But imagine an army of them, how many could you kill? And most people can’t kill one, it would be like the darkspawn all over again, everyone running to get away, except for the few who could stand. We’re still vulnerable._

“So the Free Blades were originally mercenaries - soldiers who had been discharged or retired, or fighters who did not wish to have so many rules placed upon them,” explaining. “A guildhall was created so that caravans could have guards, though also listings for bodyguard or houseguard work was almost always available - it still is, hmn? - in a centralized area so that fighters and those who required their strength, had a place to find what was needed. Work or workers, no? And there is the fact that to be a fighter in Antiva, one is either a Crow or a Free Blade, outside of a few bandits and thugs.” 

“All fighters? What about the clansmen, I would think that they count,” raising an eyebrow.

Zevran’s nose wrinkled, “They avoid the cities unless they are here for trade or if they are Free Blades, but usually they keep to the outskirts if they are not. Far too many people for the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ or Dalish to tolerate - city people are dirty to them and somewhat anathema.” Shaking his head to move the conversation along, “As I said, many of them were clansmen, ones who knew their way about the Drylands and Weyrs, ways to guide their employers away from sensitive areas, safely. On the main at least, yes? Of course there are always those who set up for ambushes, but that is more difficult these days. Now there are two types of _Liberte Espadas_ , ones who are not signed to a company and ones who are. Companies are units, ranging in size from twenty-five fighters to thousands for the oldest companies. Of the oldest, only a few range into many thousands, in the tens, one or two are in the hundreds of thousands - these have their own outposts, usually along the border with the Free Marches, and a few along the coastal cities. Company life offers various securities - room and board, healing, things like that, but the pay is greatly reduced. A small personal stipend for their needs and a communal armory offering customized weapons and armour for reduced rates if not free entirely.” 

Curious, “And what about life outside a company?” 

Zevran shrugged, “It is riskier. The pay is higher, but you must provide all your own gear, housing, food, healing... There is also no one to back you up if an employer cheats you. Nowhere to recuperate if injured and are thus unable to work. But there are less rules. Historically, family men tend to go the route of being unattached to a company. Special cases exist everywhere though, hmn? Some companies allow for families, but the mercenary loses room and board options, yet their stipend increases slightly to reflect it. I imagine this is what has happened for Ani and Uailil, but their room and board is ‘free’ anyway, so they do not suffer for it.” The blond head came to rest on Ferox’s shoulder, the arm once more wrapping around him companionably. “Predominantly the Free Blades are mounted, however there are always units that are meant to be on foot. Those hire out to villas and guarding posts for the most part, yes? But a key requirement to be remotely successful, is the ability to ride and fight upon horseback. Once the army was decimated and the Qun’ari pushed back, the Free Blades filled the void. Beyond that, there are contracts that stipulate that to become a member of the Free Blades Guild, is that three months of the year is devoted to patrolling and protecting the cities, towns, and lands of Antiva. And clauses that state that so long as they are members of the guild, that they not fight against Antiva, her interests, and that if called upon to protect her, they must.”

Alois added, his Antivan accent softened to nearly nothing from so many years in Ferelden, paired with his colouring making it hard to say where in Thedas he was from precisely, “The same goes for all merchant ships, or those who are pirates in other waters. If they wish to use Antiva as their home base, it is required. Else they will face the Merchantmen’s Guild, the House of Crows, and if any Free Blades find them upon land, they will face them also. Do what you will outside of Antiva’s sovereign waters and land, but in Antiva, you play by our rules.”

As was his usual, Ferox first found the familiar before veering into the unknown, “The time spent working for the good of the country sounds much like the tithe of time paid by working the Crown’s roads or other civic projects for their bann or arl...something to benefit all. When paying this tithe, this three months, does the entire Guild do it at once or stagger the individuals’ time so that someone is always out on patrol? And who tracks this time to ensure that it’s done?” In a city this large that could be a bookkeeping nightmare and who did they report to? It was said that the Crown here had little control over much at all, but perhaps they were in charge of such bureaucracy.

“Auck, of course it is staggered, _amora_ ,” laughter. “Else there would be nine months of the year where there were no protections in place and chaos would run amok!”

Alois’s muddy hazel eyes squinted in thought, “Each company has bookkeepers, which report to the main guildhall, which has many retired Free Blades, or those who were injured in the line of duty, but have an aptitude for numbers, to audit and ensure that things run smoothly. Some slip through the cracks, but so long as over half of everything is correctly running, such slips can be ignored. _If_ the Free Blades did not follow the rules, there is always the House to ensure that such a situation is remedied. And any company numbering more than fifty, has a Crow liaison that is an adjunct to ensure that there will be no need for ‘remedies’ on a large scale.”

Somehow keeping this straight was going to lead to a headache, which, although they did not occur at the same frequency before arriving in Antiva, were not completely gone either, “Company,” repeating the word he wanted, “does an entire company serve its tithe at the same time?”

“It depends on the size, _querido_ ,” a tattooed cheek rubbed at his shoulder for a moment. “Otherwise there are units that go out, usually in groups of twenty-five to fifty - again, once more depending on the size of the company - to ride their routes, while allowing the main body of the company to see to whatever contracts and jobs are on hand, hmn? It is quite orderly, just very large.”

Dryly, “Very large.” With a squeeze to the elf’s thigh surreptitiously, _’Do you have any leads as to a good horse master?’_

_’I have been grilling Ani about that, and she has several ideas, but she said I should speak to her commander first to see if he knows of any who might not be currently employed.’_

_’Should be interesting then. Any particular hat you’re thinking of having me wear? Somehow I doubt that rock farmer with get us very far and I’m certainly not dressed for the part.’_

His lover snorted, _’Yourself should be more than sufficient, the man is the commander of the Dust Wolves - which is one of the oldest companies, if not the oldest, **amora**. He would be more general than fighter. For Ani to trust him as much as she does, as do his mercenaries, he would have to be intelligent and down to earth, yes? I know little of him, the Free Blades never particularly interested me. I left that to Taliesin, who was frequently a plant to get bodyguard ‘jobs’ to get close to targets.’_

Ferox wondered if the fact that his biological father was probably a Free Blade had affected that distinct lack of desire. Or, were the steps guided away from it? Interesting question to something he knew nothing about. It did mean that the last time Zevran saw the man, he was a child...wait that count wasn’t right. Zama said the last time was decades ago. Zevran would have already been with the Crows. But the first time was more than seventy years ago, she said. _Couldn’t imagine not having Father there while I was growing up. Others do it just fine. Well, I wasn’t arguing that. And you know how fast the Crown would have been throwing available nobles at Mother’s head, that spot wouldn’t have been vacant for long._

Reflecting on the different qualities that each parent brought to his own upbringing, he considered Zama, what she brought to the table and what would have been missing. However, if he left home at age seven, that time would have meant more, it was longer and memories were few in those early years, at least in his own mind. _Have you considered that you are very stable? Perhaps that is the need that you are filling for him? Or in the alternative, have you watched those ears go swivel-ly when you put on some authoritative hat and step into some conflict intent on protecting him or to handle it? Well he did say once that he liked his ‘men to be men’ and his ‘women to be women’. Certainly an interesting thought. Are you saying that he needs the illusion of being protected because of missing that as a child? I am not his father and am not going to play that role. No, no, that’s taking it too far. So it provides for some need, however that doesn’t necessarily jump to the role of be a parental figure. Even you need to be protected and he does that for you - frequently. And it doesn’t mean that he’s replaced our father. True._

_‘Well, since this isn’t an official visit and his high and mighty muckiness hasn’t visited with the powers that be, perhaps Warden Commander, because he’s the one who needs said horsemaster, would be appropriate.’ Too many ‘me’s’ to choose from. Besides that, who is just you?_ Quickly Ferox backed away from that thought, having no desire to explore it. _Besides, it’s not like The Warden Commander has stopped in to pay his respects either. Not like they don’t know you’re here. Not necessarily, remember how much education the little healer did with the ones in Kirkwall. You’ve forgotten that they’re all Ferelden Wardens and we started out behind everyone - not even knowing how to do a Joining, let alone what the amulets did...do. Who knows what the rest of the Wardens already know and have mastered? She put us back on the path, and Zevran, from what the healer said, has abilities to manipulate that thing like nobody else._

Making a face, Ferox tested his amulet, he didn’t know anyone in particular, but he just wanted to know if it was possible to find anyone. A flurry of acknowledgement, nothing beyond a polite nod of someone passing by and he withdrew just as they did. There were far more than he had expected for some reason, as though they were just waiting for a Blight to crop up. Glancing around the beautiful city, _Maybe they are. Just like they wait for invaders? Probably. Reminds me of spiders more than Crows and gryphons. Bees might be better, they’re always doing something, but kick the nest and they’re all on ya. Bees aren’t very frightening - spiders? Hmn...but no, they decide to use ‘crows’ - carrion birds. Go figure._

_’Perhaps. Free Blades are apolitical, not a single commander comes from a family of means, wealth and power of any sort do not impress them. As I said, going as yourself without any pretenses would likely be best,’_ the back of a thumb rubbed up and down against the side of Ferox’s neck as Zevran watched the city flow by.

When the rickshaw went up switchback streets to the Alcazaba, Ferox got his first long look at the place. The walls were odd, as though triangular teeth comprised the entire length, with occasional towers rising over the inward sloping curtain wall. Marble sheathed the stone exterior, glossy and reflecting the light with a wavering lemon yellow shimmer from the heat. That smooth gloss would make it a nightmare to climb for almost anyone, _Probably even give Zevran a bit of trouble. Probably._ Behind the curtain wall, towers of varying sizes rose, with the four in the center rising the highest, holding court over the entire city. Near the last of the switchbacks, there was a sudden courtyard, a half-circle that they stopped at, the rickshaw runners moving to one side. A group of mounted guards, all wearing the flowing robes that Ferox had noted that Zamitie and Anicada wore, except they were a bright canary yellow compared to Zama and Ani’s blacks and reds, sat their mounts, towering like the minarets above the few people entering and exiting the Alcazaba. Saddle bows were near to hand and each had a quiver of javelins tucked in an odd set up behind what Ferox could only assume was their dominant hand stirrup, while weapons bristled at hips and shoulders. One of the group even had a bandoleer of daggers meant for throwing. Each was genderless in their robes, all of the same colours, as though to be uniform even as the way they adorned them were completely different. Not only were there the mounted guards, but there was also a handful of clearly more ‘Antivan’ ones, light, curved blades at hips and spears in hand, alert but standing at a more military attention than the feline laziness of the horseclansmen. 

As to which were more dangerous, Ferox was not entirely sure: looks could be deceiving, and in Antiva, everything was _always_ more than what they appeared.

Taking in more than just the size and the fighters, Ferox noted how the jutting triangle ‘teeth’ provided many angles of attack for those above to any poor slob below, grinding up an attacking force as though it were just soft meat. _Impressive. You mean dangerous. Yes, and that’s what I said. Could be why you’re gawking like a country bumpkin. I am not, my mouth is firmly closed. Yeah, well, blink once in awhile too. No wonder the Vigil, the place you seem so taken with, isn’t very impressive to him. Held off the Mother’s army... Barely. Highever and Soldier’s Peak are more effective, but that’s placement, not necessarily in how they’re built. Highever did get many improvements to its defensive posture when it was rebuilt. True, between Voldrick and Fergus it has been pretty well enhanced._ Amaranthine had also received a bit of a makeover after the attacks on it too, but that was primarily because it guarded the port, not because it was terribly damaged.

The great doors were open wide, and as they passed through on foot, he saw that the wood was layered, riveted through with metal rods, holding the metal sheets to the wood and kept it all in place in staggered lines, ensuring that even if one piece came loose, the ones behind it would not. Each door was easily as thick as his leg was long from the hip and he could fathom no logical way to move the doors without a great deal of effort. But there was no scuffing or scarring in the ground, other than a few holes for rods that apparently went in from the gates to create an extra layer of locking in place, and with a glance overhead, he saw that there were places there to hold anchoring rods as well. _Door and portcullis all at once? But how do they close the damn thing without a team of horses?_

Zevran chuckled under his breath, as though reading his mind, which wasn’t impossible or unlikely at all, “Counterweights, _querido_. There are several mechanisms. The one here can only _close_ the gates, not open them, yes? It prevents someone from being bribed to open the gates for an invader, hmn? The doors swing closed, but do not fully lock without someone putting effort in.”

Similar to the dwarven crafted door blocking the way into the Deep Roads then, like the one under the Vigil. The keep itself couldn’t support anything like that...it wasn’t big enough. Just as he was coming to grips with that, a courtyard exploded before them as they exited the long murder-tunnel, a riot of deep umber, and dark clay red, blue columns supporting covered walkways, artful planters hanging moss from the tops of the walkway, while potted trees lined the courtyard. In the center a geometric starburst sprang, while the opulence of a statue that had water sliding over the feminine forms that danced in a ring at the center of the tiled starburst, their stone feet seeming to barely touch the surface of the pool they played in. The courtyard was large, not quite two bowshots delivered by Nate across, with hip high planters with flowers and shrubbery bearing fruit and flowers, along with the tall pots for the fruit trees - everywhere he looked was food or what he could only guess must be medicinal or poisonous herbs. 

And they were only in the front section of the Alcazaba. 

His husband gestured, “There are squares like this ringing this space between the first wall, yes? And look -” he turned, pointing to the top walkway of the curtain wall behind them, more soldiers ( _Free Blades. Yeah, right, you can say they’re mercenaries - those are **full time soldiers** and you know it_ ) paced easily, medium sized recurve bows on their backs. “Bundles of arrows are spaced at intervals, yes? Effective. The way the bows are shaped allow for almost as much power as a longbow, weigh less, but they take much longer to make, hmn? Suited for being afoot or upon horseback, the range is almost the same as a longbow, for the finest ones, no? Some are even double stringed, but I never got the hang of those.”

_Close your mouth. Oops, thank you._ “A good longbow man is born to the task. Does it take as long to learn?” _Which is why you will never be as good as Nathaniel - never enough time. That, and I would rather hit something with brute force...gets me a more satisfying crunch._

“Yes and no. Like being able to speak Common or know how to read Antivan at the least, bows are the weapon all Free Blades must learn, yes? Ani can ride at full gallop while her mount dips and weaves, and take down hawks on the wing, and that was when she was naught but a young girl. I imagine in the intervening years she has gotten even better, no?” an eloquent shrug. “I would be better if I had spent more time upon it, but I am not shabby. Some jobs require a steady hand, a keen eye, and a bit of distance. I am fond of eye socket shots, even with a slit helmet I can usually punch through if I use my mother’s bow.” Snickering, “It is always interesting to see the heavily armed dashing forward to all of a sudden fly backwards, usually knocking a few others running with them, down.” Head cocking, “Now, javelins? No, those I cannot use with any sort of accuracy. Not even as lances while on horseback. Blades or bow for me, yes? Spears too, but that is just for exercise.”

Rubbing his chin as he thought about it, “I can see where it would be a useful skill. The Chasind use javelins mostly for hunting large animals, whales being the prime example. They have some bows too, for smaller game, but they’re constructed oddly because of the lack of good wood in the far south.”

“Bone, resin, yes? Most recurves are bone, _querido_ , perhaps with a bit of wood layered, but not much,” as they walked around the courtyard.

Listing the differences and materials, having to reach back to hazy early memories of stories told and of a few examples observed personally, “They do use antler, horn, baleen, driftwood, but what is most unique is that their bows are reinforced by knotting with and wrapping them in sinew. Apparently the shape of the bow isn’t important because it’s determined by whatever piece of wood they can lay their hands on...reflexed, deflexed, decurved, or straight. A case of using whatever is available and making it work.”

“Eh, ingenuity is the result of need and resources, _amante_ ,” a hand slid into his, tugging him along into what must be the main keep. Ferox was somewhat disconcerted as even though their mental contact was near constant, their physical contact was usually discrete or in private, while this was neither. However, Zevran was very cautious about protecting him even in this... If it was acceptable and not unusual, Ferox would trust and did not pull away. 

_They could house many people in here and feed them as well...water supply is vital. A well - although doesn’t some of that look like the water collectors put up for the Vigil’s rooftop cisterns?_ They had entered a more familiar layout, if not cosmetically, but then Zevran continued to carry them past it, showing that the hall they had been in was just another type of wall. One with storage no less. Another intervening area, this time bursting with colour from the plants, channels placed in the ground carrying water every which way, creating music as the thin, artificial streams wended their way through the food garden. All the way up the walls, steps held troughs of trees and vegetables, becoming part of the entire structure, more a sculpture than something he would call a fortress. Yet there were stands for ballistae, and he could only assume there had been similar on the curtain wall as well, but more hidden. Or at the least not set up and obvious the way these were.

A quick tour showed a few wicker teardrop shaped sitting places, and then they were in the castle proper, ascending another set of steps, the doors as sturdy as the first set. He hadn’t taken the time to check if the other two sets of doors they had passed through were as thick, too distracted by trying to assimilate the abundant plant-life. 

Arched ceilings with pillars everywhere he looked, unless they were painted or tiled, some of them being even precious stones. The wealth was staggering - to just...toss...gems upon a ceiling? But he could see the similarities between the ones that were in he and Zevran’s rooms in Denerim, strange texts spiralling up the columns, inlaid with contrasting stone, bone, or mother of pearl. Upon the floor, lapis blue tiles were in slanting angles against creamy beige, polished to a soft gloss. Hallways or entrances, or was the whole first floor open? - spun away from where they were, a maze to his eyes, confusing and beautiful. _It would make a good killing field. Is that all you think about? No. Sometimes I think about how good Zevran smells and tastes. You’ve got it pretty bad for him, don’t you? You do too, it’s not just me. That said, all of those courtyards would make good killing fields too. Don’t forget those covered walkways... Nice spot to lay in wait to throw things off of, and just a little too high for even an ogre to reach. Maker. Where can we find some Antivan engineers? Wonder if we can get a few dozen to come along with a horsemaster? You do realize that’s going to be expensive? Eh - keep Isolde in dresses and high fashion. The copies we make should pay for it. Possibly, so long as you avoid the useless gemstone inlays. Good point. Design without all the...extra. We have plenty of good solid stone - Nothing fancy. Hey, isn’t that one of Ferelden’s slogans?_

Their, or rather his, steps echoed in a strange fashion, as though the sound was funneled to some other region where a sharp-eared listener could guess number, armour, and position of anyone coming in. It was an awe inspiring feat of mathematics and ingenuity. _I wonder if we can just get a set of plans? That would be cheaper than importing engineers. But unfortunately each building would not be specialized for its specific terrain. Hrm. If there is any place in Thedas with that sort of problem...nothing being the same, Ferelden would be it. No half measures in this, do it right or not at all. Fine, you’re right. I don’t like draining our limited coffers even for this, but I see the sense in it. Worse, it’s a drain that isn’t keeping the funds in Ferelden. That’s not true, especially if we insist on Ferelden workers. Granted some will be flowing out, but not everything. ‘Zevran, I think we need an engineer, while you’re shopping.’_

_’Hmn? What for?’_ they finally passed someone, a guard, who looked over Alois and Zevran, gaze slipping away rapidly and fixed on Ferox for long moments, memorizing before dismissing him.

_’Our ports are not well defended. Only Amaranthine and Denerim actually have a fort. Highever is up the mountain and West Hills...don’t get me started. I swear it’s one of the oldest keeps in all of Ferelden, possibly Orlais even, that hasn’t received any kind of upgrade. With the great trees around it, they can’t even see the village let alone the port. I have heard that Gwaren’s situation is better, but not by much.’_ He realized suddenly that they were spiraling upwards, slowly, a gentle incline with no noticeable turns let alone corners. Ferox _really_ wanted a series of castles like the Alcazaba, a desire that grew stronger with each revelation of what it held for potential. _’Think about it - you saw Ostagar. If decayed and ancient forts from during the time of the Imperium are the best forts that Ferelden has to offer other than the occasional thaig - when, not if, the Qun’ari decide it is time to invade, or Orlais, or if the Free Marches, okay probably not while they’re full of Ferelden refugees, but - ‘_

His husband squeezed his hand, _’Now you are thinking like an Antivan, **querido**.’_ Zevran drew him to another corridor that opened or closed, Ferox couldn’t tell - everything was so open already - into a sitting area, where soft-shoed slaves set out a pot of tea, cups and a plate of savoury fruits, and flopped bonelessly on a couch, pulling Ferox down beside him. _’Most would be blinded by the ‘impracticalities’ of Alcazaba, hmn? All the pretty colours, high ceilings, gemstones, plants everywhere - they would think it an ostentatious display of money and power. Meanwhile anyone with a knife or a bow could pick off people who become lost. That is the point. Functionality is key in all things in Antiva, including the beauty of it. Everything serves a purpose.’_

Wondering what they were doing there, but following Zevran’s lead, _’The bones of it are well thought out and that’s what is needed at the moment. Certain things beyond the design could be accessed within the Ferelden sensibilities, weather, and budget.’_

They sat quietly, sipping tea and munching the soft balls of melon until they were called upon by a particularly scantily clad woman. _That looks like just a scarf..._ Checking again, _Make that two scarves. Oh yes, two scarves covers so much more than one. Don’t forget all the gold chain holding it to her. It barely covers her behind, or her front... A gentleman might offer a hanky. True, it might cover something, though I think that might have been the reason she’s wearing anything..._ Other than floral tattoos covering her deep, nut brown skin, _And you thought Zevran was brown. He’s bronze. No, he’s copper. Gold - some sort of metallic? I dunno, but she’s brown, and any shimmer on her skin is some sort of paint or powder. Well, not Rivainian brown though. Oh shut up and stop staring at her hips moving, where are we going again?_ and the virulently cheery orange of her gold chased...garment...she wore nothing. _Don’t forget the smile. Service with a smile? You’re right, that might have been a professional smile. Admit it, you were distracted by the fact that you could see the colour of her nipples through those little kerchiefs. I was thinking of what Moira might look like in that. Hmn, buy two scarves, put one over each shoulder and stitch them together somewhere below navel and below the start of the crack of her bottom, add some jewelry chains and that’s easily duplicated..._ Silently snickering, _Just imagine if it became all the rage... Oh Maker, please, no, my eyes. Moira certainly could look sweet in it, anyone else? Please no._

“Ah, welcome,” a young man stood, disgustingly handsome, with a fine chiseled beard, so cleanly defined it looked as though it had been etched from ebony where it graced his jawline. Black paint - _Knowing Antivans, possibly tattoos_ \- lined the almond shaped pale brown eyes, a high forehead with black hair, skin uncharacteristically pale for an Antivan, or so Ferox had thought, only a few shades darker than himself, but of a slightly different tone. A white tunic-vest over slit pantaloons, and shoes that had embroidery on them, graced the slender frame, and inside his mind all Ferox could think was ‘spoiled brat’. “I had heard that the great Hero of Ferelden was here, but did not wish to intrude. When word came that you desired to see some of our beautiful architecture, who would I be to turn such a thing down?” With open arms the young man approached and embraced Ferox who tried not to startle, “Ah, ah I am being remiss - I am Faizal, thirty-seventh in line for the throne.”

_’He is who I would put money on, Ferox,’_ Zevran was quiet, a thing to be seen and not heard as an elven lessor, unless spoken to. The knowledge plunking itself into his head quickly, stopping him from making introductions. _’The main **castiles** and palaces are only run by those favoured by the current king. For Faizal to be here means he has more than a passing chance at the throne, yes?’_

Pulling together his manners, “I had not been expecting such greetings,” doing his best to not appear awkward returning the embrace. “If I had known, I would have come with more than just my curiosity.”

Faizal looped an arm through Ferox’s in a way that he was only accustomed to Moira taking, his other arm waving expansively, “Nonsense! There is nothing too good for the Ender of the Blight! Why if you were to come to me and say ‘Faizal - I wish to take from you your finest mare and stallion - give them unto me!’ I would hand them over and gladly! If you wished to take my wife - or all my concubines - or take my place for a day or a year - it should not be denied you!”

He couldn’t help it - he laughed. “I think I’d be exhausted if I tried to borrow them all at once.”

“Ah-ha - you have found me out, truly, I am a very tired man,” Faizal snickered. “Their appetites run me ragged. Here I was hoping for a break.”

“Unfortunately that would severely limit what I could see of your magnificent buildings and gardens.” _Just be yourself he says...Maker._

Fingers were snapped and the barely clad young woman came with a silver tray holding glasses of iced juice with frozen fruit floating in the cups, one of which was passed to him, before Faizal took the second for himself. “I humbly prostrate myself then, if you will allow, and show you my pitiful offerings.”

“I would not wish to disturb your work, or - “ with a bit of a cleared throat, “take you away from more pleasurable activities.” 

“Nonsense!” voice booming faintly. It quickly dropped to a conspiratorial level, “I am a prince, and as anyone knows, we do not do much of anything! Honestly, my head concubine is with child and she is a terror. If I can avoid going back there until she is done throwing a tantrum and demanding that she be serviced, for just a few hours - I will consider myself greatly in your debt. Else I may throw my back out or do harm unto my person seeking to give her what she wants. Not all of us are so lucky to be exiled during our women’s pregnancies.”

_Nicely put or fishing for confirmation...given the rumours. At least we don’t have the ‘setting aside’, which is probably not believed, because you are holding the Heir. Ser Cousland isn’t stupid, and neither are his advisers._ “I’m certain that whomever that unfortunate event may have happened to, is trying to be properly contrite and concentrate only on business, at least in any letters written home.” 

“Business? Oh I have no head for that,” Faizal guided them through an interior balcony that wound around another courtyard, like an inverted pyramid, a wild garden hanging there as well, and Ferox glanced up to see a vaulted glass ceiling high overhead, making the atrium almost into an outdoors. “Such a filthy word, yes?”

_Reminds me of an elaborate version of our greenhouses. That’s right, delude yourself a little. This is akin to your greenhouses as the entire Fort is like...a tool shed. I said ‘elaborate’. Maker - just how many acres is this bloody place?_ “I do prefer to be elsewhere than at my desk, yes.” _A truth? Yes, truth._ “Often little hobbies are more entertaining. You have mentioned horses, and apparently are fond of them - are you perhaps a purveyor of fine equestrian breeds?”

Faizal chuckled, “None so fine as the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ , but close enough. It is good to be a prince not too close to the throne, yes? Else my ruffian ways would be frowned upon, handling such filthy creatures and _riding_ them no less! Such a scandal!” 

It was very peculiar to walk arm in arm with the young man who, while taller than Zevran, was still slightly shorter than himself. The coal-tar black chin length waves of hair held close to his skull with a jeweled circlet held no other colour than black, and his face was smooth, but suddenly Ferox wondered if Faizal was as young as he looked or not. However, what was normal in Ferelden wasn’t normal here, and Faizal was apparently walking with him as an equal and friend, as Ferox had seen others walk in the streets of Antiva. Whatever scent he was wearing wasn’t noxious, strong, but mellow, every inch of the man meant to convey beauty. Brought up short, _So’s the Alcazaba._ Glancing around quickly, _So it is. So it is..._

They walked all over, from ascending battlements masked as nothing more than pleasant open to the air walkways, Ferox noted each thing he saw. Even though there was just too much to take in. And still he knew that Faizal had only guided him through the surface, while Zevran, Alois and the pretty slave girl, were their guards, pacing behind them. A wink and Faizal had bemoaned the amount of stairs to ascend the center tower, saying that it was a sacrifice for Ferox’s benefit, while taking the stairs at a brisk pace, proving that he was far sturdier than his slender frame would imply. At the top, pierced wooden windows were opened, bringing in a cascade of light. And a nearly unparalleled view of Antiva City. Its roads, that when walking upon them, seemed like wet string tossed down, had shape, logic, and form. The roofs displayed their defensibility also, much like the ones Ignacio and Zevran were having built in Denerim. Plazas, _jardines_ , parks, and civic grazing areas - it was so orderly when one could see it from the top. 

Faizal leaned against one of the support pillars, gazing out, “Ah. This is the safest place to be, hmn? No more playing. Is it true that your Queen seeks to set you aside, or a clever charade on the part of your Crow, to ensure you keep power?” He turned his head enough to look at Ferox, a gold hoop pierced brow rising. “I hear so many things that it is hard to ascertain their veracity and my royal parents are concerned. Your country has set up an embassy with the Free Marches, one to Orlais, one for Orzammar, and now it appears you seek to have one here also. Surely you know your country is in no condition to expand, especially with the instability of a divided monarchy?”

Taking a breath, answering and reassuring in one, “Expanding its knowledge of those around it, yes. There is, of course, little need to expand its borders however. But you ask who Antiva would be dealing with in Ferelden. I would answer, that it is unlikely that there will be any change in leadership.”

His nose wrinkled with distaste, “I would rather deal with someone who is no fool as _la perra_ is.” Faizal turned to Zevran, “You are not under contract - Zevran? Yes, I remember you - when will you get rid of her and put an actual monarch on the throne? I could issue you a private contract for it that would pay you handsomely.”

His husband bowed, “Unfortunately, Your Highness, she is a thorn that is better left where she is, no matter how she irritates.”

“Having her in that place allows for certain other liberties, which would not be afforded if one’s attention was...elevated.” Ferox shrugged, still fascinated by the view. _Towers here, towers there, towers everywhere. And the view, of course, is the best part. Here at least._

Faizal sighed, using his whole body to do so, “‘Tis sad but true that I know how such a matter goes. My cousins and brothers play their parts and games, and if any know what they truly are, then they hide it very well. Of course the House of Crows play theirs as well.” Light brown eyes flicked towards Zevran then back to Ferox, “For him to have turned down the Guildmaster’s seat, he has to know secrets, and with how you and he obviously are, to be sure, you know them. Or enough. The Guildmaster is part of the cabinet, truly the Guildmaster _is_ the sole adviser, and the House is the arm of the monarchy. Of course,” ruefully, “they tend to pick who will rule, just as much as the prior king picks. So many pieces on the board there are, that it can be maddening keeping it remotely in order. For all the trappings, I am as much a prisoner as any in chains, or one with a slave brand. Well then, escape your prison as much as you can, while you can. But do not be overly surprised when _la perra_ has an unfortunate and sad accident.” A grin flashed, “There have been several inquiries sent to the Guild, via Ignacio of course, from nobles who are quite put out with her behaviour. And her shaming of her wedding vows, the loss of a husband, and the exiling of your person so frequently.”

Ferox grinned, “A wise person once said, ‘If a person offers you an insult, but it is not accepted, with whom does the insult lie?’ I consider exile a vacation and a chance to catch up on other enjoyable activities. An opportunity rather than a punishment, else how would contact with our neighbours be initiated? Unless one would like to have awkward visits from someone who has not traveled anything but part of the length of their own country.”

Hands were spread in a deep shrug and a shake of head, “Very true, wise words you say then, hmn?” Faizal paced to the north-most window, leaning out and grasping the stone and metal reinforced railing. “The Qun’ari are moving, _amigo_. If not in the next generation, then the one after that. They will be coming, and sooner than anyone is prepared for. That is why I am glad you are here. They may, or may not, remember what we could do upon a time, and strike our coasts. Or they may come from the south - the Free Marches or Ferelden - while striking in from Rivain. If they can anchor in Antiva, they then have an open path over water and land to much of Thedas. Even more so than if they hit Tevinter, which has more mountains than we do. With our technology and theirs, the resources of Rivain, and possibly the Free Marches or Ferelden - at worst, both - they will subjugate all to the Qun. By the reports I receive, you are a man who plans for these things. Orlais, Nevarra, the Free Marches - they cannot be counted upon to see this. They are much too busy squabbling or eking out what can be squeezed from their populations. Rivain is...unsuitable for military minds. No central government, much like the Free Marches, they are controlled by who has coin, while being far too enamoured of their time as Qun’ari.” 

It was not quite a jump, but it was surprising, to have this conversation. _If he has to hide who and what he is and his purposes, maybe it isn’t so surprising. You know how that is yourself._ Conceding, _True enough. But he could still be playing at something. Of course he is - but what is it?_ Examining the unofficial Heir to Antiva’s throne, or at least one of the heirs, and the city spread below them, _Even if it’s for personal gain, he’s still angling to protect Antiva and his people. His ‘something’ is to make sure that his population takes the lessor hit._

Agreeing, “To put it bluntly, I have thought about and questioned this very topic. I believe that two things are important to the question of the next Qunari invasion. First, who were the companions who followed the Warden in defeating the Blight and second, where is the Arishok?”

“Arishok is in Par Vollen,” Faizal appeared momentarily puzzled. “As to who followed you, Prince Cousland, that is well known the length and breadth of Thedas, at least in part, but I like to consider myself better informed. Leliana, a Bard of Orlais supposedly ‘reformed’ into a Chantry Sister, Wynne who is an Enchanter of the Ferelden Circle _and_ an abomination, though very, very few are aware of that, Oghren of the Warrior Caste who is a drunkard and berserker, married to a woman who has gifted him with a son, a Sten of the Beresaad, Alistair Theirin who is a Warden under your command residing in Amaranthine with the Dead Legion dwarva Sigrun, who holds the reins rather well, a golem called Shayle who went to Tevinter - but I hear she is unhappy there, perhaps she would be better served coming to Antiva to study? Morrigan, who is a Chasind shaman, who, according to my guesses, might be related to Flemeth somehow, and of course Zevran Arainai. Ah - wait, also, a mabari, sadly deceased. Then again, you _are_ Ferelden. Where you go, a hound would go, hmn? Just as for the _Ga’hals_ , their horse would follow them through fire, or go through it to reach them.”

Ferox almost chuckled, for his own Horse had done just that. “They would follow, even to the top of Fort Drakon to fight an Archdemon, yes. I would offer a small correction however, the Arishok has been, or will be shortly, in the Free Marches.” Pausing, “Kirkwall to be exact.”

Faizal’s eyes narrowed, “Then that is a very bad place for him to be. _La Negra Flotilla_ is not something I would like to have mobilized in sufficient numbers outside of our waters. But so be it.” 

“You could have him killed,” the nubile girl spoke.

Ferox grunted, “They are aware that Crows have been to Seheron before, the specific incident mentioned involved the assassination of a Kithshok. The information that was passed on was that she did not succeed.”

“And like I told Sten, I will repeat - she was incompetent.” Ferox checked to see that his assassin had made himself comfortable on a railing, straddling it. “However, I have a suggestion if I may. Send Wardens to Par Vollen.” 

“Fhizra?” Faizal looked at the girl, giving her a name. “Thoughts?”

“Maestra Alba is Warden Commander, her Second is Maestra Indira and there are many Crow Wardens. I can name at least fifty,” a delicate hand was flicked. “I will speak to Rashaadi, and he can speak to Alba, while you speak with your parents. They will not know or understand that a Warden does not have to be only a Warden, which will let them remain above reproach even as they are made welcome by their victims to their very bosom.”

“When you go to the Qunari, move quickly and bring cookies.” _Although cake wouldn’t be refused._ Releasing a rumble of a laugh, he remembered Sten taking them from a child in Denerim...something about assisting the chubby boy in watching his weight. _Nor any other sweet baked goods._

Faizal clapped his hands sharply once, “Ah - then it is settled. Now, what else other than an embassy do you require? Zevran, I could have one set up near the House, it would be best to avoid any too close to a particular palace or fort, but I am sure you have thought of this.”

“We were looking at Ignacio’s villa, but I had wished to tour some of the more...fortified..buildings near the Free Blades’ guildhall,” Zevran hopped from the rail, as if sensing that their time being entertained by the view of Antiva City was coming to an end. “And possibly some forms of trade agreements to be worked out, we have come into Orlesian horseflesh several times over the last few years, and would like to add to them some Antivan stock. Stonemasons, engineers, horsemasters - skilled individuals, past their primes or young, so long as they are steady.”

Faizal hummed, “Ambitious.” His arm slipped into Ferox’s once more as Alois opened the door to go back to the lower levels, “Send me an invoice and it will be paid for. Ferelden is weaker in terms of physical structures and supplies at this time, and if Arishok is planning on going to Kirkwall, I would rather there be more than just Nevarra and Orlais who will be too easily taken by surprise, armed and ready.” Amused, “So it appears you _will_ be taking me up on my offer of my finest stallion and mare! Now if only I could convince you to take some of my harem...”

“Only if I’m very quiet,” Ferox deadpanned. “But if that’s the price of your assistance, I’m sure something could be worked out. However, I may require the aid of a second, depending on how many you are able to pawn off on me.”

Zevran led the snickering as they took the many steps down.

...

Sten had as good as said that he would be returning and an army would be with him. Said that he hoped not to see Ferox upon the battlefield - but that if he did, he would pretend to not see him. By all reports, Sten did travel north and away from Ferelden on a ship. _Remember that group of Qunari warriors that Ignacio set you onto? They landed and were not successfully confronted until you took them out...without Sten that day. He would not have gone so easily to that fight. But they were Tal Vashoth. Yeah, and what about that other group? The male infiltrators or whatever that Zevran talked about? Ban Hasra? Ben Hesreth? Something like that. Spies, priests and assassins all in one._ The trouble was that there was no way to patrol all of Ferelden’s shoreline and confirm if others had not landed. So, it was unlikely that an assault would come from the sea, as there were plenty of other places to disembark and amass an assault force from land. Thankfully Ferelden had a rough coastline and that limited the number of places available for landing troops. Still, it was a long way between Denerim and Gwaren, with a frell of a lot of nothing between them. Horses would again prove useful, give a man or woman a wider range, patrol more miles in a day... _Maker, are you making your own version of the Free Blades? The Royal Beach Patrol, Coast Patrol, Coast Guards? The last one has a ring to it._ Shelters could be tied into the system of little traveler shelters along the road, however most of the roads were not near the shoreline. 

_Hey, you forgot about something. Somehow convince the Dalish to patrol the coast, at least on the east side, in exchange for something. They want a home. We could give them Gwaren. Gwaren? That doesn’t belong to me and even if something accidental did happen to the Royal Harpy, it belongs to Len and Iona._ Laying awake at the Alcazaba, guests because the sun had climbed far too high for anyone to be outdoors unless it was absolute necessity, Ferox pondered the situation, while staring at the top of the circular bed’s silken awning. _The children have enough, more than enough, as it’s yet another thing that puts them at risk. Couslands controlling both terynirs and the Crown looks bad. But would the Dalish want Gwaren itself? It’s just a little fishing village._

Zevran was dozing beside him, sprawled like a cat across the soft bed, softer than even the one at Zamitie’s, with silk that was even more luxurious, and twitched in his sleep, as though sensing Ferox’s busy thoughts. _Not to interrupt, but we’ve had this conversation with Zevran and Fergus before. Don’t you remember? Well, I remember now that you’ve mentioned it. You’re going to have to start keeping a journal._ Rubbing his eye-socket forcefully in aggravation, _I am keeping a journal. Then you’re going to have to start reading it. Ah, yes, that would be the problem. Especially about the important stuff. This is one of those. Healer said to keep the paths open you had to use them. You haven’t thought about this since, ummm, Saturnalia when Len was tiny...colic. Well, at least you didn’t open your mouth to announce your incompetence, I caught it before you said something. And how long is that going to last? I don’t know, Maker, I don’t know. Good thing nobody wants to know the name of Nan’s cat, eh? She had a cat? Yes, Scatter. Oh, hey, I remembered the cat’s name..._

Ferox avoided sighing. Since the ink had been laid he felt better, sinking still happened, but it was less deep, as if the bottom had been raised, filled with sand perhaps. Although things that bothered him before, still bothered him, they were no longer so overwhelming. Ferox noticed that he had been growling less when irritated, snarling and snapping was nearly nonexistent, and rumbling approval happened more often. Was it the relaxed atmosphere of Antiva? Was it the lack of expectations or just the absence of stress and weight of all of the duties that had to be juggled? Or possibly all of the above? Or even - perish the thought - something to do with what the Zama-mama was doing to him? _Frell, she said she wasn’t even done yet... Just how much is she going to do? Uh, are you complaining that someone is willing to help? No, no... I just...it’s a lot._

Snickering quietly, _Just think how pleased Her Royal Harpyness will be when she sees it. Ohh...that is a good point. Think Zama Mama would cover me head to toe then? I knew I kept you around for a reason. You’ve ‘gone native’. Why didn’t we do this years ago? Umm, ‘cause we needed a backup plan, which meant getting close enough to touch her. And besides, you never considered getting one anyway. Shit, you even thought about how much such a thing was not your thing, even as you admired Zevran’s._ Sadly he doubted the massive tattoo that covered his entire left side from ankle to the nape of his neck would put the Harpy off for long, the woman was ravenous for attention, and would ‘make do’ with a female to tide her over only for a short time. However, Camille did seem to be effective enough, so that only once a week, and sometimes even reduced down to every other week, was he called upon to do his husbandly duty.

To think that others wanted the Royal Harpy out of their hair was in a way comforting at the same time it was not. _Anyone can die at any time. That, and it would limit your movements, Regent or not. Regencies are considered temporary, why not wait for the real ruler to come around? Oh, you’re not sticking me there. Why not, you’re the best one for the job. You do know that this memory thing is just going to get worse. Yes, but walking the paths keeps the weeds from growing to cover them. Mental gymnastics help. Yeah, what are you? My trainer? Better than what you usually call me, so I’ll take it. Maker - now you’re sounding like Dassan. I mean the duplicate. Hah - go on, admit it, you like him better now. Well...he has cookies...and brownies. You’re such a cheap date._

Sitting upright suddenly as epiphany struck, _That’s an excellent idea! Oh, I knew I had a few pranks in me somewhere... ‘Love, love, wake up,’_ giving Zevran a gentle shake, who was already awake and his ears were swivelling a hand reaching for weapons. 

_’What is it?’_

_’I’ve got the best idea... Brownies.’_

His assassin shook his head trying to fathom what he meant, _’What about them? You want some?’ ___

___’Well yes, but no, not right now. For the Qunari,’_ finding a sneaky grin on his face. It was rare that he ever came up with this sort of thing on his own, a bit like having a wiggling lightning worm inside his brain that connected some very different things, cutting a new path between them. _’Like Dassan’s. Cookies, brownies, some cake...but, you know, with a bonus ingredient.’__ _

__Zevran laughed, _’Oh this bears prying Faizal from the arms of whomever is pestering him now!’__ _

__In short order Ferox found himself naked and in a huge bath, pool more like, with Faizal and Zevran. Musicians were playing cymbals, wood instruments and drums at the far end, the sound loud enough to drown out or mask most conversation unless one was close by. Even elven ears would likely have difficulty listening through the music._ _

__The prince lounged upon a bench under the water, plucking the ever present fruit from a floating platter, “I do my best thinking here, yes? Many places the walls have ears, but a few do not. So, Fhizra said it was urgent, that would be why we are floating around like good friends with few thoughts in our heads... And why they are here,” he explained, fingers flicking droplets of water towards the other end of the pool where mounds of oiled women lolled and a few women were frolicking in the water, giggling. “One learns to work around the games of playing the idiot, yes?”_ _

__Obviously the explanation was for his benefit, as the level of subterfuge necessary was uncomfortable. He was accustomed to having his private rooms being safe places for a talk, but when half of one’s relatives could be counted on trying to kill you or find a way to make you less of a threat, certain measures had to be taken. _Maker, I’m glad to be from Ferelden and have Fergus for a brother. You can say that again. The Harpy’s family probably have it out for you. Too bad the few that remain are farmers and fishermen of no close relation. The rest are dead. Oh yeah, they’re the scary ones.__ _

__“It must be difficult,” he found himself saying._ _

__“Hmn? What? Knowing that my brothers and cousins would kill me if they had the chance? Or the charade? Each have their issues...” he shrugged. “It does not start off that way, no? Power can corrupt, easily. I am a very corrupt man, but - there is a saying in your language, but I cannot remember it. Something about butter? And soup? No, that is not it...fruit? No, no not that either... Ah, too many languages. But it means that I know what keeps me in the things I am accustomed to and how to keep myself alive. That means I must keep the country on a sustainable path, else ‘tis a fact that my end will be far sooner and less desirable than I wish it to be.”_ _

___Butter? Soup? Maybe it was spilt milk? Huh? Nothing. Stick with cookies...brownies, yum._ “I was considering where to investigate putting Ferelden’s next embassy, and as much as I would dislike putting off other, perhaps more deserving or cooperative countries, it struck me that the Qunari should be next. The answer is cookies. I know, it doesn’t make sense, but let me layout the path of that leap.” _ _

__Faizal waved a hand acknowledging the request, for all intents and purposes nothing more than lazily discussing the merits of one concubine or another._ _

__Ordering his thoughts, Ferox was careful because he had not traveled a straight line to get to this idea. It was truly an instinctual leap, the answer suddenly apparent as if clouds had parted and the daylight had lit up something far away in the distance. In building the path however, he was confirming that the leap was made over known facts that were stable and had a strong footing._ _

__“One would have had to spend a great deal of time with a certain Kossith to learn of a particular fondness for baked goods. Cookies and cake were all we were able to lay our hands on and he craved them.” A laugh worked its way out at the memory, “Sten actually confessed to taking some from a child, making excuses that the child was overfed and would not miss them - this was almost unbelievable knowing him as we did and it showed the state of addiction and the extent he would go to obtain them.”_ _

__First cobblestone laid, he looked at the next one and looked to see where it fit, “That said, I believe there is a treat that is better than mere cookies or cake. Well, two actually.” Hefting and turning the stone to match up properly with the prior one, he set it in the sand and moved it into place, “When setting up an embassy there, make it a bakery, provide the thing they want, that they would do much to obtain. Make them negotiate with us, loosen the purse strings they keep such tight control over - this everything in, no, or very little, out, has got to stop before they begin to control economies - and provide them a place to obtain their sweets. Sten never had brownies, nor anything with ganja, and I believe that the combination may be their weakness, calm down their need to conquer or convert, and get them closer to the Qun, the one subject they can’t stop thinking about. Neutralize, or at least hamper, them in their need to dominate.” Grouting it with more sand, Ferox checked it, testing his work; the piece was firmly set, the ground was good, and the obvious path was clearly marked._ _

__In unison, “Poppy juice.”_ _

__“If I may?” Zevran raised a brow at Faizal who nodded. “Poppy juice is highly addictive, _querido_. Lace a little bit into the cannabis oil, just enough to give it that extra strength to ensure that the addiction is solid, yes? Perhaps not at first, no. But slowly add it to the mixtures for their baked goods, hmn?”_ _

__The grin on Faizal’s face was gleeful, sharp, and it seized upon the entire set of information. “I would be willing to fund this type of adventure, upon one condition - due to the nature of the House and the difficulties with the Qun’ari, we have some...Crows who are constantly in a very risky position. Staff as much of the embassy with your own folk, but know that at any time Crows who must escape, can find refuge there. Or better yet, allow it to be a joint venture, a joint embassy, no?”_ _

__Ferox frowned, “But then it would be officially known we were in collusion.”_ _

__“Nearly since the Blight ended, Ferelden has been courting Antivan things, _amora_ ,” Zevran scooted closer, his bare side pressed to Ferox’s tattooed side. “Others would merely think that some trade agreement had been reached, yes? Especially since Orlais, in light of the attacks, cannot be trusted, even though it was foolish to trust them at all after the Occupation, hmn? Very odd I think that the two countries were so cozy, considering.”_ _

__Faizal plucked ruby red seeds from a bowl, “The trade agreements in place are only with merchants, Zevran. Another hook is required.” Faizal, thought a moment, then mused aloud, “Your son, he is...four? Three? And you have another on the way. I have two daughters, a son, and another child soon to arrive. When they are of an age, they could wed - I see no reason why we could not arrange a marriage. For such a thing, it would not be uncommon for gifts and collaboration between two families.” The pits of the seeds were spat out into another bowl with good aim, bloody juice dribbling from the corner of his mouth to be wiped away. “If I do not become king, it will cause you no problems, because this is an agreement between you and I. My brothers will not rescind any actions taken before my demise, and if they make trouble, well, the House knows what is in the best interests of Antiva anyway. They are not stupid, and the king cannot rule without them, and they would risk mad grabs for power, only to fall into absolute chaos if there is not a third party to ensure that the best interests for Antiva are what drives them.”_ _

__“Hrm.” Weighing options and words, he tried to keep the grimace from his face. _Didn’t see that coming. Not a bad thing in itself. True, but it removes choice, choice in something that is very important. We were allowed to choose. Granted you made a choice to protect Ferelden, something larger than the so called marriage to the Harpy. And surprisingly you were allowed an additional choice afterwards - I didn’t see that one coming either. It was a rope tossed down after you fell off a cliff. You were pressed against the rock face hoping not to plummet the rest of the way to the rocks below. I will not limit their choice in this matter either. Step carefully then._ Ferox choose his words and picked them out with great care as if wending his way through a trapped section of road without a scout, “The proposed agreement is very generous and wouldn’t be undesired. However, having the ability to make choices is a foundation, a bedrock belief for Fereldens. It is a defining part of who we are as a people and a belief I myself hold close. I will not make this obligation for my children, but would allow them to make the choice for themselves, just as I myself have been allowed, dare I say encouraged, to make this choice of my own free will. Introductions can be made, and the opportunity be made available without the expectation of marriage or removal of choice. However, I would point out that alliances do not have to be based on ties of marriage.”_ _

__It was mild, “Oh, is that all?” He waved a hand dismissively, “Just let it be known that there is a gentleman’s arrangement on possible filial ties then, if that will make you happy, yes? That is informal enough that it will not require binding or forcing a decision upon your offspring, but make it more likely that we will continue to court each other... Hmn, now actually, _that_ is an even better idea...”_ _

__“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I may have missed something.” Ferox refocused his gaze on Faizal instead of an interesting plant that was just over his left shoulder. Confused, “Court each other, how?”_ _

__The beard wound up mussed slightly by wet fingers rubbing at it contemplatively, “Because it would not be set in stone or drafted into a contract of alliance that our offspring wed, so that we wind up being extravagant and trying to show ourselves as attractively to the other to gain such a filial alliance...” A smile slowly spread, “You think that you are getting a good bargain, that I am doing too much, I can see that from the stoic expression upon your face. Well, then allow me to enlighten you. Realize what a coup it would be for suddenly the royal family of Antiva to be tied to such a prestigious figure as yourself. A Cousland, who can trace his lineage back over a thousand years - you know, I myself cannot do that, the Blights and Qun’ari saw to it - and your family is nearly as old as, if not as old, as the Theirin line. Not only that, but you are a Warden who has managed to get a dry stone with child _twice_ , which speaks highly of your virility. A Cousland, a Prince of Ferelden, and the Ender of the Fifth Blight. Hah - everyone will wonder why they had not thought of it first!” By the end he was clapping madly and grinning a sharp, razor-edged smile. “Excellent! From that excuse alone, I can make all sorts of concessions so as to assure a greater likelihood of such a thing coming to pass! And if it does, well, then more to the good, yes?” _ _

__His husband let out a pleased hum, “I like you, so exceptionally devious, no? You would have made a good Crow.”_ _

__“Yes, that must be why you did not kill me during that palace raid during the civil war. Maker man, you must tell me your secret. You have not aged a day, while I have had to remove the lines from riding out in the sun, like some common savage,” said enviously. “Being elven helps, this is a thing known to me, but that was forty years ago. Surely time would have touched you by now.”_ _

__A flash of smile, “Eh, I am half Dalish, it keeps me young, hmn? As to why I did not kill you, you were a small child. It seemed wrong to kill a little sack of bones and big eyes.”_ _

__Faizal scoffed, flinging a seed at Zevran who caught it easily. “I was fat and you know it. You have no idea how hard I had to work to get to this state.”_ _

__“Alright, fine, you were round enough to break a man’s back carrying you around, does this please you?”_ _

__The prince looked at Ferox candidly as he had to suddenly revise Faizal’s age upwards a great deal no matter how young he appeared, “You know, he fell out of a window because he was trying to shield me from seeing dead bodies? How foolish - for years I had thought he drowned! Madness. That is one of my first memories - seeking out my aunt, and, what I thought was one of her bodyguards, hoisting me out of the way and carting my fat ass about. It was all fun and games until the bodies began to drop and he threw me aside, slipping! The nerve, the insanity! Hah! Ah but I was dumb for a boy.” Shaking his head, “Ah, but enough about reminiscing and childhood games. If anyone knows that I am angling to tie our lines together, just think of the extra benefits for yourself! Others will seek to court your attention also! Ferelden will wind up with so much trade, that none of you will know what to do with it!”_ _

___Didn’t you just come here to look at the fortifications? That’s why I thought I was here. Instead you have requested that the Harpy not be removed from her position, confirmed that the rumours regarding your displacement were false and probably spread by your own ‘faction’, started - by dropping information as to the whereabouts of the Arishok - and prevented - by way of doctored brownies - a war with the Qunari all in the same afternoon, received an embassy and apparently some horses, a horsemaster, engineers, and stonemasons, a proposal of marriage for Len or Iona...Maker...did I miss anything? Just be yourself he says...this is one of those days that must be taking place in the Fade, because it’s too strange to be real. ‘Love, did you slip me anything?’_ _ _

___’What? No, why? You and I have consumed all the same things - are you not feeling well?’_ tension subtly poured off of his assassin._ _

___Damn, no easy way out of this strange dream world then. ‘No, I’m fine. This is just...surreal. Compared to Antiva, Kirkwall almost made sense. Though that may have been due to Dassan’s cooking.’_ _ _


	39. The More Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umn, yeah, so, I feel guilty. Have another chapter right after the previous one. Mea culpa.

Faizal was going to make for an interesting ally. 

Certainly the man was out for his own good. But it was a rare man that wasn’t, especially when there were so many out there interested in removing him. At least he was honest about it - likely because he knew such honesty would get him farther, but if it worked, it worked. Ferox was no fool and could see that everything the prince did was to forward his own interests, however, who was he to ignore offers of assistance they needed, knowing what they did? One way or another the Qunari were coming, and if Sten’s comment was to be believed, it would be during Ferox’s lifetime. How had he forgotten that conversation? Had he just gotten bogged down in the day to day affairs of feeding people? Of keeping them warm? Of educating them? Or was it seeing the preparations and the great lengths Antiva had gone to, that drove home how dangerous the Qunari **truly** were? 

_How many can you kill before they cut you down? How many can you stop as they go around you to kill everyone who can’t hold a blade? Maker, how very few of us there are to hold back the tide of the Qun._ They would have to work on the militias when they returned to Ferelden. _Have competitions involving teamwork, archery, and do it at the same time we look for potential riders...I like that._

Len, endlessly fascinated by Fymie and Varane, he showed them everything and talked to them for hours about everything. From how to brush their nonexistent teeth to the care of his Daddy’s books, reminding them often not to touch knives or fire or to eat dirt. With a babe on his lap, Ferox often pretended to read as he really listened to all of the wisdom his boy shared with the girls. Watching Len now, he jiggled his crossed knee, gently shaking Fymie, it was that or laugh long and loud and Ferox didn’t want to interrupt.

“Unca Fox, but’I hav’ta calls him Dadi, he say tha Claudio tha beeber lif here, but’I hasn’t seens um. Claudio, he ‘wim weely fast.”

A scrunch of the face followed by a coo seemed to be a question which Len quickly answered. “He has’a tailed an’ Unca...Dadi say he slap tha water ta make’a noise.”

Peeping over the book which he was using to hide his face, Ferox saw that an ear twitched which spurred Len’s conversation on, “I looks in Dadi’s books an’ there’s no stories in um for Claudio or tha sheeps. Papi, he says um in Unka...um Dadi’s head. I looks in’um ears an’ in hims mouwf, but I no seen um.”

Zevran popped around behind him, his chin coming over his shoulder and an arm reaching down to give Fymie tickles. _’He is going to be the best big brother, hmn?’_ A kiss was pressed behind his ear, _’He is so much like you, it is just...ahh...I wish I had seen you when you were that age.’_

Startled, the little girl received a slightly bigger jiggle than he intended. He hadn’t heard his husband approach, nor had Ferox been tracking him through the amulet, too absorbed with pretending to read and holding in his laughter. Annoyed at himself, it was easier to keep the edge from his internal voice, but the growl, it had a mind of its own. _’You coulda - you were old enough.’_

Another kiss was pressed behind his ear, _’Mmn, so I was. Sadly, I was not free to do so, **querido**. Because, let us be honest, I would have kidnapped you to keep all to myself and witness such adorableness.’_

The snort was audible, causing Fymie to give another ear flick, all the wisdom and inquisitiveness of the ages in her pale amber eyes as she blinked, _’You would have given me back within a week. Len uses his powers for good. Me, I was into everything. Nan threatened to quit many times because of whatever I had most recently knocked over and broken, or eaten or stuck my fingers into before she could serve it for dinner, or venting because of how many pants I tore out the knees or bottoms of in one week alone. Besides, at that age you would have been stuck in my head as older brother and things would not be as they are.’_ Tipping his head back, Ferox gained a kiss on the lips and rumbled, ’I  very much like how things are between us.’

 _’Well I suppose there is that...’_ false chagrin in the expression as warm lips opened to his. Ferox found his braid tossed over his shoulder for Fymie to grab hold of, _’Tomorrow Commander Nune has agreed to meet with us and discuss horses and trainers. Ani says they have some decent engineers as well. Uailil says a few of the larger buildings are for sale or rent at this time near the Free Blades quarter, and would be content to show them to us at our leisure.’_

 _’Good, it’ll give me something to report back to the Harpy on. And while we’re here, could you spend some of my Blight savings on silks and scarves to take back with us? Some of those Orlesian fashions looked odd in linen and wool...well, they looked silly in the original fabrics as well, but you know what I mean.’_ Sighing, _’Anora doesn’t want to be shown up when Isolde returns, and I’m supposed to ‘see to it’ that she isn’t embarrassed, which means you, but she isn’t talking to you.’_

Len had returned to an old standby and was repeating his ‘list of don’t’s’, “An’ don’t touch’a ‘nife, they be weely sharp. Papi says’I can habe one when I be a bigger boy. But now I has sticks Dadi says. An’ don’t touch’a fire, ‘cause that be weely hot. An’ don’t eat’a worm in’a apple, you gotta spits um out ‘cause they don’t tastes good...” 

“Unless they have been fried,” Zevran tossed out, ‘correcting’ with a chuckle. “Then they can be good.”

Lovely bluey brown eyes looked over his shoulder, Len was very much aware that Zevran was there and had been for some time. “No Papi, Shorn says tha’tha worms be good for tha dirt an’ helps tha plants grow big - ” flexing an arm and squeezing the scrawny muscle in much the same way Ferox did when telling the story, “ - big an’ stwong.”

“Well yes, they are, but sometimes we eat whatever is around,” Zevran replied sagely. “There are some very tasty bugs, but you have to know what kind. Otherwise they do taste very nasty.”

Len’s lips formed an ‘O’ and his mind still working it out - Ferox could see that there would be many bugs brought in for ‘checking’, to see if they were some of the tasty ones - returned to his list. “Don’t eat dirt ‘cause thats got rocks in’it. An’ yous gotta wash your hands’n’face ‘for eatin’ so tha dirts don’t get’in your dinner. An’ a’for bed yous gotta wash your foots ‘cause yous been walkin’ on um.” Stopping, Len looked back up at both of them, “Um, Dadi, Papi? Can we go ta tha beach? I saws tha beach when we was on’tha boat. Pwease? Ani says tha’tha’ water is warm an’ I nevers ‘wim in’a warm sea a’fors.” Those sad puppy dog eyes were turned fully on them.

Murmuring, “What was that about powers being used for good, _amora_?” Zevran slid around him like an otter to scoop up Len and Fymie, “Ah, that is not true, _mijo_ , remember when we saw Dassan and Duls on the beach and made sandcastles?”

Len’s face scrunched then he nodded. “Dassan maded good sand caswles.”

“But, I certainly think we could make a day of going to the beach again. But not today. And not tomorrow. The day after that? Two sleeps, _mijo_.”

Quickly Ferox interjected before Len became locked to the idea of only ‘two sleeps’, “Four sleeps, there’s naptimes too, Len. And no, you can’t have them all today ‘to make it hurry up’.” _’Think you can find fireworks too, my wonderfully clever and resourceful one?’_

 _’Pft, I could make fireworks should we not be able to find some,’_ laughter as the children got kisses, successfully distracting the boy from sticking out a lip and disgruntled words about disliking naps.

“Fo’seeps, Dadi? Papi? Fo’seeps,” Len repeated, holding up his hand to Fymie, and counting the fingers. “Un, tuh, fee, fo. Fo’seeps.”

Holding up four fingers, Ferox confirmed, “Good boy, four sleeps then we play on the beach.”

He let out a gusty little sigh with much head shaking, “Too long. Today is good.”

“No, today’s not good, Papi said so,” sternly quashing the child’s attempt to first ask one parent then another when an unfavourable answer was received. “We need to listen to Papi and do what he says, yes? And now we have time to help Moi-Moi make lots of food to take with us for a ‘pick-a-nick’.”

“Cooookeees?” In Zevran’s arms, his son perked up instantly with hope. “For da pick-a-nick.”

An almost easy grin with little force behind it made an appearance as he rubbed Len’s tummy, “I like cooooookeeees, too. What flavour should we have?”

“All da coookeeeees kinds,” Len was nodding to himself. “Geen teee wid da schoko beets an’ da cheeze.”

_Beets and cheese? What the frell are they talking about? Sounds like some kind of casserole and I thought we were discussing cookies. Hey, don’t look at me. I have absolutely no clue._

Zevran’s nose crinkled, “You mean the green tea cookies with the icing, _mijo_? And chocolate chip cookies?”

“Um...yes!” Len had to think about it before there was lots of wriggling and nodding.

Hopefully that was two separate cookie types, not one big mishmash. _I miss shortbread. Now you’re making me hungry. You’re always hungry. Can’t help it. You know I can see my ribs. What? When did you get the power to look under the skin? Plfpt, I can’t see your ribs, you’re not getting any exercise, and you’re gonna turn into a fatty._ Now that he said it, err thought it, he’d never seen a fat Warden before. _You’d really have to work at it. Eat all day and all night._

“Well now, it is time for Varane and Fymie to go to their sleeps, and I see that Ulfric has already gone down for _his_ ,” the last word softly drawn out. “So you know what this means, hmn?”

Len counted carefully just to double and triple check. “Fee mo’seeps?” 

“Yes, three more sleeps, because it is your time to have one as well.”

Shaking imaginary fat Wardens from his mind, Ferox followed Zevran to put the babies down for a nap first, as Len wanted to give a kiss goodnight before climbing into the bed he shared with Ulfric. Each girl was smooched on the cheeks or forehead before being laid in their joint crib, both of them instantly reaching out to hold hands, and the nearest leg hooking over the other, like little pretzels. _Probably slept like that in the womb too, all smashed together. Wonder if Moira’s look like that? This from the man who claimed he could see his ribs a second ago._

After a double kiss on his cheeks, one arm around each of his fathers’ necks to give them ‘a biggest hug in’tha world’, Len was tucked into bed as well. Reassured that there would be three more sleeps after this one, the boy dutifully snuggled in next to Ulfric. Lightning paced in to flop on the bed at the boys’ feet, earning a well deserved scritch behind ear, while Zevran double-checked the little bedpan with the frostrock.

As soon as they were out of the littlest ones’ room, Ferox found arms wrapping around him. _He has a habit of doing that you know. I know, he’s weird. Arms no longer full of children, must mean it’s time to hug Ferox so he doesn’t run out to some random party in the street. Do you even do that? No. Do you? No, I just r-u-n-o-f-t to the circus._

He made himself relax into it for a moment, enjoying the face pressed into the nape of his neck, “What can I do for you? You need a kiss goodnight or a tuck into bed? “

“Mmmnot yet, no, the night is young.” The tickle of lips at the base of his neck, followed by the tip of a nose rubbing over it was almost soothing. “I was thinking perhaps you would like to join me on the rooftop? I have a rope you can climb, _amora_. We could look at the city’s lights and count the stars for awhile.”

Roof? It was like getting the day’s secret password to the neighbourhood tree house so the rope ladder would be tossed down. “Certainly.” Teasing, “Will you be scampering ahead or perched on my shoulders?” 

Zevran’s arms tightened, “A moment longer, I just wish to hold you right now before I scamper.” A deep inhale, “You smell good, _querido_.”

“I smell like I always have, of you, Love. However,” raising an eyebrow as he craned his neck to catch sight of a dusky gold temple, “either you have done something you’re not certain I’ll be happy with or I’ve done something sweet and you’re afraid I’ll stop if I notice whatever it is.”

“Well I do not think you could stop making Len happy, well, I suppose you could, but why would you, mmn?” Yet another inhale and a contented sounding sigh, “But I have done nothing other than make the rope knotted and affixed it to a beam. And I only smell like saltgrass and whiskey when I have been rubbing up against you, _querido_ , and then, only faintly.”

“Very well.” Standing still Ferox let himself be manhandled - _Elfhandled?_ \- for a minute. 

It was an exercise in patience. He probably smelled like Zevran, because it was the elf’s scent that was the stronger of the two, _No, he has a more sensitive nose. Whatever._ Unlike at home, Zevran seemed to be taking every opportunity to touch him, whether in private but with family, or public. Holding hands at the fort - _That’s not a fort, it’s a fortified palace_ \- or an arm ‘round the waist walk down the street to the _jardine_ or even through the markets, openly flirting, as if daring him to say something. Ferox had noticed others engaging in the same behaviour and attributed it to a norm of the society, but it didn’t make him entirely comfortable. This, here in the home where it was safe from prying eyes, was fine. Outside...well, he was too used to putting on the hat of Prince Consort. Too open, and Anora could put him aside with little grumbling from the nobles, especially the few who would look forward to no longer having an elf telling them what to do. It was one thing to suspect, it was another to have their close relationship to be known or smeared. Although he didn’t know what to do or say, or even where to start half the time with Zevran, Ferox would tear a rumourmonger apart if they ruined this. Even here in Antiva he was cautious, never knowing if word would get back, even as he trusted Zevran to be wary.

Purred as hands splayed over his stomach, “Have I told you lately that you look very fine in Antivan silk?”

Clearing his throat which seem to have closed, “Um, no. Not since choosing it this morning,” _and brushing your hands over my shoulders to smooth the shirt’s fabric._

The embrace tightened before he was finally released from it. “Well I believe we should rummage a bit through the veritable warehouse of Sa’id and Taliesin’s things to find some more items that make your posterior look fit enough to bounce sovereigns off of.” A light tweak to his rump and Zevran took his hand, leading him down to the garden atrium, where a rather strong looking rope was hanging in invitation. “And we are taking at least half of those things back with us. No one else to wear them, mmn? Be a shame to waste them.”

Sardonically, “Going to start the women ordering the ‘latest’ Antivan fashions for their men?” _You know, that’s not a bad idea, at least for the treasury. Except if I have to go about with my shirt unbuttoned outside of the bedroom, it gets cold in that palace._

He watched Zevran shimmy up the rope, _As though he even needs it. Hmph._ Ferox could appreciate the way the fabrics moulded and shifted, flowing and changing as Zevran nimbly made his way up before disappearing over the edge for a moment, then returning to wave a hand for all clear. Taking a deep breath Ferox braced himself to ascend, moving methodically. The rope wasn’t the usual hemp, but was still as thick around as his wrist, and it wasn’t until he was nearly at the top that he realized - _Silk. Again? Is everything here silk? Maker, bedding, clothes, shoes, rope..._

Zevran grasped his hand as soon as he came over, “That might be nice, and likely more comfortable to be shut of the boring old mainstays. However, I had not thought of that, it was more the fact that the pants you are wearing are older than I am and look the same even seventy some odd years later, yes? Sa’id always did believe in investing in the sturdiest materials, things that would last a lifetime and more.”

“Little did you know he meant your lifetime, eh?” Squeeze his hand, Ferox looked around attempted to get his bearings, “As for fashion, I think those long tunics that look like napkins on the lap and behind look silly, like they’re waiting for someone to wipe their hands on them. Tucked in, fine. Flappy and hanging out, not so much. I’m going to lay that error at the feet of Orlais, your people seem to have much more common sense than to make the same on their own.”

His spouse smacked his forehead on a groan, “They serve a practical purpose! And _not_ as napkins, Maker, aiesh, faugh, and bleh. You are merely seeking to vex me.”

“Yes, to wipe your hands on, as I just said.” If they were up a little higher and maybe he could see the bay or, if the sun were not in his eyes from the west, maybe the mountains spoken of there would be visible.

“It comes from riding horses, _querido_ ,” Zevran’s lips pursed as eyes were rolled. “The saddles get extremely hot, so an extra layer of protection on your posterior is a boon. However, having a tunic that limits the range of leg motion by confining the hips would make riding difficult. Several methods were devised to gain the desired extra layer to protect bottoms and balls, while granting motion.”

Snorting, amusement not quite hidden. “And the last time the average Ferelden saw a horse, before you came along, was what, forty years ago?” Yes he was enjoying being here. “I doubt their father’s clothes lasted that long given the amount of dirt and work the fabric was exposed to.”

Tutting, “You should always accept it as a fact that Antivan men’s fashion always serves a practical purpose. Unless it is something cut extremely scandalously. And even then it serves a practical purpose - showing off the wares and serving as distraction or enticement... But napkins? Truly? Aie. And if you think it looks odd with one in front and one in back, believe me, _amora_ , it would look stranger if just the one in the back was there.”

“Leather pants padded in those locations would be infinitely more practical than having every Thomas, Richard, or Harold, who don’t ride and have hardly laid eyes on such an animal, waste enough cloth to form two napkins or kerchiefs or even one baby’s diaper, every single time they make a tunic.”

“Ah, yes, you go ahead and ride around in leather, Ferox, and then die of sun madness,” Zevran shot off sagely. “Did you not notice most soldiers do not wear armour here? And those that do, they wear the minimum. And why would that be? It would be, because wearing anything heavy is suicide.”

Zevran was getting a little close to a subject Ferox was playing with like a worry-stone and wasn’t yet ready to discuss. Snorting, he kept his voice light and pleasantly growly, “Ferelden’s not hot. I think I’ll be safe there where everyone wears napkins front and back. You know, maybe they’re just modesty panels in case a man forgets to shake after pissing. Although, a napkin would come in handy then too. You have to admit, in Oghren’s case, that would be an extremely useful article of clothing.”

 

His love had rolled out mats made of thin slats of wood and there was a short folding table that had a few simple plates on it of freshly cut fruit, some of those olive things - _I like the garlic stuffed ones. No, I like the cheese ones. Noooo, the lemon peel ones. Oh, yeah, those are good_ \- and a large crock of frozen fruit filled wine. And there were some of those disgusting looking fruits that wound up having a completely different taste than he would expect, which usually resulted in him gorging himself on them in short order. Even a few of the long, cylindrical pillows had been carted up, and since there were no stairs - at least, not that Ferox could see - it meant that Zevran had carried it all on his back. Above as the sun was setting, the sky was lit up in a cacophony of colours, and the sound of the city becoming active was a collection of chanting voices on the backdrop of the sky, and the tallest buildings stretching up from the ground, like many fingers to pluck at the few stars that already showed.

“Hrm, it appears that I should have at least brought flowers. Although I would have had to carry them in my teeth when climbing up,” gruffly. Ferox was not the first to consider a ‘pick-a-nick’ apparently. “This is unexpected and a lovely surprise. I didn’t expect the rogue clubhouse to look quite like this.” 

Zevran squatted, pulling out a copper basin and shed his shoes and shirt, dipping feet and hands, splashing the freshly poured water over them. “Ah, usually it is just a bamboo mat and myself and perhaps something to drink, definitely something to smoke.”

“Then you prepared for company.” Waiting his turn, Ferox toed off the soft low boots, shoes really, as Zevran finished up. 

“Only the finest company in all of Thedas,” the basin was nudged towards him, and his lover stretched out indolently, a hand plucking up one of those fruits that sounded utterly bizarre, and tasted nothing like fruit, and more like whipped chocolate cream. 

Rinsing his own hands and feet while attempting to remember to keep thoughts and tone light, “Tell me that you are being flowery. With so many to choose from here just in your own grand city, this man is the best you can do?” 

“Tchk, I have impeccable taste, _amora_ ,” bronze fingers dipped down into the pleasantly cool water to flick a few droplets at him. “I would not attach myself to just any man, so he would have to be something special. Nor would I take just any man for my mate, partner, and spouse, hmn? So, that would also mean that he was the finest of fine company by my estimation.”

It was difficult to believe, not Zevran’s impeccable taste, but rather his estimation. However Ferox was trying not to fight, which was often a battle in itself. Regardless of his less agitated state, the space to think or to delay answering, old behaviors were difficult to stop and Ferox had to watch himself, to distance himself from those bad habits. “As you say,” joining Zevran to stretch out on the cushion strewn mat, tucking one under the back of his head.

A blond head immediately came to lie on his stomach, shoulders braced against his side, and a hand on his cheek, brushing it lovingly, as well as a feline purring and twining around him inside his mind. “Mmmnhmmn.”

Being here was nice, a little too nice, truth be told, as he was wishing that they didn’t have to return to Ferelden and to the headaches there - ones he chose, not to mention that they were his duty to complete. It didn’t need to be said that that Ferox A. Cousland dodged his duty, because he never did. Except the single time with the Wild’s Witch - _Twice. Twice? Twice - when you saw her before she went into that mirror. Dammit, dammit, dammit - frell, so I dodged it twice. Maker. Don’t think about it. Then why did you bring it up? I’m thinking about it! STOP THINKING ABOUT IT! Look up at the sky, it’s a star, lots of pretty stars. You’re asinine_ \- the two times, once where he escaped death by making a child, and the second, abandoning that child to a fatherless state. But duty...duty was something that had long gone beyond hate, having turned to loathing and dread, and even those words weren’t truly accurate descriptions of how he felt about the subject of ‘duty’. Responsibility he liked to think was something he had chosen, but more often than he would like, the line between duty and choice was rather blurred. No, he would see all of it through, as if there was any other acceptable choice.

Idly tracing a pointed ear with thumb and finger, Ferox again worked at being relaxed and to stop sinking, or to do both as much as possible. “So when you’re done being Head of Security, as well as all of the other titles I can foist off on you, is this where you’ll want to return?”

“Want to? Yes, of course. If it were feasible, we would never return to Ferelden, but there is too much to do.”

It was true, ‘mooch too mooch’, as Len would say. No acceptable way out except to stay to the path to come out the other side, and the only side he knew of wasn’t going to be a nice ending. It was pleasant to think that Zevran would return here, where he was happy, where he was nearly happy too. Family to care for, something to take his mind off his time in Ferelden...in, on, under, a Ferelden. Maker, he loved him. _Which? Who loves who? Both. Dammit. What? Did you just figure that out? No. It’s just the first time I thought about what would happen after I die, other than Zevran promising himself to Len._ Counting his Warden years, thirty was the estimate Alistair said, his...and Alistair’s...they were already more than half over. Sixteen years, for what? Playing Prince Consort to the Harpy? Life of Service and Duty... _Don’t correct me, those are titles and you know it. They’re just as real as Ferelden and Cousland._

 

“It will easily be a century or more before I would be free to, and I am unlikely to live anywhere near that long, _querido_ ,” one of those ugly chocolate fruits was smooshed around in a bowl with a spoonful of honey added in while Zevran spoke. “So, visits, they will have to suffice.”

“Well, if everything’s put in place, there’s a time when the kids and the country’s just gotta stand on their own. ‘Sides that, it would be nice to think that you would be here with this family too. Let the others visit you, gives them an excuse to come to sunny Antiva and sample the really strange fruits. That one for instance. I mean, it looks nasty, but doesn’t taste that way.” _A way out? Yes, he hates the weather, hates that everything is built of stone, and is colourless, and that he can’t get warm. Mud, don’t forget the mud. And lack of spices. Have a little potato with your cabbage. If you were really giving him a way out, you’d work on him staying now. Like that would work and don’t you think that a little rampage across the countryside is a little much just because you’re missing him and have to seek a little stress relief? I would not...well, I wouldn’t rampage exactly._

Zevran grunted and held the spoon out to him, “Mph. I detest incompetency or people being inefficient, or using the system that was set up, inefficiently. You are not the only one who cannot do things by half measures, _querido_.”

“True.” 

Taking the proffered bite, it was still amazing that something that looked so...ready to be thrown on the compost heap, tasted so good. Ferox wondered who was the first person to eat it, when it looked like that, brown, disgusting, and clearly rotten? _Somebody pretty desperate who then tricked all of his friends into eating it. Probably somebody just like Zevran._ His own snort of laughter surprised him. As the golden eyes that regularly shook his resolve pinned him down, Ferox shared the thought of the first eater of the chocolate coloured fruit.

His spouse raised an eyebrow and looked at the pudding fruit, thinking. “Likely someone saw animals eating it and decided to risk it, _amora_. Which is probably how foods are always found to be edible... Or so says one of your books on farming.”

Biting a sigh so it wouldn’t escape, “Yes, likely it is so.” It wasn’t really what Ferox was looking for and he forgot how Zevran always had a reasonable answer for everything, absolutely everything, nearly without fail. _However it still doesn’t explain lobster or crabs. Seagulls. Fine someone saw a seagull eating one. And for the record, you aren’t any fun either. Neither are you. I have my moments. They’re few and far between._

Why would his husband continue to live for centuries in some place he already hated? _Should have married out to a warmer climate. Um, he’s from a warmer climate, but you married Anora first, so you’re stuck. Bloody Ferelden._ Accepting a second bite, Ferox tucked an arm under his head and again tried to let go of the stupid things his mind came up with. Earlier today he was content to be quiet, to read, to watch the children play, to simply do nothing and he wanted that peace back. 

“You’ve already done much good work there, more than both our shares. Part of that work is teaching the children to be able to do this without us. This work has already been started, Love.” Reassuring, “It will be alright to walk away from the tasks, knowing they are in capable and trusted hands.”

His Antivan nodded, “You are correct of course, _amora_.”

 _Remember that thing about trying not to argue. Open your mouth and you’re going to fail._ Convincing either of them to believe, agree to, or do something they did not want, was like beating a dead Orlesian. It didn’t obtain any useful information, got one dirty without reason, and likely just irritated the one not being convinced. _But he’s saying that...that thing. What thing? You mean the thing you say to shut him up ‘cause you don’t want to even think about changing your mind or hearing him out, and he then proceeds to badger and pester you just because? ...I don’t say it exactly like that and I’m not that bad. Yes you are. No I’m not. Yes, yes you are._ Agitation rising, this was not where he was trying to be or what he wanted to become. 

Zevran shifted, sitting up to grab one of the colourful glasses and filled it with the wine, taking a long sip. “So long as I keep busy, all will be well, _querido_. There is no reason for you to worry so over what I do when you are gone, it is not your responsibility to fix or soothe or whatever it is you believe you are doing.”

“As you say.” If worried wasn’t one of his character traits, Ferox didn’t know where to start the list. _Dutiful. Shut up. And anyway, I’m dutiful ‘cause I’m worried._ Sitting up, “I forgot to take my walk.” _Oh you are sooooooo going to be kicked out of the rogue’s clubhouse._ “It might help.” _Seriously? You’ll never get invited back either._

Gold eyes swung towards him before they flicked down, but it was long enough to see the surprise morph quickly into hurt and then turn to being guarded. “Your wish then, _amora_.”

Muttering, “That has nothing to do with it.” Clearing his throat, Ferox explained further, “Zevran, my legs twitch with the need to move and my mind cannot let anything go. I would like to stay here, but this state is good for neither of us. Let me go and tire it out before I say something else stupid or intentionally hurtful. I’ll come back, I always have before.”

“I will be here if you desire to return,” a hand was waved, granting him leave to flee.

Hauling himself to his feet, Ferox felt at odds with himself, more so than what was fast becoming the new usual. As if he had blinked and stepped off the path, tumbled down a hill, and got turned around in the process. “It’s not a question of ‘if’, Zevran. You are my home and where I want to be. If I stay, I will fight and argue and will be generally disagreeable and I don’t wish to be that way with you.”

The elf was quiet for a moment, obviously choosing his words carefully. “Ferox, I am happy that you explained your situation? No...it...mindset. Yes, mindset is a better term. Thank you,” a hand reached up to squeeze his. “I will be here when you return, _querido_.”

Squeezing back hard before letting go, Ferox swung off the roof to vent what he couldn’t change or at least exhaust himself enough that he was too tired to wrestle with it for a while. Out the garden gate, he stepped into a jog, keeping to familiar streets so even as the beration continued he would not become lost - even if he could used the amulet as a homing beacon. The Maker was going to have a real special punishment built for him with an endless dirt path, Ferox would be too tired to think or even talk. Fergus didn’t seem to need movement in this way, was it just him that needed an escape?

Not returning until he was fit company, a process of stepping up the pace whenever he grew argumentative and staying moving even when winded. Several hours later, Ferox was nearly too tired to climb the rope to the roof. Hand over hand, feet tangling in the rope as Zevran showed him so he could rest without falling, he wondered if the house gained two stories during that short space of time. He was going to need a shower, but something told him it was more important to check in first. 

Peering over the edge of the roof, somehow more things had been brought up in his absence, more pillows, more food, a bowl holding a lit wick and fragrant oil, and it appeared that they would be sleeping on the roof. 

Calling out into the darkness by quiet voice and thought simultaneously, “Zevran?” _’Zevran?_

Amidst a pile of cushions a head popped up, and Zevran rolled over, chin in hand, “ _Si, querido_? Are you feeling better?”

“Mostly, not quite so -” hitching a shrug as he held onto the edge, “ - loud. I’m going to rinse off.”

“Hmmn...but I like it when you are sweaty,” a long finger pointed in his direction in emphasis. “But if you require it, then I shall await your pleasure.”

“Sweat is one thing, but smelling like darkspawn is another.” With the addition of the tattoos, thankfully, it was happening less and less often. But the odor of the cleansings had been so pervasive, he wondered if it had just slipped beneath his notice, but not to others around him. “What does your nose say?”

Lips quirked, and an image of melted chocolate being drizzled over him was shown. “Sex and candy, _amante_.”

Snorting, followed by a grunt as Ferox pulled himself fully up onto the roof, “I believe that’s salt and chocolate.” Legs shaking, he sought to hide it by sitting on the edge of the pallet to remove the boots he pulled on downstairs before leaving. If the requirement to clear the mind occurred less often, which it had, perhaps there was just a bigger pool to hold it? So more effort was needed at one time to empty it? Frankly he was too tired to entertain those questions either.

“Good chocolate is like good caramel, it should have a bit of rocksalt,” arms came around him and Zevran’s lips pressed to his shoulder, mumbling into the fabric.

“There’s enough to salt cod or a side of pork, whichever is your preference. Ah, better,” tossing a boot closer to the edge, away from them before working on the second set of laces. Antiva was hot, even when it ‘wasn’t’ and Ferox didn’t want his footwear anywhere near them. “I’m grateful that you are a man with a taste for the unusual - you know, foreign, a bit wild.”

The embrace tightened, and the feline leaped into his lap, purring away. _’Uncommon, not unusual. Unusual, it makes it sound as though my preferences run to the peculiar, rather than special.’_

Chuckling as he ruffled the mental cat’s fur, “I see your point. Although some might think you have chosen someone peculiar, if they were able to get close enough.” The second boot was removed and tossed away. “I often wonder myself, but wait...that’s not a good path.” Sighing, Ferox started over, “I’m still grateful an’ glad that you’re you an’ that you’re here with me.” It sounded mushy, as mushy as an ‘I love you’, which he was saying, just not using those words.

A happy and very pleased trill turned into a contented sigh as he was tugged back to lean against Zevran’s chest, soft kisses pressed to his cheek. _’I would not wish to be anyone but myself, especially since it is myself that loves you so.’_

“I love you too, Zevran.” 

Really, they could stay here in Antiva a bit longer, long as it wasn’t past the birth, otherwise he’d lose the popular support they’d been working on and even that wasn’t as important as being here now. Turning his head, Ferox sought out the sunlit mouth to banish what he could of the darkness. He found himself pulled further on to the mat, his arms full of his love, and the taste in his mouth of sunlight and melon. It was what he’d wanted since going downstairs that afternoon and was just too ‘busy’, or more recently, wound up, to enjoy. And this seemed the place for enjoyment, no one looking over his shoulder even as he urged for care. Nearly too fatigued to climb a simple rope, his arms were not too tired to hold onto the brilliant sun which gave more energy than it took away. Fingers slid through the elf’s golden hair still wondering at its softness, even after all this time. Being here was good, and it was always new or surprising as if somehow he kept forgetting between times. Savouring the lingering kiss, Ferox was able to enjoy it without complaint or overly scrutinizing the reasons and motivations for it. 

The breeze coming in off the bay was cool, blessedly cool, up on the roof, and Zevran’s bronze skin was shivery with goosebumps under Ferox’s hands, leaching some of his own excess heat. He had not thought that being up on the roof, which was exposed to the day’s heat, would be any cooler than sleeping on the beds with their drawers of frostrock, he had believed quite the opposite in fact. And while the material under his back was warm, it wasn’t hot, and the breeze itself was kind and pleasant, so much so that the day’s baking heat had been sucked away. They were up high enough so that the buildings around them hadn’t trapped in so much of the sun’s rays as had happened on the streets below. 

The bridge of Zevran’s nose rubbed against his jaw. “In times past, I would sleep up here on the roof if it was too hot. Many Antivans do this, but because of the way Sa’id renovated the place when he expanded it so much, the stairs were taken down and never put back up. Well, unless Ani or Uailil has done so, however, I did not check, and merely used my typical route.”

“I did not consider that anyone would want to be up where the sun was. Although, even I have observed what must be trellised gardens on flat rooftops. They would be pleasant in the early mornings or at night.” For a moment he wished to see them in Ferelden, but with the steeply pitched roofs to throw off rain and snow, it was no place for a rooftop garden. Even a walkway on the palisades had a slight slope to allow for runoff into a grooved channel...not that a garden was useful for defense in that instance.

“Gardens, planters, and if the rest of one’s abode is too hot, it is a place for sleeping at night, during the day of course, no sane person would be seeking sleep directly in the sun...even if it feels pleasant,” a finger was drawing meaningless patterns over his chest, as though painting more meandering symbols with the expectation that ink would bloom beneath the passing touch. “As when one awakens, the burns can be so bad as to cause blisters and the like, hmn?”

It was still odd, that the sun was something to avoid, that here it was so hot that indoors was preferable, that the city was quiet during the heat of the day. There wasn’t enough hours of light to effectively see to everything that would need doing on a farm in the course of a day. Some days on any farm in Ferelden were so long that breakfast or dinner would be candlelit. Here, lanterns lit the streets as people woke to the cooler evenings, but it would be impossible to light a field for weeding, or harvesting, plowing...and what did shepherds do? Find a shady spot and hunker down, leaving the sheep, cattle or goats to fend for themselves in the furnace blast? In this heat the farmers must also use much water, there were a few irrigation ditches in the Bannorn, in the particularly dry locations, but most parts received plenty of rain. He didn’t remember it raining since they arrived, but knew from the maps that there was a large river delta, perhaps the ditches were run from there into the fields...to but imagine the size of the fields needed to feed the city’s population... 

Shaking his mind, sunburns they were talking about sunburns. “Rory. Rory would get the worst ones, like Geoffry gets, red, peeling, never tanning. Was either fishbelly white or bright red. Was always ending up with a mud plaster to cool the burn on his nose or cheeks. He wanted to exchange skin at least for a day or two, ta-get-ta-go outside without a broadbrimed hat to protect his ears or even the part of his hair.” 

“Hmn, here we would use a paste of aloe and henna to dye and soothe the skin,” Zevran rolled onto his back, remaining tucked in close. “But that would not help there...” Ferox felt his husband’s mind plucking over the puzzle. “Some animal fat, ah - walnut, that may assist. Why did I not think of that problem before? Though truthfully, aloe should be able to grow in Ferelden, it just would have to be inside...”

Ferox chuckled, “Thinking of the problem or finding the solution? I’m the one who usually finds problems and you suavely reach into your back pouch and come out with the solution already prepared and in hand, or at the worst, missing a few ingredients.” Turning to his side, arm supporting Zevran’s head, he kissed the lined forehead. “Walnuts we have plenty of and you have built your glass solarium - greenhouse - to house your delicate hothouse plants.” 

“Hmn...true...” teeth worried at a full bottom lip as Zevran poked at the idea some more.

“And what is the problem I have yet to stumble onto? Does Geoffry wish to be stained walnut brown like a Chasind? How long will it last?” None of the questions sounded like problems, so he tossed in a basin for dishes, “How will it look with that brilliant shade of strawberry coloured hair?”

“Eh? No, no I had not thought of that, hmn.” A shrug, “Well, he could simply just dye it all with walnut, the hair too. With those pretty eyes and strong features, he would be rather handsome. As for the desire, I believe the desire to not be burnt and blistered to a similar shade of an overripe tomato being roasted on open flame would outweigh any possible complaints. But - I could be wrong.”

“He is a reasonable man who doesn’t seem terribly worried about not being identified as a Gilmore. He winces when someone calls out the family name. Considering that they are a large, well respected family...perhaps that is the problem, there’s so many of them.” Pretty eyes, strong features, and rather handsome? _You have said that Geoffry looked similar to his cousin. If Zevran has a type, it’s the dark ones, which you and Moira are. This is stupid, let it go, he said it for your benefit. Besides that, what Rory looked like wasn’t what drew you to him in the first place. You’re right, letting it go._

Ferox found one of those straight walled glasses in his hand, wine, coffee, tea, juice, water - they all tended to be the same shape, though one little cafe had served coffee in round bottomed ones, with sleeves and attached handle made from beaten copper. “You could always ask why he has, hmn?”

“Ask him why? Oh, why he winces. I forego calling him ‘Gilmore’ - he seems to like being known as himself and the name didn’t sit well with me anyway.” Two problems solved without picking at anything, or having an uncomfortable conversation which would rile him up to growling and stalking off again. _I’m probably a coward to avoid that. Yes, yes we are, but I’m alright with it._ Changing the subject, or at least delaying it, Ferox sniffed the contents of the glass, “What is in this? More strange fruits?”

“Red wine with frozen strawberries, honey melon, cantaloupe, and a few orange slices - a fine sangria, rather than the sangria meant to solely get one quite inebriated.” Zevran had his own glass and took a long drink. “A sweet, cooling summer wine, mellow, it comes from fruit produced at my own plantation. I believe this was from the third harvest after the land was declared mine. I should check the amphorae, see what the date on it was.”

No wonder the liquid smelled fruity with other scents he didn’t recognize right away. “Amphorae? The big clay jars?” He remembered seeing some on the docks, lifted by their handles and loaded onto a ship. Which left him wondering how they would sit upright with their pointed bottoms, he began to imagine what strange footing could be attached or what indented block of wood they must be sitting in.

Zevran shrugged, “Some are big clay pots, some are small glass pots, and some are even smaller glass pots, no bigger than half my pinky. It depends on what it is to be used for. To age and store wine for distribution to pubs, inns, and eateries, my plantation uses amphorae about half your height. If there is a particularly fine batch, dark glass amphorae are used, each hand blown, but those are for table vessels.”

“With flat bottoms, like a jug or a pitcher?” Taking a sip, Ferox rolled the sweetness of the fruit with the flavor of the wine in his mouth. With his nose repaired, his sense of taste had also improved, but sometimes he wondered at the descriptions Zevran gave and when Ferox still couldn’t find the flavours, they were often shared through the amulet.

A shake of head, “No, rounded, it goes in a stand for the purpose, _amora_. If we are invited to any fine banquet you might see one heavily decorated. My own is a simple one, but finely made, of ebony. And in Rinna’s vanity area, you would find many, beautifully wrought perfume amphorae, stacked, hanging, strewn, or supported by bases.” Long fingers twisted and cupped as he spoke, as tracing out the shapes. “We should go and raid that, see if we can find anything Moira, Sarah, or Nan may like. Hundreds of sovereigns’ worth of perfume should not go to waste, simply because their original owner is no more. The rest can be sold, or rebottled and handed out as Saturnalia gifts from His Highness, the Warden Prince.”

Swallowing, “The place you suggest raiding is where you and they resided together? It has been a long time, what makes you think anything is still there?”

“The plantation? No, we did not live there all the time, _querido_ ,” another fruit was selected, one that was bigger than Ferox’s fist, a strange shade of pink and red, but he knew the inside was white with black seeds. He still didn’t understand why it was called a ‘dragon fruit’ even if the rind was in scaled layers. “But the slaves will have kept a good eye on it, Zamitie goes there periodically to see to the needs of the slaves, and to ensure that everything is as it should be. As for the apartment, it would be untouched because the residents know who it belongs to. And while it has been a great deal of time since I lived there, I did check it the last time I was in Antiva. Unless the Guild wished to go over it, there would be no one to muck with it.” 

“Nice neighbours.” It was very unlikely that the same would be true in Denerim. Things left behind for any great length of time were like a giveaway box for the needy at the Chantry. It was why guards were left behind at all of the noble estates, or when those who couldn’t afford guards left home, they took what they could with them. The Alienage appeared to be one of the few communities where that wasn’t regularly the case, at least that was what he gathered from Shianni’s rant on the subject when it did happen. “Is that just a courtesy extended to Crows? Because I can’t imagine that it is a general politeness given to everyone.”

“To the man who delivered no fewer than forty-seven children within a half mile, it is afforded. To the woman who quietly killed off a few cruel husbands, it is afforded. To the men who would be counted upon to help repair broken stairs, roofs, floors, or other innumerable things - it is afforded.” Ruefully, “The children all call me ‘Tio’ - ‘Uncle’. The same for Taliesin, ‘Tia’ for Rinna. Though now, none of them are children anymore...well, perhaps some of the youngest. Believe me, if you wish to see the place, you will understand, _amora_.”

“My time is yours, Zevran. You know as well, or, in all honesty much better than I, what is needed and available here. As long as we don’t break promises to a small boy and go back with what we came here for, I will do and see whatever you want.” Setting the glass aside which was mysteriously half emptied during the time he had held it, Ferox’s hand brushed up his husband’s arm to squeeze his shoulder, “If you wish to go, then we will go.”

Zevran leaned against him, a small spoon having been shoved into one half of the dragon fruit and handed off to him. “Mmn, the day after we return from letting the little ones play in sand, you and I will go to the old apartment, so that you may see what I mean. Then a few days later, a trip out to the plantation might be pleasant.”

Making a face at the salty sweat in his hair, a very good reason for cutting it off, “I would appreciate knowing how your farmers deal with the heat and how it affects their daily chores. I know you could tell me now, but in combination with the actual examples, the explanations might be more helpful. However, I thought that the next trip was out to the Dust Wolves? Unless they don’t know we’re coming.

“The Dust Wolves is tomorrow, _amora_ , the day after that, the beach, and I would send a messenger to Vela my head slave, to prepare the estate for company.” Another contented grunt came with a wiggle, rocking side to side, as the last of his half was finished, and Zevran made various sounds of pleasure. Waving the spoon about, “We could perhaps stay a week or two even, and you could gain all the answers you seek about the farming techniques.”

Ferox couldn’t help the snorted laugh, although he enjoyed the odd - _Is everything ‘odd’ here? The fruit definitely...and other foods too_ \- ‘dragon’ fruit, it didn’t give him that happiness it did Zevran. Scooping up a spoonful from his half, Ferox offered it to someone who enjoyed it so much. _’Sides that, he’s fun to watch when he squirms._ Tip of nose wiggling, Zevran’s neck craned to gain the spoonful of the firmly crisp flesh, that put Ferox in mind of a tart pear that was not so fibrous as the apple relative, but more like a hard cucumber. He had never seen anyone eat so much raw fruit and vegetables as Zevran, it was always guaranteed he had something on his person, in search of something, having just eaten something, or about to receive some raw item. 

The other day, there had been beautifully arranged plates of something Alois had made. Gorgeous jewel colours of what Ferox had thought was fruit or something else, arranged like flowers all over the oblong and rectangular plates, had looked too pretty to eat. And then as soon as he ate a piece, he realized why they were too pretty - it had been fish. Raw fish at that. And Zevran had eaten it like a starving man or newly minted Warden. Len had followed suit with gusto, but Ferox had been wary after that, and kept to the vegetable and fried shellfish pieces instead. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t _like_ fish - Highever had a good supply of it as it was right on the sea, and fishing trawlers ran regularly - but eating it _raw_ just seemed...wrong. _And wiggly. Don’t forget wiggly. No, mentally it was wiggly because it was fish, but it didn’t wiggle. All fish are wiggly. Except battered n’fried, then it’s good and dead and doesn’t wiggle and it can be eaten with fried potatoes and that malt vinegar._

The Dalish cooked, remembering the large pots near the fires, a deer over the flames - not overdone, as wild meats grew tough, but not raw and bloody either, roots cooked in the coals or eaten raw, apples and plums were eaten out of hand, greens were raw or lightly cooked too. It didn’t mean that what was observed over such a small period of time was ‘normal’, it was only what he remembered. Certainly an interesting question, another Genitivi could investigate...all Ferox really cared about was that this spoonful - feeding Zevran another bite, followed by a kiss to share the flavours mixed with sunlight - made his elf happy.

His favourite Crow took a deep draught from his glass, “So, the wine? I know you do not tend to partake, but, how is it? I did make sure to thin it down with a bit of unfermented juice.”

“I like it very much, especially your frozen strawberries and oranges. Thank you. The melons give an interesting taste to it as well. I almost expect to taste some of that thin salty dried ham with it.”

Zevran’s expression screwed up, “Ferox, if you do not like it, that is alright. You do not need to speak as though this is one of Anora’s tea parties, as my feelings will not be harmed by an honest opinion...”

“An honest...hrm...I do like it, I just think you’re eating the fruit all wrong.” It had been some time since having anything that was even close to a good stout or even Fergus’ whiskey, brought to him by Zevran, no doubt. So - looking at his nearly empty glass - the bit consumed was enough to lighten him. “Look,” moving to sit in Zevran’s lap facing him, legs folded at the elf’s sides, Ferox fished a melon ball out of the glass. “Here, eat this.”

An eyebrow bounced up quickly into a perfect arch as Zevran tipped his head back, mouth open, “Eating it wrong? Enlighten me, _querido_.”

 _In for a copper..._ Biting the piece in half, Ferox fed one half to Zevran while chewing the other. The pad of a finger, sticky with the wine and juice concoction, pressed lightly to his husband’s mouth for tasting. A cheek quirking into a grin as it was licked, the tongue curling in its usually peculiar fashion about his finger before sliding free. Leaning in Ferox gave a tasting kiss of his own, the flavours of the melon in the summer sun. Truly, all it needed was a bite of that serran-ham.

Breaking the kiss, he rumbled, “So, is that better than just eating it all by your lonesome?”

“Anything tastes good with you, _querido_ , it is the nature of life,” lips moving as the face darted forward to snap up another kiss.

“Ahh,” a third, or was it the fourth, kiss shared and the rumble nearly stuttered to a halt. “And here I thought I was helping or at least improving the experience.”

“Oh no, no, no, you misinterpret my meaning - everything is just a glaze or a sauce or a side dish, a bit of extra flavouring - you are the main ingredient, _corizon_.” 

“Now you’re just being too sweet, or flowery, one of those...both.” Confirming, “Both.” And not very deep down, Ferox liked it.

Tongue clucking, “Ah, but how do you think I have put up with so much cabbage and potatoes so poorly cooked?” 

“Cheese, onions, and garlic. And lots of the last two to kill the taste of everything before.” Copying Eleanor, “Plfpt. So there.” Unable to keep a straight face like she did however, Ferox laughed certain that his sitting this way on Zevran’s lap was a ridiculous sight made doubly so by having an even more ridiculous conversation.

An overwhelming cresting wave nearly slammed into him before it was reined back, joy bubbling up and around and crashing every which way, the gold eyes didn’t dance, they shone but were still, focused on him intently, all that came from Zevran, along with a soft, hum. 

“I believe you’re supposed to say something rude about my mother in response, or was it my shoes?” Still bobbing along the surface, “I admit that my Antivan is sadly lacking if I can’t make it past the first round of exchanges that children have in the alley while playing kick the brick, or stone, or whatever that was.” 

“Your mother created the most annoyingly handsome man, because she saved the best for last, selfish woman,” hands slid up his back in time to the words. “Was that rude enough?”

“Heh! To Fergus perhaps. I don’t think the children would give you very high marks, but then I have yet to hear the translation.” All but chortling, “It might be flowery enough to impress them.” 

Zevran shook his head, still smiling bemusedly at him, either speechless, or choosing not to speak, Ferox couldn’t tell.

Figuring it was his turn, of the game he didn’t know the rules to or understood them if they were once explained, “I’m afraid I didn’t stick around to hear what the next insult was - not that I knew what the first one was - I was trying to figure out what shoes had to do with it because they were all barefoot. And Light was of no help, sittin’ there all smug like she knew something I didn’t.”

“Ah, but I will be flowery and silly as I praise you if I speak of your strong jaw, firm voice, and the laughter that is like - ah, see? I am doing it,” it was strange to realize that for once, Zevran was ‘speechless’.

Knowing that his look was entirely too soft, one he might be sorry for later, but had already paid in muscle and mental exhaustion for some of what this disarming cost him, Ferox asked anyway, “Like’a what, Love?”

A familiar hand reached up, tracing Ferox’s brow, that smile on Zevran’s face was quietly joyful, full of softness, “Like the sun striking a perfect lagoon, so that the water lights up and glows, showing clear straight down to its bottomless depths, crystal and bright perfection.”

“You are that sun who waits for just that right moment, when the bottom’s not all stirred up with mud or a wind’s not ruffling up waves.” _I’m sorry, so very sorry._ “I can’t plan when that moment will happen, but I can -say that Zama’s Work has made it more easily accessible or I know when it’s not and can do something about it before I need to hit someone.” Ferox gave insight into his anger and sudden sinking, “I don’t like it, I never liked it, but there it is.” 

Zevran lay back, and Ferox followed as the familiar arms held him tightly, not letting him pull away or prop up enough to keep from crushing his elf. “You are loved, and that you can accept it, work on accepting it, and try to - that is what matters. So, it is difficult sometimes, but it is getting better for you, that is important, _querido_.”

Ferox’s head lay just above his husband’s heart, the heartbeat steadying his confession. The words said were ones he was thinking anyway, “Sometimes I wish you could all just stop for a while and I wonder if it would make finding the path again easier, because there’d be no one I was lettin’ down when I’m thrashing about.” With his defenses down, he didn’t growl or snarl or hide the truth for once, but it wouldn’t last long. That this calm moment occurred at all amazed him and in all honesty, he didn’t trust it.

Zevran’s hands slid over his back, working their way beneath his shirt. _’You do not let us down, **amora**. At least, not me, I merely wish to remain by your side until the end of time, and if you can find some peace during that time, well, it would please me vastly, and perhaps it would rub off a bit, hmn? Then again, so long as I am with you, I know I will be able to find peace.’_

Snorting, “Only if not letting you down means that I just keep leaving and it’s become something you can count on, I suppose you may be correct. The other thing you keep running into is that when I do, you are surprised and hurt and sometimes disappointed. I’m perpetually frustrated and angry, not blind.” 

Ferox didn’t think Zevran would say anything - what could be said to his statement? That he knew? Well of course Zevran knew, knew better than anyone else. He was the one who had stayed with Ferox from nearly the very start of the journey, the only other one was gone on to his rest. No, if his husband said anything, it would have been patronizing to them both, because they both knew the score on this at least. Intimately, they were both aware of how frustrated, how angry, he was. And he knew, he _knew_ without a doubt that his elf got frustrated with it often enough, but was better about figuring out how to either repress it or work through it. Ferox was still learning, and he didn’t have much time to do that. Not with the Harpy on his back, not carrying the title of Warden Commander, not with the knowledge that he had to prepare Ferelden for the eventual storm. If it didn’t happen in his lifetime, it might in Len’s, and Ferox wasn’t going to let the country be unprepared. 

Still, it meant that amongst all those responsibilities, Ferox had to learn to remain calm, true calm. Not the numbness and anger that always threatened like ugly clouds over his head. If Zama’s Work was helping, then maybe if he just got his whole body done, maybe, just maybe, he might cling to his sanity and his temper. Maybe he wouldn’t need air all the time, and would learn to breathe without having to move in an endless loop. 

“Please do not take this the wrong way, _querido_ ,” his love sighed, arms tightening and squeezing him close. “My experience is that a certain amount of things can be...decided. Some cannot. There are times when the secret mind drives the body and heart to madness, causing us to lash out, unless we control it. Or at least find the cause, the true root of that madness, of why the secret mind whips us into a furor. It is something I have noticed over the years - Crows have meditative processes that help us focus. Much like your walking. However, unlike your taking air or sparring, it is not...brooding. It is not a vent of rage or feelings of futility.” Zevran made a soft sound, shifting beneath him, and the head tipped back on the pillows, neck stretching to look at the sky overhead, as he refrained from growling. “Because we do not have normal childhoods, we do not learn to have the same scope of experience of emotion. That can make us prone to...melancholy, aggression, depravity, and even complete madness, because we are emotionally stunted.”

‘Stunted’ was not a word Ferox would use to describe Zevran. Ferox would have said so, but his Crow’s hand was rubbing a knot on his back that had begun to bunch, soothing it to quiescence, and his growling protest along with it. The fact that his husband had fallen silent once again gave him time to mull over the things said, to put it in perspective. Often enough - _Too often. Shut up_ \- it was like Zevran really did know everything, was in control, because he knew it all, had seen it all, done it all. And at least four or five times, and been left unimpressed by the passage of the world around him. Generally it didn’t make Ferox feel stupid per se, but he didn’t really want to look at or think about how many times he felt like a bumbling idiot by comparison. It wasn’t conducive to the not growling thing. 

The fact was that Zevran’s experiences weren’t normal, at least, not what Ferox would consider normal. A mother - basically - who had let him be taken away to be made into a killer as a child, and being raised by a group that wasn’t known for kindness...it couldn’t lead to a ‘healthy’ life. Yet, for the most part, his husband was ‘normal’. He didn’t growl, he didn’t need ‘air’, or to go for walks, fleeing others for fear of lashing out cruelly. How could whatever that upbringing was like, have produced someone who was generally rather easygoing? One who only ever seemed frustrated when people couldn’t keep up, or make the same intuitive leaps if that person was giving one of those people the benefit of the doubt or acknowledging them as an equal?

“Sometimes when you become irritable, it is true - I find it strange. It is not that you are irritated at what I would find to be logical reasons for anger - someone not comprehending a simple solution to a problem, or idiocy in general. No, you become irritable and angry for very, very different reasons.” A slight shake of head, “And I do not understand it. It is a thing I have had to witness in others, but I do not comprehend it. Only distantly can I see it and from whence it stems. From my standpoint and my experiences, such things - they look like tantrums. Something that should be scoured away by the age of seven or eight, ten at the latest for those particularly stubborn or dim. But that is _Guild_ thinking. And yet - I have my own bouts of depression, anger, and the like, where something small is blown and expanded very far out of proportion. As an example, you would make an appalling Crow. That temper would get you killed very quickly and written off as a waste of resources, and whomever had been responsible for purchasing you, would have been severely punished for such a lack of judgement. The need for air would be an exploitable weakness for a mark, or any kind job where filling a role would be necessary. It would be a vanity and a liability. As it would serve no logical purpose, it would have to be excised, and would have been done so at a very young age.”

Ferox tried very hard not to growl at that, but it came out anyway. 

“ _Amora_ , forgive me, I am seeking to...explain,” the pleading note causing Ferox to let the snarl fall back as he bit the inside of his cheek. “What I am saying is that, it is hard, it is very hard sometimes, to understand. Because I have no frame of reference, _querido_. You did not finish growing up in a healthy place, the security of allowing adulthood to settle upon you in a natural way, it was ripped from you. So you have fewer coping mechanisms. Just as I would if the Guild had not taught Crows how to handle such things - adapt or die, gain peace, or die, serenity, or die. These were the choices. Instead, you had support from the outset, and even though you would pull even more upon your shoulders, there was still support, whether you wished to lean or share or not. It was still _there_. You have the luxury of anger, irritation, of requiring air. You have the luxury of being illogical, of figuring out things and brooding. Me? I do not, nor have I ever. So I throw myself into my work, or if I retreat, it is in a very different manner than yourself. There is no risk of me lashing out, or very little.” Zevran heaved a sigh. “That is why it hurts - it is because logically, I know you have that luxury and always have, but it is not something I can connect to or fully comprehend, or empathize with, no matter how hard I try. Does that let me down? No. Does it hurt? Yes. It is like spanking an infant when you are angry - it does not understand why it is being spanked, it only wants to be held. That is what it is like, I do not understand why I am being shoved away, or why you are going off to brood. It does not fit with my scope of understanding, so I am left at a loss, with no idea of what to do to make it better, or to make it stop, or to prevent its necessity, and it leaves me wondering what I have done wrong, even if it has nothing to do with me at all, and everything to do with other things that I have no input on. Nor any ability to ‘fix’, because it is not something that can be ‘fixed’, and is something that is intrinsic instead.” The warm face pressed itself into the top of his shoulder, hiding, back curling to be able to do so. “Please, I do not mean that as an attack or a judgement, it is my expression of the fact that I just...I do not understand. It is where I am stunted, because your displeasure or anger - it feels as though I am at fault, and must do something to make it better or undo it, even when I know that logically, it has little to do with me. If I had grown up in the normal fashion, I like to believe it is something that would be easier for me to comprehend.”

Ferox hadn’t always been angry or caught in ice unable to move or speak except to lash out. Had been the entire time he knew Zevran and was walking the length and breadth of Ferelden, the reason he was there certainly gave him cause to be angry, but it was more that it gave direction to the already existing anger. If the rage was scoured away at such a young age... _Maker._

Tripping over the thought, he gave voice to it instead of arguing with himself, “Wasn’t angry then. Not at six or seven or even before that. Fergus’d tell you that too.” 

He became furious after being trapped in the box and was taught to expend the anger in physical activity, it wasn’t proper anywhere else. That was what led to the addition of an actual name, an insult, to his middle initial, not to mention a suggestion that he become an Ash Warrior, so that the rage could be channeled into something, anything. But his rage had burned too cold for it to work, even though a few of the attending Ash Warriors that traveled regularly through Highever had sought to teach him. He could never fully give into something that he guarded against - a loss of control. Everything had to have its place, including his anger. Especially his anger. The rage was so cold, so frozen, it burnt like being encased naked in ice. And after Highever burned, the ever present fury became more arduous to control. Eventually it had settled and numbed, numbed to a point where he could feel nothing truly, the walls built so high, so impregnable, that it was a wonder anyone could have gotten through. As to why anyone would _bother_... Well, Len didn’t have a choice, Len was born and hadn’t asked to be, but he liked to think he would have been able to love Len anyway, to have made a crack for his son to squirm through even without Zevran’s vital assistance. 

“Few children are angry, except when confused, frightened, or in pain, _querido_ ,” Zevran was clearly seeking to soothe, as always, always trying to apply a balm to his rage, something he had long since thought he had fully shoved into its corner, but if his husband’s words were to be believed, he wasn’t fooling anyone, or at least, not fooling his Crow. “But children do experience anger, it is a way of coping with fear, confusion, pain. It is natural. The same, it goes for adults, _querido_. When do you become angriest? When someone says something or does something hurtful. When you do not understand why you, or someone else, does something, or why something is. When you do not get what you expect or want. Adults are truly just large children, but with greater size, power, intelligence, experience, and ability to comprehend and use logic.”

“Most mornings, I simply woke up angry, no dream caused it and usually no one provoked it from the evening before. I would spend the entire day holding onto its leash or trying to use it up, until so exhausted I could let go enough to close my eyes.” That, in a nutshell, was most days before Howe’s soldiers destroyed what he considered to be his world. “Back then, I had better control of it.”

“Better support, less loss,” came the agreeing nod, and Zevran’s face was still tucked into his shoulder. “Less responsibility, much less damage.”

The anger hurt them all. Nan blamed herself for not noticing that he was missing, Fergus for the burial, and his parents received much of the uncontrolled rage. “Later it was the same in how it was always there, but no matter how many miles we walked or what heavy object was used to bludgeon whoever came against us, it didn’t dissipate. Yes, there are topics or moments that push the temperature over, but most of them don’t come from what’s happening around me.” 

“And I would do anything to make it so that it did not plague you, as though it were some burden I could simply pick up, some wound I could stitch and apply salve to, something Zama could heal with a bit of blood and magic.” Wetness spread through Ferox’s shirt where Zevran’s face was pressed. “It is not a thing I can fix, even though I wish I could take the pain, the rage, simply remove it, and then all would be well. But life is not so simple.”

“And even if I could hand it off to another, I wouldn’t, as it is mine to bear. If this were newly laid on someone it would be impossible for them to hold. Fixing or healing as much as possible, has been, and still is appreciated.” Arms tightening, “Zevran, Love, this isn’t your burden and you didn’t cause it.”

“You are my husband, Ferox. Your pains are my pains, I just wish to ensure that your time is as good as it can be, that you gain what you need, without torturing yourself... So, I look at things differently. And that is why it hurts, that is what you are observing, _querido_ , that is what I meant to explain. That you are not blind, no, but you are seeing more ‘damage’ than there is, if this makes sense, hmn?”

Shifting to be able to kiss the bronzed forehead, Ferox didn’t entirely loosen his grip. “This evening was bad, that’s true, but you have forgotten how many good days there have been between this time and the last. Each day is easier. And a bad day today is not like a night where I storm off to kill darkspawn in the Deep Roads not saying when I will return,” laying a line of kisses down one of the lines gouged in his husband’s forehead. “That was wrong and to this day I am sorry for doing that. I wanted so badly to hurt something I could not escape fast enough without causing harm.” 

Beneath him Zevran trembled. “There are days, many days, where I wish you would simply take it out on me, _querido_. Because then at least I am taking part in easing it. It is something I know, something I am familiar with. The norm for a Crow is to vent by beating or being beaten, letting it go, and then licking the wounds - proverbially or literally. Release and relieve and repair, all in one sitting, hmn? Physical pain is much easier to cope with than what happened that time. Physical pain is a relief.”

“What you have asked for, for pleasure, is sometimes difficult enough. Anything done in anger...Maker.” Fervently, “Not that, I couldn’t look at myself, let alone live with it. Ink on the skin or not, I wouldn’t...” Biting his cheek, Ferox muted the thought of his being unable to block out the call of a tower. 

“It hurts less, _amora_.” Zevran sighed, “When it happened, I became a Crow momentarily and was just as monstrous as we are known to be. Just as I do not understand the need and struggle to accept it, you have little concept of what I mean.” 

No, Ferox didn’t know. Only knew that he wasn’t proud of what he did at the time, didn’t like it afterwards, and hated it now too, especially if Zevran would rather be beaten by him. “If we could avoid it altogether, that would be better for both you and I.” 

A thick swallow, and the arms tightened as Zevran sought to hide once again. “Yes.”

His inability to control himself and subsequent deeds caused that harm and there was little doubt that those concerns were not thought of each and every time Ferox needed air. The epiphany came over him suddenly and he nearly cried out with the sudden increase in the weight of the guilt already associated with that event - _No wonder he gets frightened. He thinks each time is about to be like that time. Maker...better to have taken the blow from the Archdemon than to cause that. You frelling DID that already! And you make him think he’s at fault each time you run off, and he thinks you’ll leave him again, and that there’s nothing he can do - so you already did that too. No wonder Zevran’s Zama doesn’t like you._ That twisted his stomach as he battled against sinking.

“Love, I was wrong then and it’s too late to fix it. As for now, I can tell you that I’ll be back, absolutely every time. I don’t want to leave you and that I just need to tire my mind and body out.” And if he was prevented from returning, Maker forbid, he’d go through a few people trying his utmost to return. 

Beneath him, Zevran squirmed, tugging at his shirt, utterly needy, _’Skin, **amora**. Please, hold me.’_

Released to sit and pull the silky blue material off over his head, Ferox was enveloped for a moment in his own scent, salty and musky, and reminded himself that if Zevran didn’t mind then why should he. However, he still didn’t understand why contact with skin was needed or more comforting than being held while wearing clothes. Despite his husband’s explanations, Ferox still believed it was an Antivan thing, fit for warmer climates, but that was where they were and he didn’t fight it or growl like he might have in the dead of winter in Ferelden. 

Automatically folding the shirt, he looked over to his boots and it struck him that they hadn’t been set neatly aside, that they were tossed, he tossed them...he never did that - ever - as Len would say, ‘Ever nevers’. Did the ink make that possible too? That was a very scary thought, if the thoughtless behaviour continued, it could potentially lead to being unprepared. As though Zevran sensed his unease, his Crow scooted around to grab the boots and right them, before scuttling back and pressing his face into his chest. Apparently poking at things and explaining them, left Zevran out of sorts too. At least he wasn’t alone in that. Whispering his thanks, Ferox hugged his husband tightly. He hadn’t been certain what to do, the urge to fix the toppled boots was crushing, but the stumble and disorientation was even worse. 

They tangled up on the pile once again, and Zevran had his ear pressed over Ferox’s chest, eyes closed while taking deep breaths. “You give me peace, _querido_. Never forget that.”

Peace - Ferox was anything but. Rage and Despair, certainly, and he would admit that without a fuss, depending on who he was speaking with. It would take ‘a-lot-a-lot’ more ink to even approach being peaceful. This would be a difficult thing to remember as he couldn’t even imagine it. 

Zevran jabbed him with a finger, “Stop that, _amora_. Overanalyzing, cease, desist, come, let us be together with nary a thought in our heads beyond the contentment of the beautiful night and perhaps a bit too much wine.”

Caught doing just that, Ferox was startled into quiet snorted laughter, having temporarily forgotten how easily some things were picked up when they were pressed against each other. _Stupid amulet_ , but the thought was not upset, only amused.


	40. Lost and Found

Ferox couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something familiar about the grizzled - _Hah, that’s charitable. Shut up_ \- Commander of the Dust Wolves. He thought that Commander Nune might have been an elf, but with how malformed his face was and the sliced up ears, it was difficult to tell. He looked more like a darkspawn-dwarf-elf-human mixed thing, all rolled up into one convenient package of hideous facial pain. The teeth showing through one cheek made Ferox’s own face hurt and made him appreciate the fact that no one had to stare at his except from the usual method - from the front.

Impassively, the mercenary glanced at him, then Zevran, and back to Uailil. With a long, very long, slow blink, “ _Anath era._ ” A massive hand gestured to serviceable, beaten and worn chairs on a balcony, “You am being seated.” 

The sound of the warrior’s voice was surprisingly dulcet, like the long roar of a waterfall from far away - powerful, but pleasant - and gave Ferox another odd tingle of distinct recognition. It was going to plague him, that familiarity. _Don’t have time, maybe later. Ask Zevran, he might know._ The speech pattern was simplistic, redundant, and very odd, as though he were accustomed to a tongue that required multiple levels of words to describe a single item. Like saying chair-seat-stool-cushion to say ‘take a seat’. 

He felt his husband giving a mental shrug and doing as requested, taking a seat and crossing his legs knee to ankle. “ _Anath era, lethallin_. My kinsman did not inform me that you spoke elvish.”

The sound of liquid being poured, the clink of a jar’s lid, a pot, and several glasses accompanied a grunt for a reply. “Am being good language. Few know it. In mountains, it am being spoke always.”

Now _that_ was surprising apparently, for a shock bled over strongly enough from Zevran that he felt it as though it were his own, before it was smoothed over rather forcibly. _’What is it?’_

 _’Not even Dulsanaya indicated she knew elvish well enough to use it as her sole way of communicating with words, **querido** ,’_ there was another shudder. _’If he truthfully knows that much elvish, someone should plumb him for information - the clans struggle daily to make ends meet, but also to recover such lost knowledge.’_

It was eerie, as though the extremely stout man knew what was on Zevran’s mind, as a broad palmed left hand - _His ring finger’s gone. Huh? His ring finger - it’s gone. Well he’s beaten up rather badly, so - No, look at it. Cut cleanly, unlike the other things. Looks nearly...surgical_ \- set a very large book down on the table, while the right balanced a tray that was quickly set down as well.

“Dictionary,” came the explanation with a firm tap on the leather-bound wood. “Elvish it sharing space with Common, Antivan, Rivainian, old Qun’ari, Tevinter, Anders.” Realizing suddenly as the eyes focused on him that they were a burnished gold that held hints of bronze, “Language, it am being...knowledge. Quickly, it changes. It am lost easy. Forgotten. Misplaced. Purged.”

Uailil was the first to reach for it, but was hissed at like an angry feline - _That’s not a house cat like Zevran_ \- and sharpened teeth were displayed. Apparently the Commander had no desire to share the knowledge with a Dalish, and yet, the book was pushed towards Zevran firmly, a satisfied grunt issuing once his Crow picked up the massive book with its dark natural brown leather binding. Ferox wanted to say something, but it was awkward, to speak would be to intrude upon the space the Dust Wolf general had created momentarily.

As his husband became lost in the words on the page, his awe reached out to grasp Ferox, and he made himself speak anyway. Even if he didn’t particularly want to be the focus of the intense gaze, it was his role - hold the attention, so that Zevran could work from within the play of light and shadow. “That is a very generously sized book, Commander. Something I understand most Dalish would trade a firstborn for.”

“Mph. Zev’na’rane am being scholar. Uailil - hunter. No more, no mind,” it was grunted lazily, as though it were the sole truth in the Maker’s universe, without insult, even if it was a rather insulting thing. “Belly and balls. No brain. Learning - it am being thing of worth. Of thought. Uailil, he am being without thought. Zev’na’rane - he am being _thinking_. _Enansal_.”

“Precious,” this word Ferox had heard, over and over as if it was being drilled into his head. 

“Gift,” a denying shake of head. “Gift, mind am being gift,” a blunt finger tapped a temple. “Zev’na’rane, Ani’ca’da’s father - mind am being a gift.”

At that Zevran’s head snapped up, expression darkening, “You do not know what you say.”

Bared teeth along with a huffing grunt, that Ferox recognized was some sort of laugh, “Nose am being same. Forehead am being same. Mind - it am being same, same. Copy book, me no mind.” Some thick drink that Ferox thought was coffee until it was passed to him and the taste was different than what he had become accustomed to, and Nune snorted, ending the discussion before Zevran could rile further, and before Ferox could defend him, “You no here for book. Engineer, horsemaster - you am being here for that.”

“True, Ani said that you had knowledge or connection to these resources,” brought back quickly to what they had come for.

“Weapons am being your intent? Or buildings?” the mercenary eschewed the glasses that had been given to Zevran and himself, instead drinking from an odd bowl, the sips careful and delicate, probably so none would drip from the broken and gaping hole on the right cheek. “There am being many kind of engineer.”

It was difficult not to look away, not from the face itself, but from the personality, and he didn’t know who would be prodded at next. “Buildings, specifically forts for defense, but weapons would not go unappreciated.” Going further, “The Qunari are coming, probably not in my lifetime, but I wish Ferelden to be prepared.” _Snort. ‘Cause your time is more than half over, Warden. I can count and you can wander off if you’re not going to be helpful._

“There am being some. No contract me hold of them. They come for work, they am owning self - they am able to choose,” the elf - because that’s all the warrior _could_ be, even as bizarrely put together as the shaved headed man was - was motionless other than the mouth moving just enough to speak. How anyone could be so still - _Like a big ol’mountain_ \- and have it seem natural, was discomforting. “Old, scarred they am being. They minds - they be good. They am being need muscle, but minds, they be very good. Warhorses, old...old hands am being the saying said. You am send Zev’na’rane to look and pick.”

“That is why we are here, yes,” playing that he didn’t understand the broken Common. Sending Zevran? Not unless he wanted to go. Otherwise separation from the herd would happen over his dead body. _And he could take ya. Thanks for the vote of confidence. He’s killed greater and lesser men than you. You could bleed on his shoes though, maybe a little on his pants, but that might be pushing it. Really, thank you, shut up._

There was a low sound, not exactly a grunt, not exactly a growl. “Uailil. You am being gone - kitchen bring lunch.”

The Dalish scout scrambled quickly, bowing and left, the door closing. Nothing was said for several minutes before Nune stood. Ferox watched carefully as the Commander went to the small cot that was likely reserved for naps - _Smart man, if my room wasn’t right next to my office, I’d do the same_ \- and the trunk at its foot was opened. An odd thing was in his hands, and Zevran had long since put the book down, twisting to watch, his eyes hooded. It wasn’t until the item was presented that Ferox recognized it - some sort of toy horse, painted black, with a blond mane and tail, and pale white and grey fingerprints on it for dappling. Beside him Ferox heard the armrest of the chair creak, shock screaming even though his Crow appeared relaxed.

“Zev’na’rane will come to choose,” was stated firmly and then the toy was tucked back against the Dust Wolf’s chest before it was put away. The broken Common had fallen away and the look of granite patience cracked and ground faintly at the edges. “Or the _da’len’en_ all come.”

As he assessed which pieces of furniture would make a good weapon and how many paces away they were, his lover stood, shoving himself up from the chair and advanced on the Commander quickly, the voice like ice, “Where did you get that?”

“ _Hamin, da’len._ You will hear my words, I will speak. Alone, or not at all,” the height disparity was glaringly obvious, but with the two men standing so close, and Nune’s crossed arms just so - 

“You’re his father,” his mouth didn’t check with his head. “You - you’re the one that Zama showed - “

The look he was given by the Commander was as patient and unyielding as the stone in the middle of the path, the one he could never get around, and no matter how many times he struck it, wouldn’t budge. “My words are not for you, he will share them if he chooses. But I will not speak to you on matters that you were not present for, and have only benefited you. Explaining myself is not for you. I owe you nothing.”

 _No, I owe **Zevran** everything._ Wisely however the mouth didn’t voice that and stuck to not picking fights. “Zevran?” _’What do you desire?’_ That table wouldn’t be too bad, could last a minute or two and when it broke, he could go for the chair that was off to one side. _You’re just foolin’ yourself. Nothing short of a landslide is taking that guy out._

The resemblance was even more apparent when Zevran crossed his arms also, and turned away. “We are finished here. I have nothing to say to you, want nothing from you, or anything to do with you. It will cost more, but Faizal would likely be willing to lend us a few of his own engineers instead.”

_Maker. He’ll make me sleep with his harem. I’d rather the horse. Tell me you’re joking. Probably. Now keep your eye on the chair, would you? ‘Love? Are you certain?’_

“A’rai’nai and I wished you to be born free,” Nune said evenly while Zevran was already setting the cross-reference dictionary back on the table, removing it from where it had been dropped from nerveless fingers.

The link was blank, no response, no flicker. Not to his question, or Nune’s statement. But Zevran was there for a moment, then the next he was on Nune, and Ferox could feel the strain in back and arm muscles as though it were his own, as his Crow was first by the chair, then suddenly at Nune’s side, picking him up and throwing him. Recoiling mentally at just how very fast the motion was, he couldn’t even identify the movements, as it was all a blur. For a brief second, Zevran’s image solidified, then Nune’s, as Ferox’s eyes fought to focus on the speed the two men were putting on. Something crunched audibly, and a low grunt, but there was no pain in the link, so it wasn’t Zevran, and just as Ferox was struggling to figure out which blur to grab, his husband sprang back, looking rumpled, but none the worse for wear.

Blood was running down Nune’s freshly rebroken nose, a split in the skin over an eye, and the warrior stood firm. “My private training yard would be better, or the roof. That was why I wished to speak with you alone.”

“Fuck you,” was spit. “I want nothing from you.” _’I am leaving. If you wish to work out a deal with him, do so. I cannot think clearly here, and will only hinder such negotiations. Uailil can help you return to Zamitie’s. I require air.’_

Needing air was understandable from what little Ferox knew. Picturing Zama’s crimson door, he promised, _’I’ll wait.’_ Somehow his husband had become more reachable, even though at the moment he most certainly wasn’t. It was finding shared ground and recognizing what was so problematic to contain was not his alone. Ferox watched as Zevran threw himself off the balcony railing, leaping and landing with a bouncing roll before his fleet feet took him to another wall, hands snapping upwards and pulling himself up the wall, feet propelling him upwards faster than any spider. _Maker_

Turning to the Commander, “You’re right. Not that you need to hear it from me. You don’t owe me anything and I owe him everything. None of it would have happened right without him being there or helping it along, and my head’s not so big that I can’t see it.” Ferox cleared his throat, “My need to have my father acknowledge that what was asked of me was too much and yet at the same time I want to hear that he’s proud of me. But that desire won’t drive me to make Zevran want the same thing from you.” He held the impassive gaze, “However, that shouldn’t stop you from knowing our women and children. From what she showed me, I think Zamitie wants to see you. If so, I invite you to meet our family.”

“Zam’ie’tie’s residence is known to me. My granddaughter is known to me. That I am a great-grandfather, twice over, with twins, this is known to me.” A hand rasped over the shaved and dented cranium as it was rubbed. “For more than ten years, I have known my child was not dead. Ani’ca’da does not know. It is unnecessary. Separation is best for all, the black mark will not travel and touch her. Only because it is owed to him, would I say.”

“The black mark of him being dead or not dead?” Uninvited, Ferox sat back down. “I know, it’s not my business. Zevran’s not going to talk to you and he asked me to do it.” Okay, ‘asking’ was stretching the truth, ‘told’ might be closer to it, if he added on ‘it’s optional’. “And I would point out that you knowing about them, isn’t knowing them.”

Nune stared at him impassively before sitting once again as well. “With history comes understanding. Brevity is my strength, history requires more than that.” It seemed as though the Commander had come to some decision. “I am forsworn. Outcast, _uhalamlin_. For my clan or my people to see me, it means death. They must attempt to kill me.” That wasn’t a custom Ferox knew from the Dalish, but Nune’s next words explained it and left him reeling. “Tevinter did not claim all elves for slaves. Small hunting bands, a few scholars and their families, with a handful of warriors, escaped. Hid in the mountains, deep and high, far away from _shemlen_. Elvish is spoken, no Common. Trade is made in _Za’mas Ga’hals Iuni’mas’ilsh_. Thousands of years we have remained unseen by any other than Dalish or _Ga’hals Iuni’mas’ilsh_. Even that is rare. A hunter with pelts and small goods, alone, goes to find small trade for metal. It is like animals that we live. Bonding to _shemlen_ is taboo, and makes for _uhalamlin_. Few survive. Across the Drylands from the mountains, alone, on foot, no weapon, no clothes, no shoes, nothing - I survived to an oasis. A distant clan of the horse people found me, nursed me to health. They did not know of the mountain-home. Nine decades ago it was. Nine decades ago, the _hahren_ of the mages cursed me. My luck is good, but all I care for withers.” A hand smacked against the broad chest, the thick, strangely braided vest thumping at the impact. “A’rai’nai dies, Zev’na’rane almost dies. When there is enough money to purchase A’rai’nai’s debt, I find she is dead. Years pass, as I fight to get enough money to buy Zam’ie’tie’s debt, and go to find - she is gone. Sold off. Told my son was dead in spring fevers. All around is death. My friends - dead. My commander, dead. All dead, all is death when I go near. Distance of the mind and heart keeps them safe.” 

That was a lot of information and his fingers twitched for a quill to write it all down, especially all the things glossed over. “Yet Zevran is still close to your heart, he knew that toy you pulled out, one you seem to treasure. It means something to both of you.” 

A dry snort, “Mph. It does, but it is not the same. I mourn, so he lives. Ani’ca’da is kept separate. I do not know her. I do not know him. I do not know Uailil. It is best for them that way. You do not understand, _shemlen_ , unmagical creature, you cannot know how numb you are to the flows. _Shemlen_ have small souls, because you have numbed yourselves to the spirits, so you cannot feel. The curse cannot be sundered until my death, but no death has claimed me, no matter what has been done. Not even poisoning myself has worked. You do not comprehend, it is outside your ability to know because you do not wish to know.”

 _Good thing we already had a walk today. We’re going to need another._ “I assisted in ending another curse between a Keeper and a bunch of _shemlen_ turned into werewolves. I’m not claiming knowledge of the ritual however, as I’m no mage.” Not a mage, but ready, willing, and able to beat down doors and smack heads together. _Oh, I like that. Thank you._

“The play of an ignorant child with forces they did not understand. The Keepers are as pets in comparison, their blood badly diluted with _shemlen_ weakness,” it was firm, though while it dismissed Zathrian’s abilities, it wasn’t dismissive per se. “The might of Keepers is to us, as a toddler is to you. Force is present, but insignificant.” Another smack of chest - _Must be some cultural gesture. You think? Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. Shut up_. “Mph, war would be made, war is not something wanted by Antiva. Genocide may solve it. A man past his thirtieth decade does not need to undertake war just to make himself content. It is selfish and wasteful. The clans will fight to the last toddler to defend the mountain home. The mothers will slit the throats of babes, the hunters will die with spears in their hands, the mages, with blood on their lips. And the _Ga’hals Iuni’mas’ilsh_ at the foot of the mountains will die fighting as well. No army may pass through the Drylands uncontested, even the Dust Wolves. Your vision is too narrow to see unless it is all laid out for you - to end the curse is to make war, which is also a curse. It is not a history I will lay at my son’s feet just to satisfy you.”

“Commander, you may know me, but you misunderstand me. I had two other men and their families in mind. I’m not important here and I’m under no illusions about it - I’m a walking deadman who’s no longer needed, a corpse fulfilling some last minute tasks before it stops twitching.” It was a cold thing to say, something he’d thought, but never dared to voice to Zevran as it went along a little too well with the gift of the burnt puppet strings. Leaning down Ferox picked up his cup to sip the odd drink, still trying to decide if he liked it or not. “War was also an option with the other curse too, but it was a path I did not take or allow others to step foot onto. I’m not saying I wish to run out right now and make war hastily or without thought. But if you should change your mind in the next ten years or so, and devise a plan to free yourself, I’d like to help so you could enjoy the family that Zevran loves.”

The look he was given was as sardonic as any Zevran would summon up, “The folly of such pride you have would destroy an entire culture. I have had many decades to think on this, and I understand my people far better than you will ever understand just your self. When lives are measured by how many decades one holds, rather than mere years, when it takes a century for one to even begin to enter adulthood - such as you and your idea that perhaps you could budge or finesse or grease the wheels of a people like mine by simply saying ‘let us negotiate’ is...” Shaking his head, “You are a woman who digs in the dirt. Not a hunter who fights bare-handed against mountain lions to bring meat to the clan. Stick to what you know in this, it will cause you less grief and let you buy some more time to find your own peace.” Ferox had to bite down the growl, but Nune raised a hand, the scarred palm as wrecked as his face. “It is no insult, it does not make you less. It is as though you are a scholar seeking to be a fighter - it does not suit, and there is not enough time to teach you. The Qun’ari and my people are similar in that they will take death long before they would allow me access to change the curse. It is my burden to bear, my punishment for an unjust crime, but still, my punishment, just as bearing the Taint is yours to bear and cannot be unborn. Not in this life. In twenty decades or less, the curse will end with my death, as age will consume me eventually. Perhaps I will take the Cup when next a Blight comes, though my blood is unsuited, my curse may very well allow me to survive it long enough to take the blow, and then the curse would be ended.”

Setting the cup back on the table. _I love how he says ‘no insult’ yet everyone has left the office angry or insulted. He’s just driving everyone off to protect them. Now that sounds bloody familiar._ “Again, knowing is not understanding, as I was not negotiating or looking for a favour. Neither of my offers are withdrawn.” Getting to his feet, Ferox was done. Faizal’s horse or harem would have to be serviced, _I told you, it’s both_. “Despite what appears to be attempts to be unlikable, I don’t dislike you. However, as you seek to be separate, I will honour that wish and depart.”

“You are very young to think it is an attempt to be ‘unlikeable’, _da’len_. I do not care whether I am liked or disliked, it is a thing that does not matter, and never has,” sharpened teeth were bared. “Foolish and unobservant as a cub rolling about the den. Because you are young, it is unlikely you will ever understand it, there is no time. But as a father, you should. That you do not is concerning. You have no empathy and cannot see yourself in my position, the forest is unseen by you, as you look to the trees too closely. If you wish to flee like a beaten dog, do so.”

Reflexively, “Hound. Mabari.” _You really gotta stick a fist in that mouth sometimes._

“I know of these mabari. Mabari have spirit and bravery and spine. _Dogs_ frighten easily and take all sharp instruction as a personal affront and flee to their masters with tails ‘twixt their legs.”

Ferox settled against the cold flame of anger to keep his words calm, and repeated what he understood, “And your sharp instruction to this dimwitted and rather childish _shemlen_ \- no insult intended, as you are merely stating and pointing out what is obvious and should be accepted - is to mind his own business. You do not require assistance. You do not wish to interact with those who might be considered family, as you wish to protect them from this curse. You believe that the only way to end this curse is your death or the death of your people. You also believe that I cannot understand that. You have been clear.” 

He felt like his toes should be on a crack of the stone, hands clasped behind his back, reciting with an inhaled breath so his voice would carry the lesson just learned. Instead the words were quiet so that the growling that threatened to well up would not have the opportunity to escape. He had offered assistance and contact. And, yes, with that many years passing, Ferox would have thought if there was another way that this man, who gave Zevran a thinking mind that made his own brain hurt, would have come up with another way. But Ferox also knew that sometimes his best ideas just suddenly appeared with little trail of where they originated after having given up or set a problem aside. He would not rescind his offer to assist if needed or for Nune to meet the family, to actually know them. 

“You still do not understand, and there are no more smaller words to use.” The Commander stood and went to the railing, hands clasped behind his back. “A list will be sent to Zam’ie’tie’s of skilled veterans who know their business. Do with it as you see fit.”

Moving to the door, “I apologize that I am unworthy of your instruction. Thank you for your assistance and the history lesson.”

A frustrated sound, “You are worthy of much, I have little doubt of this, or I would have sent a contract for you myself.” Hands slapped and curled around the railing as the stocky elf leaned forward, back still to him. “One specific clan, the _hahren_ of hunters, whose father is _hahren_ of the mages. It is those two who must die. But the clan will defend them. They will put out word for help, to the other clans. They will come. They must. That is why there would be war. To infiltrate would not be possible, I am one man, whose skills in the forest are decades out of practice. Even then, my blood has been spilled, they would have wardings and alerts to it. They would call the clans together faster than I could reach the targets. Zev’na’rane is a mixed breed, he would be killed upon sight as sullied and inferior, and he would be one of few who might make such a journey alone and get that far. It would be death to go without a large band. With a large band comes increased chance of being spotted. It gives time to gather forces.”

“Two must die.” A fist thumped against the heavy stone, “But reaching them is not feasible without much loss of life. I am a man with power, and no ability to use it since the cost would be too high. You think I do not love my family, that I sit here, afraid to move forward, to take a chance. You think that you are unworthy and unwanted, that I am too distant from this, too afraid to risk for something good. It is not that I am unwilling, or unable, or unwanting. It is that the clans move quickly, this is no unreasoning horde. This is no kingdom. As _uhalamlin_ I do not have the right to challenge, as mud-blood, Zev’na’rane has no right at all and never could, even had I not been _uhalamlin_. He would have been eaten at birth to prevent his abomination of sullied _shemlen_ blood from infiltrating the purity of the clans.” 

The broad shoulders slumped, “Before I thought Zev’na’rane dead, I had been willing to tell my Commander of the _Ar’lathan’len_ , of the shattered people, knowing it would result in such war. The Free Blades are bound to protect Antiva and its interests, the _Ar’lathan’len_ capture any settlers and eat them, enslave the women, then come winter or lean times, eat them. Nothing is wasted, we suck the marrow from bones, boil them again, and then grind them up when there is nothing left but that. They cannot be reasoned with, for we are the enemy, we are the threat that they have survived for thousands of years. Once I swore to drag them into the world, to expose them, to force them to change. But one does not dance with time and knowledge without changing. Without learning of what costs truly mean. I wish I could partake of your lives, but I cannot, ‘less you all be marked for tortuous ends while I am left to watch.” Desperately, pained, “Now do you understand or do you still believe that there is ‘some other way’?” 

Hand on the latch, Ferox wondered why he had a sudden desire to strike his head against the door repeatedly until blood ran from his forehead. “I hear your words and I believe I understand. You are not selfish or afraid and I do not mean to convey that message, nor do I not seek to instruct or say that I know any better than a man who has lived and experienced this. I also understand why you keep yourself apart, I would too,” with difficulty he withheld a deep sigh. “However, if there is one thing your son continually beats in my head, it is that there is hope. I don’t believe it, but everyday I try for his sake alone. The path that you have mapped is treacherous and the consequences are immense and should not be taken lightly. I do not say that the path should, or should not, be walked, and there is much to say for not making the journey. But if you decide to make the attempt and desire another sword - unless I have acted on your insight and beaten it into a plow or it marks my grave - I would be honoured to lend you what little strength I still hold, in spite of the eating and being eaten part.” He felt a grin creep up on him, “By the end, and what with the blast from the Archdemon’s death, I might spontaneously create Wardens from those just trying to obtain nourishment. That alone might make the trip worthwhile.” 

“Pity no Wardens would spring up. Only death. I actually liked some of the hunters.” 

“Do you wish to speak with Zevran again? Or shall I leave this alone?” It was possible to share the memory of the conversation, and it would explain much to someone like Zevran, who thought he had been abandoned. Granted, Ferox would wait for permission before doing so, he didn’t need to be found strangled in their bed.

“I will answer any questions he has that I have answers to.” Another emphatic chest thump, _I really gotta figure out what that means_ , “It is up to his discretion, I have no hold over him.”

Letting himself out, Ferox found a helpful oldtimer who walked him down to the kitchens, obtaining part two of the ‘tour’ of the keep. He saw it, but still couldn’t grasp the size of the place. Other than the ruling lord’s keep and perhaps a tower, the largest buildings the average farmer saw was his own barn, or the local lord’s barn. To consider the footprints of such buildings, and the footings they must have, ‘massive’ didn’t begin to describe the projects he was proposing to begin in Ferelden. At the time, he thought that sewers and rebuilding were enough, but it wasn’t a drop in the bucket of all the things they needed to do. How long would this take? Would it be completed too late?

 _Why didn’t you pick up that book? ‘Cause dogs and farmers don’t read? Shut up._ Walking back would tire him out, but Ferox doubted that Uailil would appreciate the need. _You know, if you stayed here for any great length of time, you could open your own man and cart business. Except for the getting lost part, that sounds like just the thing to stop you from talking to me all the frelling time._

As they climbed in the rickshaw he remembered that Zevran wanted to look at several possible locations for the Ferelden embassy in the neighbourhood of the Dust Wolves, “Uailil, do you recall what buildings were empty?” If so, they could preview them, to see if the buildings were even worth having Zevran take a look at. 

“No,” accompanied a shrug.

Truth be told, except for the expense, he would rather just take Ignacio’s and be done with it. It was closer to Zama’s townhouse, was within reasonable distance from the docks, and didn’t take half a day to get to. And somehow after today’s little fiasco, Ferox wasn’t certain that Zevran wanted to be particularly close to the Dust Wolves at all. _There’s a little townhouse down the street, that would end all of this dithering. You know just because you don’t like shopping doesn’t mean you have to get cranky with me._ An embassy had to be secure, nicely made up, which really was the only thing Ignacio’s had going for it, appearance of not being unduly influenced by anyone had to be maintained, which Ignacio’s failed at, although at that asking price it felt more like they were getting ripped off, and lastly remind one of the country it was supposed to house. _I doubt that an igloo, a cabin made of roughly hewn logs, or a cave would be acceptable to your Antivan Chief of Security. How about when we get to familiar territory you can just get out and walk back. Good idea, I want some churros._

_What are you going to do about Zevran? What do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m going to leave him alone because that’s what I’d want. Was there something in that sludge you made us drink? ‘Cause you’re not thinking too good. I’m hungry - told you I wanted some churros. You’re always hungry, hasn’t stopped you from thinking before. Look, since you’re asking if I’m gonna climb up to the rogue’s clubhouse, that really depends on if there’s a rope hanging down or not. No rope then he doesn’t want to be bothered, if he’s even up there. You noticed that he didn’t call Zama, Zama? Yes, he’s mad at her too and probably you for not telling him, and that’s why he shut down the connection. Now wait a pea pickin’ minute..._ He nearly put out a broad call to his husband through the amulet and stopped himself short. 

This wasn’t Ferelden and who was out there and might - would - pick up on it, weren’t his Wardens. “Damn it.” Pulling a volume out of a satchel, Ferox distracted his wandering mind until he could tire it out with heat and exercise. 

When he finally hauled himself in from a long walk after snarfing a big plate of churros, he found Zama waiting for him with a pitcher of tea on the table. Uailil having appeared without himself or Zevran in tow had given her plenty of information, and the family had been sent out to play in a park. Even Nan was gone. Her demeanor of calm and serenity was cracked, and worry showed beneath it as she remained seated at the dinner table in her customary spot near the head that allowed her to get up to reach the kitchen space quickly. He had hoped she didn’t know, or hadn’t known, because nothing she had said about Zevran’s father the one time it was mentioned, ever gave the impression that she had _known_ the man. From a constant lineup of customers in her old profession, she wouldn’t have necessarily known Nune, let alone his name, and only recognized his likeness in a newborn Zevran’s face, or a young Zevran’s form, from how distinct it was. It could have meant she knew nothing.

The empty house indicated otherwise. She had known, had always known. And from what the Commander had said - she had known where he was and what he thought - that Zevran had been dead. It was also something she had allowed him to continue to think, something that had only been remedied when Ani showed up to join the Dust Wolves. Ani looked just like her grandmother, just like her father, and, by extension, her grandfather, there was no mistaking who she was related to, and an old, damaging belief had been set aside.

_If we could just start today over, knowing what we already know...I’d develop a headache or some other incurable disease and have to stay home. Very funny, especially since you’re staying in a house with a healer._

“It was hoped he would have returned as well,” liquid splashed as she poured him a glass. “I had hoped his scarred father would have kept the truth to himself, that no one would be at risk from that black magic that hangs on him, reaching out to grasp at others. So much of my blood has been spilled to keep my family safe from that curse where his mingles with mine. And this is too large a burden for you to carry alone, _mu’poushu_.”

Picking up the glass, he drank it entirely before answering, stretching his senses to the house, searching - farther he would not go for now unless called. “No. Not with me, and Zevran left before I did. After the Commander showed him a toy horse, my impulsiveness announced him as Zevran’s father.” Ferox sat at the table and refilled his glass, parched from the long walk. “Until then, it hadn’t been said.”

She sighed deeply. “He would have guessed, _mi gatito_ has never been accused of being slow. The toy would have been all the needed information for him to look deeper. A handful of moments would have connected the facts. Even as scarred as I understand he appears, the resemblance would yet exist for any who examined him closely.” A strong hand reached out, curling over his, the skin pleasantly cool and dry. “You bear no blame for speeding the realization.” 

It was a rare thing that Zamitie’s hair was unadorned and left to hang around her naturally, the deep red shot through with a few thin veins of silver, her customary bangles and bracelets also having been set aside. The only adornments were those embedded in her tattooed skin, and she appeared less timeless, older, tireder, though without the accoutrements she seemed younger, less wild and otherworldly. She looked like the woman from Zevran’s old memory of a dancing boy while songs spun in a tiny bordello room. “It is at my feet that the blame lies for allowing the perception to continue so long.”

Continuing with the briefing, Ferox wished he had more energy to continue walking, stifling complaints to the insults that were only facts that were already known, was not easy, “Blows were exchanged and it appeared that the Commander came out worse for it, not that either were examined.” 

Zamitie nodded patiently. “He would not have actually struck _mi gatito_. It would not be his way.”

Nodding, he acknowledged the truth of it. “Zevran left for air by way of the balcony, angrier than I’ve ever seen him.” Thinking about it before he smarted off to a parental figure, “I believe that he’s not here and until he signals or is gone longer than my worst trip for air, I’m going to leave him be.” 

Report and intentions given, he eyed the bread on the table and broke off a piece, dipping it in olive oil. If he was chewing then his mouth couldn’t say stupid things, after all, Zevran wasn’t the slow one. _No he’s quick, and so are you - at aging! That again? Find a new thing to pick at, Nune certainly said enough, there’s acres of material to go through and miles more he didn’t even mention. And why’d you offer him your sword anyway? ‘Cause ending that curse would help protect family, of course. Zama just said it can affect them too. Might as well welcome him to the club, if everybody else gets in, why not him? You need another walk. No, I need some sort of dessert, bread, snack thing. Taffy or caramel would be good too, keep your teeth stuck together. Pie. Empanadas. Shut up._

Groaning, _And now because you didn’t tell him what Zama showed you, Zevran thinks that you helped hide this. I didn’t know nuthin’! If he didn’t know before, both he and his dad know you for the fraud you are. Puffed up like a little bird or a cat trying ta add size ta yourself. Shut up! Not a real hunter or a warrior, not a scholar at all, a fake. Your life is a sham and a hoax. Shut up! You weren’t meant to rule anything but a backwater bann, farming the land and holding it for one of Fergus’ children. Yes, I said children, you knew that she was pregnant cause you caught her being sick just that morning before the fire. Denial and deception. That’s why he’s cut off all contact with you, that’s why there’s not even an a glow from his side, you have again showed him how false and phony you are._

Roaring, “Shut Up!” Ferox clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes swinging to Zama. “I mean....not you...me...I mean...” _A swim might be good, in full armour. Only if it will make you stop!_ Jerking his thumb towards the door, “I’m going...” Voice cracking as he pushed himself from the table, the half drunk glass of tea was knocked over, “Going to get some air.” Unsteady on his feet, having already walked further than he was used to in this frelling heat, he felt for the deep reserves not touched since arriving in Antiva.

Zama rose to stand before him, her arms opening to enfold him in an embrace, the smell of her cushioning and suddenly buffering, granting sweet silence. “Tell me, there is no judgement from me, it is not my place. Even though it is a thing I have failed at before for you, please, lay your burdens down, and they shall be listened to. Give me your fears, your doubts. Allow me to care for your hurts, my child. Let me right this by being here for you, allow this one thing to be saved.”

“Zev says...says that Crows meditate and are quiet. Says it makes the mind quiet. I can’t sit still, something is always having to move, a tic or a twitch at the least, more if it’s worse.” Yes for a brief moment, wooden and locked down he was still, fingers would start flexing and if he sat, the aching knee would demand some movement. “I don’t need to hear things that aren’t insults, I can come up with enough of my own. And running back to my master, is a walk back wrestling with myself. I want to go home where I know what I have to pretend to be.” It didn’t make any sense to his own ears, all jumbled, but it was what was on the surface boiling over.

Zamitie was tall enough that he could lay his cheek on her shoulder, nearly on her bosom, and for a moment he felt the years fall away, and he was a child being held. “What insults upset you so, _mu’poushu_?” soft, gentle prompting, and he found himself squeezing Zama tight in return, wanting so very much to drop everything and forget or make it all stop. 

“I don’t have the option to be justa farmer and telling me that’s my place does me no good.” Face wet with tears, “I have’ta be too many other things an’ everything’s changed, it’s not something I can even want, ‘cause it’s a waste of time ta even think about what I want.”

“Who says you must be a farmer?” 

“Nune. Said I’ll be unhappy because I keep fighting my proper role.” Yes, it would have been a pleasant life, staying out of politics except to support Fergus, plenty of mountains to climb or fields to plow or care for when the rages took him. But that’s not what happened, no matter how much he wanted to go back to change it. 

There was a surprisingly fussy harrumph, “I have half a mind to put that beast over my knee or chase him with a broom. However, it is a thing for me to suspect that you and he were having two - perhaps even three - entirely separate conversations.”

His stomach lurched and Ferox buried his face deeper into the carmine folds of her robe-dress. _Maker, just don’t say you can shoot a bow like Mother._ “There were at least two, so I stayed as straightforward as I could. I didn’t understand why I could like and not like him all at the same time. I almost kept from growlin’, I think.” The one thing that was easy to overlook was that digging in the dirt was woman’s work. The only reason that barb didn’t find its way through, was the armour of his father’s favourite phrase, ‘Best person for the job.’ 

“What little I understand of the mountain clans is at your disposal, _mu’poushu_ ,” revealing that she did know more, likely from Nune himself, or if there was some other source... “The groups are segregated. Unlike my people who take turns, there seems to be the hunters who have the weapons and do the most travel, the craftsfolk, the lorekeepers, the mages, and the women who do not work the crafts, study, or have mage talent. Hunters and scouts are looked down upon, he was fond of saying ‘belly and balls’ when speaking of warriors. And it did not seem a compliment even though he himself is clearly one of that number.”

“I don’t need to know. Zevran does, not me. He’s the one who walked away from a book of words, an elvish dictionary. Uailil wasn’t even allowed to touch it because he was a hunter with no brains. After getting assigned my place, I didn’t even look at it, even if I was given a nod for an interest in history.” Snorting at the not so funny joke on him, “Probably outside of my place but it did little to redeem my youth, slowness of thought, or lack of time to fix either.” _Not that those are insults. Bullshit._

Zama gave him a little push so she could look him in the eye, her head ducking to catch him. “Old people are set in their ways, _mu’poushu_. They think they know best, that it is their years that have granted them more than knowledge, but the wisdom to use it. That makes them neither right nor wise.” Smoothed lips pressed to his forehead in the sort of open affection his mother had stopped giving him when he hit puberty, and he realized suddenly how much he had missed it even back then. “He was wrong to say those things - they are not true. You are no child, you are not slow - you are steady. Solid, testing each step before taking it, needing to be certain that the ground beneath your foot is firm before taking a risk that may cost much. You may not dance fast or dart like a hummingbird from flower to flower, this does not mean you lack anything. _Mu’poushu_ , you move quickly when you feel it is important and ignore risks and uncertainty. You are a farmer, a man who tends the land, yet it is to tend the land that you turn your plowshare to a sword, a farmer who takes up reading, writing, and astronomy to better understand the way things grow, how seasons turn, so that the things that grow beneath your labours grow stronger and more plentiful.” Ferox wasn’t certain what to say and instead accepted another hug, returning willingly to hide once more. “Look at the scarred father, what did you see? A warrior, a trapped warrior, who has nothing to offer the world but his strength of arm, his mind may have a scholarly bent, but it is only to make more war. He is no farmer, he is no lorekeeper, no craftsman. His one role is something that has confined him and it has not given him any joy. You are the lucky man, _mu’poushu_ , you have joys, you have loves. Pity him, but do not take his words to heart.”

“Knowing about me is not understanding who I am,” repeating what had helped keep temper in check at the time, Ferox found his footing again and his shame. “And Zevran left to rage across the city and I have’a bad feeling about it. Walking with anger’s supposed to be my task...he can track me and knows that I am safe. Even when getting out for air, it’s not leaving.”

“It is unlikely he is walking. He will need healing when he returns from seeking old reliefs,” came the serene agreement. “I can tend his flesh if _mi gatito_ even allows it of me. The thing he will need most is for you to tend his heart. If he takes too long, we will go and force the scarred one to track him if Uailil cannot pick up a trail.”

 _Maker._ That would be interesting to watch. But he realized that a wrong impression had been given. And if she had some idea that the man had said something to hurt his son, that would not be the truth. “There was little the Commander said that was meant to harm Zevran, called him a scholar. However Zev struck after Nune said that he and Arainai wanted Zevran to be born free.” 

Zama released him and went to use a cloth to dry the spilled tea, a frown on her face, puzzling it over. Ferox felt like a shuffling boy and to keep from stepping from foot to foot like Len with the ‘numblsie foots’ and went to cut up some fruit. Fruit was easy. He could do fruit. 

“When _mi gatito_ was three, his father came,” she sighed. “Before that though, Arainai, when I first found she was with child, I offered to assist her in ending the pregnancy. She said that she wanted him to be born free. That she would raise him to be a fine Dalish man, no matter if he had a human father. She did not care. When I used to ask after _mi gatito’s_ father, before we knew that it was from his seed that _mi gatito dorado_ sprang, she would say that he agreed, even if the babe was not his. That they both wanted _mi gatito_ to be born free, without debts. So, when his father came, and found Arainai dead, it meant that the coin he had saved could do nothing. It was not enough to purchase my debts, as _mi gatito_ was considered my ward. A child cannot be sold before they are seven, but they can accompany the mother if they are young enough and if the owners are willing to part with the child.” More tea was poured for him when he came back with some sliced strawberries and a bowl of that soft, whipped cheese with some sugar added - Ferox still needed that dessert. “Weeks after the visit, a scarf was sent to me, and a toy horse. I gave the horse to _mi gatito_ as it was for him, the scarf...resides with me still. Neither of us were forgotten. Freedom for _mi gatito_ was still being sought. That we wished for him to be free, and instead the life he has had is that of a slave... I believe he was more at peace feeling as though there had been no chance for freedom. By the time Sa’id purchased my debt, _gatito_ he was...already showing how much more beautiful he would become. And Sa’id could only demand the debt for one slave as an apprentice, so the madam, she decided to keep him for later sale or to be trained as a whore.”

“Is. Still is,” stubbornly the day’s impulsiveness kept asserting itself. In this instance however, Ferox didn’t immediately regret it. “And both of those things happened...I cannot count the number of times I hear ‘slave’ or ‘whore’ come from him as if it would sway me like some sapling to change my mind.” Shaking his head, it was easier to sink a rock than to shake it. “You were purchased and Zevran was not. He visited, the room was made, the bed and soft sheets bought, and so many other things that mean something today.” 

She nodded. “And still he was not saved. It is the contradiction that has likely wounded him. To be told he was wanted, that he is still wanted, and have been consigned to his fate. None of us can know what he went through, I have tended his wounds of body often enough, and I know that I did not tend all of them. That there were many times he made do, or someone else healed him. But it was always to me he came to have the evidence removed,” Zama was staring down at her hands as she spoke, seeing things he could guess at, and really didn’t want to think about. “That he was wanted and yet suffered, how must it have seemed? A lie? A mockery? Or that we, his parents, were impotent against the Guild and Fortuna? Would it then drive home just how trapped he is? Which is better? To think the love of his family is naught but platitudes, words and deeds for when it is convenient? Or that we are weak, too weak, too ineffectual to save him, and so he must not ever lean upon us?”

“He trusts only himself, trust in others is limited. Stupidly, not knowing what was involved I suggested purchasing him, throwing the treasury of a little backwater country at the problem.” His laugh was a little wild, “The most I can do is rent him...Maker. No, no - I take that back - it’s the most I can do without selling off parts of the country, which he won’t allow. As it is, the Crow’s’ve got a tidy business in Denerim. I’ve considered auctioning off a teyrnir to raise the funds - not that I want Len or - “ giving voice to what he had been shown and the hope left at home, “ - Iona to be stuck with the high bidder. But Zevran wants the Dalish to have it, since Ostagar is poor in gifts, and it’s all Anora gave them. If it’s suddenly in my power to give away, Zev’ll get his way. It’s why I can only rent, not purchase. There’s too much power and influence there.”

“I am certain he will continue to find a way to remain by your side, _mu’poushu_ , even though the Guild is like the Wardens - even away from the seat of power, one will always be a Warden or a Crow.” She took one of his strawberry tinged hands in both of hers, squeezing it, “Let him calm, he will return to you. Ragged and bedraggled, as it is his way.”

Agreeing at the same time he shared a fear, “It may be his way, but it is not one I have seen. Driving himself to work non-stop with the assistance from poisons, yes, but not this.”

“And have the other methods been available? Or were there places there that could have catered, but the information could spread? And was he pressed sufficiently? _Mu’poushu_ , it is frightening and unsettling for you, it is just as bad for me, as I am his mother in all but birth - “

“Zama, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What places? Catering to what?” Was he just eating because his stomach hurt and that was usually the feeling of hunger?

Her lips thinned with disapproval, “To Crow tastes.”

“In Denerim, the Crows have apartments. They live over a couple of warehouses on the docks, most of them at least. Zevran says the way they live is different than being here in the city, but I haven’t seen anything to know if that’s true or not.” Correcting himself, “Not that he lies, but I mean, I haven’t seen it for myself.” But that didn’t answer his question, “What Crow tastes are you talking about?”

“The reason Crows are so impervious to pain is because they have been taught to like it, _mu’poushu_.” Her forehead pinched and her eyes closed as though she had one of his perpetual headaches. “Pain is as sought after as sexual relations in the Guild, if not more so. Sometimes during the same session, others, separately. Whether to deal it or receive it, they seek it. It is as essential for creating a Crow as the lessons on sex, poison, and where to strike to kill are. It is as intrinsic to his nature as breathing is to you.”

“And why he asks to be beaten instead of havin’ me wandering off...Maker.” _Nune’s right, you are slow._ No argument there, at least on that topic. “I don’t know if there is anything like that there. Maybe at Ignacio’s. It’s rather private.” Private enough to torture and kill a man would be quiet enough for other things. “But unless he’s visiting one of Dagna’s healers, there hasn’t been anything unexplained. Although, the little healer stuck to both of us while she visited recently, there could have been other healing then.” Thinking out loud, “And he did go off with the duplicate, Dassan, and came back worse for wear. They were working on other things and we did see their handiwork afterwards.” Nearly groaning, “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, do I?”

“No, you do not want to know. If you do not know, then it is a thing that would hurt you more to know its depth. Let the ocean remain a mystery, one that you know exists, but one that is not a safe place for you to go.” Zama rolled his hand over in hers, fingers wrapped around his wrist, a black lacquered nail tracing the lines in his palm. “Tend the wounds of his heart when he returns, and I shall tend his flesh, so that both you and he can gain what is needed.”

Nodding, he agreed. In the meantime, patience was required. _Chose the wrong man for that job too. You know, I’m beginning to think Father was mistaken. It’s not the best person for the job, it’s picking whoever happens to be hanging around._

....

Ferox spent much of the afternoon sleep period as time to work on moving shelves into one of the smaller closets that was really an under-glorified room. Armand and Uailil had assisted at first with the lifting, but once the   
biggest bookcases that had been crowding some of the other rooms were moved, they left him to reshelve the books that they carted down. The wide array were so jumbled, that he spent hours simply working on separating out authors. Sa’id’s own books were easily identifiable by a very stylized and extremely ornate signature on the front page, and then smaller marks on each page beside the page number. _Maker, a book that even has page numbers? And look at this, footnotes, a sub-glossary, a slim volume to say what the location of certain information is... Maker, the effort._ Other books that were clearly letters between scholars were set aside in a stack, next to Sa’id’s work, what he assumed were histories by other authors was in a different stack, and things he wasn’t certain of at all in yet another stack. 

He would need help cataloguing it all, and Zama, upon seeing his activity, said that volumes of esoteric knowledge should be kept separate from where small hands may get at them. She offered to have them crated to be sent with them upon their return to Ferelden, but he didn’t feel right taking things like that. So he went about making the closet - _Room. I don’t like closets_ \- into a reading space, Eleanor and Elissa having come in with pillows and cushions to mound up for his comfort during his task. 

_’ **Querido** , you are not tired?’_ a tendril of thought wafted through his mind as he was engrossed with one of the few sets of letters in Common on the study of mage talent being applied to farming techniques.

The sending of joy and relief was sent long before his mouth moved. “No.” _’I mean, no. I am waiting for you and trying to pretend this isn’t a closet. If you were here I’d have better luck._

_’A moment, and I shall be there presently,’_ and in minutes he was. “Mph, this used to be the pantry, but I imagine they had to convert the closet for the horses’ tack when Ani and Uailil came to stay.” 

“If you keep using small words, it will get even smaller. This is a room. And for the love of the Maker, if you close the door you better have a distraction ready.” It was teasing, to help him forget that the ground under his feet was new and uncertain. “Come,” Ferox patted the cushion next to him, “I’ve missed you, Love.”

The usual boneless flop didn’t happen, it was still graceful, but slower, more measured as his spouse sank down. “A pantry or a closet in this case is truly only what it was used for, _querido_. Across the building, where it is attached, and where much of Sa’id’s clothes are stored, there is a bedroom, or what is designed to be a bedroom, that is the size of our office, my bedroom, and your bedroom combined. But it is used as a closet. Does that mean it is small?”

“No, it’s the word that makes me think of small places, if I call it a room it sounds larger and I believe it is larger. Yes, Sa’id’s clothes are in a room that happens to hold clothes.” Nose wrinkling, “And when I’m outside of it, it can be a closet all it likes.” A fine distinction, but one that kept him from throwing himself against a door or opening a window.

“Mmn, that does make sense,” a book was picked up and thumbed through. “I truly should have someone work on translating these for you. The historical and botanical things may interest you. There is one I wish to find though, it was on a history of demonic and spirit possessions, first documented cases, suspected, confirmed, methodology of removal, or banishing, or one infamous case, where the possessed wound up dean of the _Universidad de la Yadira_. The University of Yadira - they specialize in medicine and cosmetics - rather odd place for someone possessed to reside. I should like to correspond with Wynne a bit more about hers, see if there is further correlation. I do not have to like the woman to be curious as to her state and such. And when she finally dies, examining her body is of utmost importance, I wish to know if there are changes after possession, that would be fascinating.”

“I suppose you could start a conversation with some of the misplaced Anders duplicates, they’re younger and seem more...-” 

“Yes, but will I get to autopsy them?” the familiar chin was rubbed thoughtfully with two fingers. “I also wish to know if the possessing entity can be passed along to another, that would also be interesting, and Justice is not a particularly smart choice to study. A spirit of Faith on the other hand, might be more...amenable. Ah, if Sa’id was alive, he would be tracking Wynne down faster than you can track mango and cheese empanadas. I swear, you have some otherworldly sense for when fresh ones have been made even four or five streets over.”

“Well, I am hungry and fresh are the best. You do know though that your greenhouse’s gonna need a few of those mango trees, right? And hopefully my goats haven’t been allowed to dry up, the cheese was so good. Are you hungry? This book is interesting but it can wait with the rest of them.” Closing the leather covers it was set aside without another thought. 

Zevran rubbed his forehead, “I am...food is not likely to sit well for me at the moment, _amora_. But we can see what can be rustled up to satisfy you, hmn? Some coffee would be pleasant.”

Leaning to brush his nose against his husband’s golden cheek, “Coffee. Would you like to stay in my not-closet or come to the kitchen? Or we could make up a tray and carry it upstairs. I’m happy wherever you are.”

A scoot and Zevran was laying his head on Ferox’s shoulder, an arm worming around to the other over his chest and the smell of thickly spiced salves met his nose. “Where you go, I go.”

“To the kitchen then, as I have yet to outfit my not-closet with a fire rune, a mortar or even coffee beans. I do have a cup...although I think it was Len’s and it’s empty.” 

Tugging Zevran’s tunic, in essence pulling him a little closer for a hug and a kiss on the cheek, _Yelling bad, smooching good. I know. Growling bad too. ‘Fraid I’m gonna have to work on that one._ As they moved to the kitchen, Ferox kept an arm around him, not sending futile thoughts to Zama to meet them, because she couldn’t hear him anyway and Zevran could. His lover was more reserved than usual, a look of quiet concentration on his face, _Bet that’s what you look like when you’re brooding. Do not - he looks better. Hrmn. I may have to give you that point, but only because he always looks better than me._

“An autopsy on Wynne means that you will have to get to her first, outside of a Circle. Are we inviting her to the palace when she starts to look a little sickly? Finally doing her in for not letting you lay your head on her magical bosom? Or because she wouldn’t wear those skimpy Chasind ‘robes’ you found for her that would have shown off those assets?”

There was a snicker, “You know, she may actually be younger than me. And gravity was not so kind to her as it has been to me - if it were not for the efforts of that contraption she wore on her chest, the nipples would have reached her knees no doubt.”

“Now, now, maybe that was part of their magical qualities. Think of it, she could wrap them around her neck like a scarf or toss them over her back when they got in the way.” Rummaging through the cooler for something easy on the stomach. _Mother would make soup. You think my cooking skills are that good, eh? No, but maybe tomorrow you could help Moira._ “Frankly, if she has healing abilities, why couldn’t she just fix anything that sagged, you do have to admit that her face was very firm and youthful except for some lines.”

“Well I suppose, except I _did_ see her nude once when she was bathing. Fit enough, still a handsome woman I suppose, that attitude though, aiesh,” he could tell Zevran was trying as beans were ground to a fine powder, water already on to boil.

Snorting, “So she did tighten and smooth, eh?” Straightening up to put an assortment of cheese and fruit along with some cured meats on the table, “I think if she could have more of Oghren’s concoctions on a regular basis, she might stop being so picky, or take up brewing herself. Either would be a good outcome.” Really he wasn’t interested in Wynne, alive or dead, present or not, she was merely convenient topic so Zevran knew that everything was as it had been before, so Ferox didn’t say what he wasn’t thinking, or grab and hug Zevran so tight that his husband broke in half.

“I suppose, I did not pay much attention, truly I was only seeking to bathe as well,” a shoulder hitched in a partial shrug. “But I have told you the story of trying to bathe communally and how that turned out. At least Horsie was with me, hmn? I do not like protracted solitude, existing without context. It is too...foreign.”

“You did tell me. But I have ta say that living on top of one another is just as strange. There are people everywhere regardless of the hour and solitude is difficult to find unless there’s a handy not-closet nearby.”

The smile was a small twitch, “Or if one can climb.” 

Zevran was quiet, drinking his coffee, while Ferox ate, though when his spouse reached out for a chunk of the pale green honey melon and a slice of the _jamon_ , he felt some relief. Ferox was fairly certain his Crow hadn’t eaten since breakfast many hours ago, and he knew the Warden appetite was something Zevran suffered from to some degree. Of course it was much worse when he used the shared amulet or had to reach farther, still, skipping meals was something to be avoided. So he surreptitiously shifted bits and pieces of food around on the plate, hoping to encourage his love to feed himself at least a little bit. Putting a bit more fruit on the plate and another torn chunk from the bread, perhaps Zevran would eat more after resting? It couldn’t hurt.

There was an odd sound, and it nearly made Ferox wince - Zevran actually _cleared his throat_. It was a strange sound, not something his Crow ever did. When was the last time Zevran was awkward or shy? “Apologies for having vacated so quickly earlier, _amora_. It was most out of character for me.”

 _Yes, yes it was. Enlightening too._ “Air’s an important thing, Love, ‘specially if it keeps you from doing stupid things. After you left, I successfully didn’t lose my temper nor did I get eaten and we came back here.” Truly it was a shortened version, but it kept the cause of their disturbance in the background and if he wanted more, Zevran wasn’t shy. Taking the cup from his hand and setting it aside, Ferox held his sun, “All’s well.”

The careful movements set his teeth on edge and kept urging the growls to the surface. For the most part they were kept quiet, but the occasional one worked its way out. Zevran most certainly noticed, he was sure, but there was no reaction, unfortunately he probably took it as something ‘normal’. Cornsilk hair was fragrant, as though freshly washed and dried - _Probably was. Hrmn. Agreed_ \- and he pressed his face into it just as Zevran’s nose was buried once again in his neck. A nearly pervasive weariness was released with a sigh of relief, a bedraggled feline curling into his mind, tucked away and hiding. Beneath his palms, Ferox felt the thickness of bandages under the long tunic his husband wore. This last made it more challenging to behave himself, to not call out for Zama or haul Zevran up to her. For a minute or two they just sat there breathing, comforting and being comforted by the other’s scent.

Ferox mustered up a yawn, which was not difficult given the hour and with a kiss to his love’s temple and a rumble in a favourite ear suggested they sleep. Pouring the last of the coffee into Zevran’s cup, that and the plate with the last of the lunch were set on a tray along with a jug of tea and a pair of glasses. Zevran started up the stairs, slow and graceful and following behind as Ferox carried the tray, trying not to wince at the movements which obviously hurt his husband. Albeit, Zevran probably requested to be harmed, but it still made him angry enough to want to find out who and tear their limbs off by hand. 

The Commander was wrong, Ferox didn’t always need a weapon.

For once, clothes were not shed upon clambering into the bed, even socks were still worn, and he really didn’t want to think about that. To give the comfort of skin, Ferox pulled his own shirt off.

“ _Querido_ , it will be mostly healed by morning, and anything left over, Zamitie can take care of,” came the weary sigh. “I will not break and you do not need to see it, within a week, I can have her remove any scars that might show, and it will be as though it had not happened, so there is no fear over my looks or mobility.”

“As if it never happened, does not make it so.” _Have I been memorizing your skin for nothing?_ “I will not scold, but you may have to put up with disapproval.” Stretching out on his back, Ferox extended an arm in invitation. “Come, make yourself comfortable and flop on me.”

Zevran finished his coffee then rolled into him. “You should be informed that that that would be considered hypocrisy in most definitions, as it is very rarely myself and my own requirements for gaining mental space that have to be put up with.”

“ _Aux contraire_ [On the contrary], that’s where you would be wrong. I scold myself on a regular basis, which is at least half of the reason for needing the walk to begin with.” Rumbling a laugh, “No hypocrisy here, I assure you. When I am scolded, I am righteously angry and properly ashamed.” 

“Yes, but I do not scold you except when you become excessive in such behaviours, _amora_ ,” the counter lifeless. “Since I do not do such things very frequently, it should be considered very odd that my actions garner scolding and disapproval so strongly.”

With Zevran’s head on his shoulder, Ferox’s arm curled around him, “As infrequent as they are, they must, by definition, be excessive.” Still being light so he would not sink, “And how do you know how strong my scoldings are, when I haven’t even started yet? Unless you napped on the way up here and I should begin?” He kissed his elf’s forehead, “However, I might be more reasonable if I had some sleep too.” 

Beside him, Zevran curled into a small ball, with a knee hooked over his thigh, and an arm over his middle. “Of course, _querido_.”

“I love you, Zevran and I’m very glad you’re back safe. That’s all that matters.” The growling was back underscoring his words. Even though his mind wanted to argue and rile him up, the talk with Zama pushed that space a little wider so he could more easily ignore the chatter of complaints. Zevran assured that there was no need to examine the damage, that may be true, but Ferox would only be put off until the morning, until then, he gave what could be accepted.

There was a discomforted shift beside him. “Yes, that is what matters, _querido_.”

It was a long night even so and dinner wound up skipped as his husband refused to go downstairs and eat, or even eat when food was brought up - sleep was more important for the healing he said. Ferox kept startling awake with an inhale, as if he had been holding his breath, dreaming that Zevran was no longer beside him. In the dim light of the frostrocks hanging around the room, he was reassured each time that it wasn’t true, only to doze off and jerk awake a short time later, over and over again. Once he woke with the arm unweighted by his husband’s head raised up, ready to block a blow, seeking to protect his face. Another awakening found a hand searching the table beside the bed, for some necessary, vital, urgently vital thing that he couldn’t guess at, and the thought fled as the comforting smell of Zevran’s hair reached him. 

A growling whine and Zevran rolled over, putting his back against Ferox’s side in the midst of his twitching. “I am going nowhere, _amora_.” Spine and neck crack-popping as his Crow groaned, stretching, “What do you require so that you may sleep well, _querido_?”

“I don’t know. I thought I was fine.” Swinging his feet off the bed, Ferox sat up rubbing his face. Everything was in its place, weapons, armour, nothing disturbed, _Only you. I’m fine._

The smell of perfumed oil wafted up after the wick in the lamp was lit. “Hrmn, and this is why you are dreaming of fights, fear, and striking out - everything is ‘fine’?” Muttering and fussing at socks grouchily, they were pulled free and thrown aside before the feet were shoved back under the sheet, “Braska, I am hot.”

Wearily Ferox glanced over his shoulder, “Could it be ‘cause you’re wearing more clothes than you do during a blizzard?”

An expression of complete sarcasm was rolled his way, “I am not worried about the blizzard getting angry at the sight of some bruises and bandages, _amora_. When I do not have to worry over my spouse turning into a Ferox-cicle of doom and gloom, then perhaps I would be slightly less wary of ‘showing off’. When keeping the peace is more important, being a touch overheated loses its urgency. It is a small price to pay to keep you somewhat mollified.”

“I have walked until I could no longer stand and I have worked my mind until it shouldn’t be able to think. If you’re going to show-off the damage done, there is no better time. What my imagination is cooking up must be much worse than the truth.”

Sighing deeply, the tunic came off and the undershirt, then the loose pants were thrown aside as well. Pale linen bandages were wound around his torso, upper arms, shoulders, and from the knee down on his left leg. As for the feet, those were the wounds visible, darkly coloured, raised welts ran along the soles. It took pure willpower to not growl at the sight of that, as Zevran was still unwrapping himself. The leg wasn’t as bad, but much of the visible flesh was not its usual deep bronze, but instead a tarry purple and red, already lightening at the edges into greenish yellow. The areas that were bandaged were obviously the worst of the lot, but that didn’t mean the unbandaged areas were unscathed. Marks were nearly faded to nothing in those spots, and clinically Ferox identified whip marks, canes, and possibly something else, but he wasn’t sure. The fact that Zevran had walked that way - _Danced over roofs more like_ \- as Ferox hadn’t heard him come through the front door, and the back door was beside him earlier, so he knew he hadn’t gone _that_ route either... 

His Crow slid from the bed, digging for a deep jar of poultice, “I should have changed the bandages hours ago, but did not wish to disturb you.”

 _Disturb me,_ not a question, a request, left unspoken and unsent. _Are you that fragile? No, you are that explosive. I am not, I’ve always left first. Ahhh, and there you go, it’s that which we’re trying to avoid._ “Then let me help. One handed you may be more talented than both of my hands, but even you can hardly see your own side or back.”

The broad cork plug was pulled and Zevran sat on the bed once again, frowning at a foot and picking at a moist scab before slathering a fresh dollop of rose, sandalwood and elfroot poultice on it. “Your will, _amora_.”

Why was it whenever one of them said that, it was Ferox’s will but Zevran’s wish? Scooting to the other side of the bed, before searching for the end of the bandage across Zevran’s abdomen, Ferox examined the damage on his back closer, kissing a new faint mark on one shoulder and then one on the other. _Certainly explains some of previous scarring mapped across his skin._ Lines cut into the forehead and face, ink placed on the skin, it seemed to be the only thing Zevran could reliably control, no doubt the Crows placed limitations even on that, because there was never complete destruction. _He controls his own plantation thing. You don’t know that. True. I try not to mess with his jobs...no, no, don’t even go there. You give and take away. He wanted a day off! He needed help! Still._ Fingers located the end of the - _Let me guess, they use silk bandages here too?_ \- linen cloth, it was unwound and rolled for easy replacement, if it was needed. _Please don’t let it be that bad._

Softly, _’There is a difference between clinical application and being beaten is the intent and measure of force. To be beaten implies that uncontrolled emotion is being employed by the one dealing the pain, **amora**. Being smacked, struck with fists, kicked, thrown - this implies a lack of control on the part of the one who is throwing the blows.’_ As Zevran spoke Ferox continued removing the last bits of bandage, the sleeveless shirt that had been made of the wrappings revealing more obvious whip marks, crisscrossed over his tattooed back, some having been stitched together where they were deeper, but they appeared to be weeks along in their healing. _’Crows learn to withstand such things. But we are encouraged to not lose control like that ourselves. Tools are used to inspire separation, a delineation between a lack of control and having control, even as the pressure is released. Whether as the one dealing or being dealt to. Like water boiling in a full pot with a lid, the water and steam find their ways of escape, even if it is a ‘waste’ or an ‘excess’, it is still a relief of pressure and excess that if it were somehow kept inside, it would only cause it to build and build, until it exploded.’_

And his near daily search for air was ‘disturbing’? It was a walk or a spar and rarely was someone damaged. Now that was a double standard, but when one considered their backgrounds and history...it was two different worlds entirely. What Ferox had gained for ways of coping wouldn’t be useful to Zevran and vice versa. At the least in his husband’s case, such ‘low key’ methods would have only hindered and caused more damage by not allowing him the tools to survive. There was no reason for either of them to emulate the other. His constitutionals were not appropriate for his husband, as they were thought to be a weakness. And this...this just set his teeth on edge, Zama’s comment that that pain and sex often went hand-in-hand for Crows, it looked too close to what was no longer allowed to be used as torture in the bowels of Fort Drakon.

 _’I am not asking for your approval, **querido**. It is only to explain so you might better understand why I needed it. Not since Len was born have I allowed myself to see to the need so efficiently, instead settling on smaller things when they could be gained.’_ Long fingers scooped up more poultice and Zevran’s back bent beneath his hands, working on his feet and legs. _’It is a concession to the fact that you only see damage and pain and harm, rather than something that is a part of me and has been for a long time, **querido**. And it is not something that can ever change, pain breeds focus. Loss of control destroys it. So I am what I am, **amora** , just as you are what you are. Neither of us can help it.’_

 _Too young, too slow, and not enough time. Shut up, Zevran didn’t say that._ “You would like to do this more often. As you say, my approval is not sought after, so what stops you?”

“The fact that I love you and do not wish to upset you, _querido_ ,” said as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “This -” a gesture to the marks, “pains you. It makes you angry, it makes you feel as though you have done something wrong or not enough, when that was neither the cause nor the trigger. You wish to hunt down and rip apart the one I paid to do this to me. It makes you wish to shake sense into me. It makes you want to run away, because you do not want to see it. These are not ‘honestly gained’ hurts, and as such, are shameful, rather than proof of relief, proof that I have succeeded in holding myself together when all I could see before I went to gain the method of control - was lashing out. Destruction. Rending everything in my path without a care.”

Smoothing in a scoop of the salve into the worst injuries first, “And none of it have I acted upon. I am unnecessary to the process, and removed from the act and the acceptance of it. Another thing that is none of my business, apparently.”

“No, it is your business. My business is your business, just as your business is mine. Ferox, I am not _seeking_ to shut you out,” his Crow said while leaning into his touch. “But I am driven to it. It is not a thing you wish to share, even when I have asked. What would you have me do? Beg? No, you do not care for those games of humiliation, _querido_. The damage to your heart and to your mind if you gave in to my request would cause you to flee in all likelihood. So then, what? If you cannot even consider it, then it would be a cruelty to push you for it. How then do I regain my focus when I am in such a state if I cannot seek it from you? What would you have me do? I am left with limited choices then in that regard, and I would appreciate any ideas you could come up with, but whenever I have sought your counsel and thoughts on these things...” A hand was waved about listlessly. “It cannot be faced. It is neither wanted nor accepted by you.” A frustrated flash in the link, one of fatigued loss and almost betrayal, of wandering confusion, and then it was gone. “So I tuck it away until something happens where I am driven. Today, I was driven. And treating it as something of great shame, I had to hide it, hie off like some slinking, shamefully disgusting and degenerate creature.”

No, he couldn’t hold in that sigh that came from the soles of his feet, or the one on its heels. Meet the needs of the heart, said Zama. With what? He had nothing, and the closest he could get to this...marking, was sparring matches used as an outlet. He didn’t want to hurt anyone and it was all too easy because there was so little control about it, no matter how tightly he held the anger in check. _’Sides that your name’s already on him. And he had to go do that himself too. This and that, what do you **do** exactly?_

Zevran turned around to face him, resting his forehead against his cheek. “I try to remain within the boundaries of what will make you happy, _querido_. That I failed today, I am sorry, but I cannot be sorry for having done what was required to regain my equilibrium, even if it disgusts you.”

“I am not disgusted. Confused as to why you want this - even though you have said - and I’m trying to understand. Seeing the similarities in the need to relieve the flash of rage before actions are taken that would cause more harm. Angry - oh yes - but some of that is old and isn’t directed at you. There’s no reason to be sorry, as I am not after obtaining air, being better for it. This outlet’s normal based on what you know. I can’t say the same for myself - ‘normal’ would’ve been to take up a skill set similar to Oghren, but I dare not be uncontrolled.”

“Ah, but it is not uncontrolled, _amora_ , the lashes were counted, they regularly checked to make sure I was not too far gone, and had already been certain to have a healer nearby.” Slick fingers slid over his forehead, as though trying to smooth the furrow away, “It is as measured as an Orlesian pastry cook measures their ingredients. It is not like a berserker's rage, or the risk of unleashing the anger at random. Measured and small steps that increase slowly, then decrease slowly, always with the option of calling a halt to it.”

 _All perfectly reasonable. He always is. It’s one of the reasons why you like him, covers your weak spots. Stop - right there. I know where the thought is going and it’s not going to happen. What? You know what I mean. Just stop. Fine._ Checking Zevran’s chest and stomach, Ferox applied more salve, _He forgot about that part where you don’t want to hurt anyone. So that big-assed star sword’s just for show? Honestly, what was the last thing I hit with it? Him. Nah, was it? Yep. Frell. And some Warden Recruits, some Wardens, and some Crows. And more him somewhere in there too. Why couldn’t I have forgotten that?_

“It sounds safe enough, and Zama tells me that you have done it before and that’s nothing for me to be worried about then as you clearly know what you’re doing.” _Doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t._

“If it helps at all, I did not combine it with sex as is the usual method,” as though that would make him feel better. “I am only for you and Moira, _querido_.”

“If she doesn’t mind, then bring her with you next time. She is more open minded,” trying to be reasonable when he felt very unreasonable. 

A gentle snort, “She may be in some things, but it is something that would likely distress her. That open mindedness you have just noted was only born of three things - Edric’s love, and repeated diligence on my part, and our joint participation with the three of us. If one does not have a taste for such play early on, then exposure can be...dangerous later. Besides, it may seem silly, but I prefer to keep her...ignorant...of such things. You and I, we are warriors, she is the hearth and home, hmn? Perhaps it is selfish to think of her as a person to keep things from, but it is what it is. No one else need come down to our world.”

 _Too young and not enough... Shut up. Just stop using that stick. Put it down and walk away, that’s not what we’re talking about._ Done beating his head, Ferox fell back on the bed, wanting to pull Zevran after him, but was concerned that some of the stitches would tear open. “And mother of our children, one extending to the other.” 

His husband followed after having re-corked the jar, “But you are my heart, _corizon_ , and it is from you that I draw my strength, the meaning and measure of my life.” Hands smoothed over Ferox’s chest, _’It is your approval that I seek, it is your love I need, it is your joy I wish to share. No other is needed but you.’_ The stroke of that time when he had resided within Zevran’s mind for a brief moment, basked in the purity there, touched his mind. _’You are my life and my world.’_

Some days it was easy to believe, the hard days were fewer, but no less problematic. Zevran was knocked off balance and that threw him off as well, forgetting that just because his husband had been everywhere and done everything and was calm about nearly everything, that he too could be shaken. It should have been an indication to have just gotten up and wander back here where Ferox said he’d be. Instead he stayed, asked additional questions of the Commander, thought he could help or at least make an offer to do so, and attempted to salvage the situation. In the end, other than a list of names, no one, not Zevran, Nune, or Zama received any benefit.

“And I am nothing without you, Love. With no direction and no purpose, I would just be walking a path because it is under my feet.”

There was squirming and Ferox found his pants tugged free, and before he could take the fabric to fold it, Zevran was already doing it, and setting it in its customary spot. “Ah, perhaps now we can sleep? It is going to be a busy morning with a small one demanding to play in warm waters, hmn?” More scooting and settling, and though he could feel the welts and ridges against him, Ferox sighed along with Zevran, who kissed his chest several times. “Thank you for trying, _querido_.”


	41. Cousland Party + 1

Ulfric and Len ran back and forth, and around in circles, their feet kicking up splashes in the little captured bit of water that had formed in a dip of sand. Both were laughing and giggling as loud as they could, the cut off leggings made as short as they could be and still keep little rumps covered, sagged with sand and water already. Elissa and Eleanor were alternating between playing with the boys, or demanding surging rides in the waves with Armand who would have one of the girls loop her arms around his shoulders, then would dive and ride an incoming wave, with the current occupant hooting and crying out joyfully. Ferox carefully watched it all while Zevran was flopped as naked as a jaybird on the blanket, in full view of everyone and the sun. 

Zama who was wearing nothing but a loincloth, much like Ani, Moira - who had taken some convincing, Sarah - and even Nan - _After even more convincing_ \- were as bare chested as the men. Zevran, as usual, had just taken it to another level. Ferox hadn’t realized how extensive Zama’s Work was, much of it as obviously ritual based as his husband’s, but for a beautiful peacock whose wings curled up to cup her breasts and around her back, its beak resting over her heart. 

He hadn’t meant to stare at it, let alone be caught looking, but Zama patted her belly, where the tail fanned out, “Sa’id’s gift. Because I only wear reds and blacks, while he was a peacock, strutting in his colours. It made me one as well - the females are plain.”

“It does remind me of many of his clothes, the colours are as brilliant. It reminds me of his swooping handwriting as well.” Ferox shifted on the ground cover, “Zama, other than a peacock, what was he like?” 

That must be where Zevran got his walk and love for brilliant colours. That fuchsia shirt with the green...few could carry it off, or just knowing how certain patterns all went together, even when they ‘shouldn’t’. The girls made a game of it, laying out clothes and having Zevran come check. It sounded from the way they kept score that there were extra points awarded for matching ‘axe-sess-orees’. He wouldn’t pay much attention except occasionally he was pressed into modeling a particularly high scoring outfit complete with head scarf and ‘man bag’ because his build was much closer to Sa’id’s than Zevran’s was to the deceased mage.

In their basket between them, Varane and Fymie were sitting, staring out at the new sounds and sights, their tiny ears wiggling and swivelling as they babbled at each other, and Zama reached out to stroke their downy blonde covered heads, as she took the time to formulate her reply. “Inquisitive, charismatic, ‘detested’ children.” Her lips twitched as her head tipped back, face turned up to the sun, the red braids shivering and shaking as she did so, and Varane was able to catch hold of one of the ropes, drawing it to her - apparently Fymie wasn’t the only one who liked braids. “When my debt and freedom was first purchased, I expected him to be much like a customer, or seek to teach me the things I had already known how to do. He chose me because he did not wish to have an apprentice, but it was expected. Sa’id wanted someone who knew the art already, someone he would not have to teach. Someone he could let handle much of the work of needle and flesh, while he worked on his research. Customers were disliked even more than children. When he found I could cook, that I cleaned, he was overjoyed - less need to barter for customers to do these tasks for him that he could not do at all on his own.” 

Zama chuckled, “I had always pegged him for nobility that was disowned, but he never said. His tastes ran to the fanciful, and he was a dandy more than anything else. A scholar and a dandy, never having done an honest day’s work beyond his ink-stained books and flesh of others. One of his frequent visitors, a fellow mage, from Rivain, said he was ‘lawful-evil, working by a scientist’s code’ - his words, not mine - and if it was a law of morals, he would break it if it was in the way of his ideal of progress.” She nodded towards Zevran who was sleeping, his mouth hanging open partially, “They are very much alike. I see Sa’id in him more than I see most anyone else, though he has his mother’s sweetness. At first, Sa’id did not like him, not at all. ‘Do not touch that, it is worth more than ten of you!’ he would shout and smack his small hand away. _Mi dorado_ , he is persistent and pressed his suit, and Sa’id would growl, much the way you do, and give in, as though expecting him to fail at any task he was given. Letters, numbers, puzzles, anything to keep him from wandering in while he was working his experiments.” Zama took the opportunity to tickle twin baby noses and a tiny roll under each chin. “Eager to please, he succeeded, faster and faster, until he was writing all of Sa’id’s notes for him, sitting on a chair at a desk, his legs kicking back and forth, far from the floor. He would never admit to it, but Sa’id loved him as his own.”

The description of the Rivain mage gave Ferox a cold chill, reminding him of the Architect. Anything to forward a goal, from turning all of Thedas into darkspawn to turning the darkspawn into Wardens. However, it did strike him that if the first plan was to turn everyone into darkspawn, then there must have been, at that time at least, more darkspawn than elves, humans and dwarves...after the Blight however, the plan was reversed. Having wandered down an old path, one he knew where it was going, or at least had a good idea, Ferox backtracked to Zevran and to Sa’id. 

“How many years did it take to get from mere annoyance to valued scribe?”

“Years? Months,” Zama corrected. “He was not yet five, and to me, their writing appeared identical.”

Coughing, certain he must have misheard, “Five years old?” He was still managing to spill the ink and come out with entire sheet of inky blackness, on himself as well.

“He may not have always spoken in full sentences, much like your _mushu_ , but his mind and written word - so Sa’id said - were ‘sufficient to be useful’,” she shrugged. “These books, they are things of little worth to me, I cannot read, nor can I write, it is all just pretty lines on a page. All the knowledge I need, it is within my mind, or can be observed around me. My memories will be passed down, my experiences and knowledge, without these...books.”

Grandfather could read, keep records, and taught his father these things, but the old man seemed to prefer stories told when he was a boy. Ones ‘round a campfire with stars overhead, sometimes a collaborative tale told by many from different points of view or with different endings, “If not by books, then by storytelling?”

She shook her head, holding up her wrists, “ _Ga’ni shedu’ni_. Contained in my body is the knowledge of all _ga’ni shedu’ni_ that came before me in my clan. The Ritual of Transference ah...that is the way to easily put it - it takes all the memories and the power that is built up like a reservoir, and is passed on, like a great cloak. Or...” She struggled to put it into words, “It is like the underground rivers and wells. Each time it rains, more water is added, slowly. Some of my power is added daily to what I hold, but in times of need, I may draw upon it deeply, or usually, only a little. It is the knowledge that I use actively the most, though it took me a long time to access it, as I was not fully trained when the wellspring was passed to me. _Ga’ni_ \- shaman - they teach only by word of mouth and showing. _Ga’ni shedu’ni_ , it is the great shaman of the clan. We are the clan’s soul, the storehouse of self, and are not allowed any self for our singular self, we are the clan, the clan is us.”

Brow furrowing, “Showing as in doing? Or more like the Wardens can with mental pictures?” Self not for the self but for everyone? That hurt his head and took further the life of service to the land and its people than he had ever considered.

“In deed and action, and with words as stories,” she plucked Fymie up who was being insistent and set to rocking her, while Ferox found Varane in his arms, caught in inquisitive eyes. “Oral traditions, teaching with story, teaching by action. _Ga’ni shedu’ni_ are taught thus as well, but when the Transference is undertaken, we gain much more. The memories are difficult to reach, but I remember when the _elvhen_ would trade with us in their cities. I remember this city here, Antiva City, as the a city that my people called home, with _elvhen_ scholars walking the streets, and the _Ga’hals Iunimasilsh_ were the only humans. The rest of us were nomads. It is bits and pieces, fragments of memory that come in dreams if they are sought, or are called forth from great need. But they are very strange and foreign.” 

“Can skills be learned this way? Cooking, if one didn’t know how to cook before? Or it is just experiences?” The girl babbled at him and tucking a finger under her chin, he caused her mouth to open and close, making a funny jabbering noise. The sound made him grin back at her as she fluttered her eyelashes at him prettily.

Zama tapped her chin before tugging on an earring thoughtfully. “For me it has been urges. When saving _mi gatito’s_ life, I had ceased using the skills for near on a decade in other than the most basic of ways. A bit of healing here, some warding there, nothing more. It was a reminder of a life that was not to be mine again, a child that I would not ever know to adulthood. But as Arainai struggled, the upsurge came, and it was upon instinct and urge that I acted. It is not a spell I think I could recreate again, but the knowledge for a single instant - it was there in full without my being cognizant of it. Many, many years it has taken me to gain access to much of what it is to be _ga’ni shedu’ni_ , and it bloomed like a well tended plant - with little input from my waking mind, instead drawn to grow by exposure to the sun and rain of Working.”

“Hrm. Instinctual. From what little I have observed of the Circle and your Work, I can only say it seems very different. They have entire floors devoted to books and studying and what I heard appeared to be strict and by rote. I think I like this better. But I do have to say that when things went badly, or when their assistance was needed, it was convenient to have them all in one place.” Both a good and bad thing.

She frowned, “Sa’id spoke of the Circles he had visited, the libraries were all that recommended them he said. That and the ability to order certain supplies. But the constant supervision and threats, as well as the method of learning were only conducive to creating abominations. When I showed the talent to communicate and control the settings of the Fade with my mage talent, my teacher gave me the old saw all _ga’shedu_ \- mages - learn.” A tone of instruction came and she straightened, her legs crossing just so, Fymie settled in her lap firmly, so her hands could rest on her knees, palms upturned. “When the denizens come, do not fight, as it gives them energy and wears you down. Instead, engage them in conversation, but ask nothing of them. Do not give them power, to not give them tasks, do not allow them entry.” A smile broke out, “When a demon or spirit comes to me, I offer them a plate of cookies and a cup of tea. I have found I have gleaned much more knowledge this way, and my sleep is peaceful as they become either bored, or do not seek to tire me. Sa’id was self-taught similarly, a demon found him, yes, it was bored, and he offered to play with it, but did not think to draw it in. In that way it taught him much of magic as play, and once he realized the danger, he chose more judiciously in his encounters with the Fade entities. There was never much risk to him as a result. If magic is learned naturally or if it is imparted without fear or hostility, there is less danger than the Circle’s methods.”

“I couldn’t help but think that if it was a prison, as I had been told, perhaps in accepting the demons the mages in turn were given a way out of their cells.” The babe had helped herself to the end of his braid, looking cross-eyed at it, impossibly entertained by such a simple thing, “It would not be something I would care to go through again, and I was not there as long as the ones trapped inside.” Another shuddered twitch moved through him, “When the iron door closed behind us the only way out was to succeed or, as Zevran pointed out, climb out the windows at the top and hope we had enough rope. The only other alternative would have been to find a close enough, and just as important, deep enough, spot of the lake to dive into.”

She hummed, nodding, “There is a way of preserving certain foods in containers. The lid of a great pot of boiling water is clamped on tight, so that no steam or liquid can escape. Left too long, it can explode, and be very dangerous. Pressure cooking. As it is, it can be a very risky thing, that a small misstep, or improper containers, or lids and pot not strong enough, or clamps not positioned just so - it is more dangerous than safe.”

“From what information we were able to gather, the Circles have been cleaned out from top to bottom about twenty times since they were instituted. So we are trying other ways to decrease the pressure between mages and Templars - we don’t need the escalation Kirkwall is going through,” frowning, because he knew what one of the distinct possibilities was, and that was why he kept such a tight rein on Anders. “Healers seem to be the easiest for the general population to trust, they might have other skills, but as they are viewed as being helpful they are easing the way for the others. At the rate we’re going, just a little healing ability can get someone a pass from the Tower. There’s a town across the lake that those who enjoy outdoors and solitude may have more freedoms than the Tower residents enjoy, but even that’s changing.” He couldn’t imagine Antiva’s scattered mages across the city, but perhaps their first steps out of the Tower were similar, or as many groups here seemed to have some kind of ability, perhaps leaving the Tower was never an issue because they never went in in the first place. “The Templars also seem to enjoy being unlocked as well, both sides able to travel more and even visit their families. I hope that by the time one of my children is ruling, that the relationship between Templar and mage will be seen more like a partnership rather than jailer and prisoner.”

“That may prevent the war,” she nodded. “I have seen dark things, _mu’poushu_. But there is so much war on the horizon, it is difficult to see whence it stems - the mages? The Qun’ari? The Chantry? A Blight?”

Ferox was about to reply when a shout tore the air. Zama stuffed the twins into their basket in one swift motion, Lightning herding the boys in, and guarding the small ones. Zevran was up, a dagger he brought pulled free from beneath the pile of his clothes, and Ferox rose, looking for what the alarm’s source was. Armand was in the water, and calling out, and Ferox realized he only saw Elissa - Eleanor was missing. Sarah, Nan, Moira - all were already struggling to get into the water, even though he wasn’t even certain they could swim. Ani was with Uailil, having managed to get out to where an apparent wave had separated Armand from his charge. The strong swimmers were already in the water, Zevran having dropped his dagger, and shoved the women back, snarling at them to stay out of the way, and Ferox was about to join their efforts as well, but didn’t want to leave the children unprotected, and Len and Ulfric were clinging to his legs, whimpering. Elissa was crying as well, terrified for her sister. What seemed like it was too far out was a figure cutting through the waves, and he had a horrified thought - _There’s sharks in these waters._ But no, it had arms, it couldn’t be a shark. 

Leaning down, he picked up both boys, one in each arm to comfort them, even if he didn’t feel very reassured. In fact, he felt terrified and helpless. It felt like an eternity, but everyone flailed to shore, the other far distant rescuer showing who he was by surging bounds from the water as he finally left it, Eleanor’s limp form in his massive arms, putting her down on the ground to bend her legs, forcing water up from lungs. Zevran was shoving Nune away and took over quickly, pumping Eleanor’s small chest and breathing into her mouth. Clipped glissandoed words and the two elves began to work in concert instead, broad palmed hands pumping while Zevran breathed for Eleanor until more water came out in hacking coughs. 

As soon as she was free of water, Zamitie, who hadn’t been motionless, and had been drawing shapes in the sand around the trio, then shooed them away, chanting as a faint ruby red nimbus surrounded her, Ani’s hands cupped near Eleanor’s mouth, that look of concentration on her face, lips moving, just as when she had called the water up from the fountain. 

Eleanor came ‘round sobbing and choking, “Papi! Mama! Fox!”

Frost that grew and began to coat him snapped and broke off with her gasps of air. _Thank you._

Sarah and Nan had the blanket and bundled Eleanor up tightly, as Zevran hoisted her up, the look of sheer terror in his golden eyes, and in the amulet making Ferox shake as his knees gave out, clutching the boys to him. The entire group was huddled around, trying to comfort each other, relief washing and soothing the fears, and only distantly did Ferox realize Nune was walking away. Somehow Eleanor was pried free from Zevran and his husband ran after the scarred ruin of a man.

 _Please bring him back. Let him hear the invitation from you and not just me. Curse or no curse, accidents happen and good things happen too._ Repeating the story the boys were telling each other, “Yes, she swam too far, but everything’s okay now. Papi and Zama and Ani and everybody helped, you helped too by staying right here. Eleanor’s gonna be all better, see? Moi-Moi’s got her. Now why don’t we go down the beach and see who’s talking to Papi.” He wanted a moment to welcome his girl back to the surface, but it was her mother’s turn and Ferox would wait. With a boy’s hand in each of his, they trailed after Zevran giving the women time to fuss, Armand the job of standing guard, and Zevran enough time to smooth something over. _Good luck with that._

Both men were staring at each other, Nune, clothed, wet, the garments hanging off of him. Zevran, covered in sand, and nothing else, beyond the cloak of uncertainty. Ferox wanted to facilitate somehow, but it was Len who succeeded, yanking his hand free to dash the last few yards up to Nune and catch a hand.

“Fankoos fo’ gettin’ my sissy ‘nor, iz yoo Claudio da beeber? Yoo ‘wim weally fast. Where’s yoor tail ta thump ta make a noise?” the hand clung to as Len peeked behind Nune to see if there was indeed, no tail. An arm stretched up to point at Nune’s face, “Oh - yoo got an oww-oww, yoo need da kisses ta make dose better. Heer - me gibs.”

 _Good boy. Takes after his father, don’tcha know. I’ve been sayin’ that for years. ‘Love? Now would be a good time to introduce our son to his Grandpa.’_ Whether he wanted it or not. 

A rippling shiver as Zevran reached out to grasp their son’s hand, and his, “Len, I would like you to meet Nu- your Grandpapi.”

Shock showed for a moment on the battered face at the introduction, but Nune squatted before Len to rub the mahogany crown, “You am being good boy, staying with your Father. Very brave thing.”

First step accepted, Ferox took the second, “Nune, this is Ulfric. Ulfric and Len are milk brothers.”

A stoically shy peek from the shaggy mop of strawberry hair, “‘Lo.”

The old Dust Wolf smiled without pulling his lips back, something that Ferox figured had to be uncomfortable to do, and manage to make it look warm. “You am being very brave too, Ulfric.”

A finger was popped into a strawberry mouth thoughtfully, and then Nune was tackled by the two boys, nearly simultaneously, as though they had come to some agreement without words, and Ferox had to wonder what the twins Moira carried would be like when it came to silent communication. 

Squeezing Zevran’s hand, if the boys didn’t melt the old goat, Ferox had one or two more cards in his hand, all feminine and extremely persuasive. He might not play Wicked Grace, but he knew the pieces on the board. Nune was going to get kisses on his cheeks from the prettiest girls on the beach whether he wanted them or not. One way or another, the elf was going to learn what was at stake, dig himself out of whatever hole he was buried in, and start thinking about how to really solve their problem. _Yes, it’s our problem because he’s family._ If the curse was as true as Zama believed it to be, it was a risky move, one that would be put down to youth and stupidity if it didn’t work. 

Len led the way - _Of course_ \- with the hugs and kisses, having paused to grab hold of Nune’s head, his own cocked to the side when he saw the teeth showing whitely from the missing patch of skin. He said ‘ow-ow’ a few times, very solemnly before kissing the spot anyway, which gained an immediate reaction from the grizzled Commander. The long arms tightened around the two boys who were really only big toddlers even still, the eyes even more like Zevran’s than the twin granddaughters, clenching shut, and the stoic warrior appeared like he was overcome with emotion.

 _’Thank you, Love,’_ pulling Zevran into a hug of his own.

 _’I did nothing, I was not going to let him go without giving thanks for saving our daughter’s life,’_ shuddering against him. 

_’Zevran, she is well and safe. We should find another stretch of beach though, should we want to swim.’_

“Yoo come an’ see da babiez,” Nune was poke-pushed on the shoulder, while Ulfric nodded vigorously. 

“Da sissies an’ Mamai, MoiMo -” Ulfric added.

“An’ da Wight, shee big boof-boof, an’ da Zamamama, an’ da Nan, Mandy - he ah Cwo whu can’no fwie,” Len was completely serious as his thumbs hooked together to make bird wings. “Beeg-beeg Sissy Ani. An’ beeg-beeg Brooder Ooolie.”

Ulfric chanted, a fist pumping in the air, “Ooolie-Ooolie!”

The longing was apparent even as it was clear that the Commander was struggling with it. “Gran’papi came for lunch and to play on the beach, of course he’s going to see everybody. We should go back to help though.” _Not lettin’ you out yet, I have yet to serve up some of those spiced spun sugar gossamer candies we call our girls. Hrm, haven’t had one of those desserts in a long time._ “Better hold Gran’papi’s hand.” Arm around Zevran’s waist, certain that a wicked grin was plastered on his face even as he played dumb, he left the boys to handle the old elf, confident he had the best people for the task.

Len and Ulfric made a great show of pushing and tugging and ‘helping’ Nune stand up, both of them as insistent and exuberant as mabari pups. Zevran was still wary, but it was all the emotion still vibrating in him of that helpless fear, and the other day’s enraged betrayal. After all the pushing and shoving Zevran did of Ferox’s feet, he would be damned if he didn’t help guide his assassin through difficult dances that he was unfamiliar with. And family was something Ferox had grown up with, it was something he understood, while his Crow...sometimes things...eluded him. 

Several beach yurts were set up, part of the large kit of things that had been insisted upon. As _siesta_ approached, more of the flock would come, because this was to be a whole day outing, and while Ferox had thought perhaps moving down the beach a little farther would be the least traumatic, Eleanor was already back in the shallows, this time holding hands with Ani, while Uailil had Elissa’s, the quartet picking up seashells. 

_’Dulsanaya would enjoy this, except for the earlier excitement,’_ Zevran was clearly fighting his way to the surface, struggling for equilibrium, and covering it by making plans. _’I think better swimming lessons may be in order. How to deal with undertow in particular. There is a pool that Faizal may allow us the use of at Alcazaba, Crows are taught there sometimes. The pool has been built to generate small waves, and strong currents.’_

 _’Sounds like an excellent lesson, one appropriate for small boys too. They are unfamiliar with such things. The Waking Sea is thankfully protected from these currents. They do occur on the eastern coast, but anyone who swims there is a seal or an otter,’_ tightening his arm for a moment in a side by side hug. 

As soon as Eleanor saw them returning, she tugged on Ani’s arm, forcing her to come along, and she ran up, hugging Nune around the waist, while the boys still had hold of his hands. “Thank you!”

“You am being welcome, _da’asha’len_ ,” Nune’s gravelled reply came.

Len of course was quick to add very proudly, “Dis oor Gran’papi, Sissy ‘Nor. I fought he was Claudio da beeber, but he no has tail ta make da noise. Dadi say he Gran’papi, Papi say he Gran’papi. So he Gran’papi!” So excited, Len danced in place, “We has a Gran’papi!”

 _Don’t dance, skip or ‘squee’ like one of the girls. Who do you think you’re talking too? Um, the one who wants to ‘squee’? Snort._

That had Ani and Uailil looking at Nune intently, then at Zevran, but Moira and Elissa were busy embracing the Commander warmly. Checking about their little day camp, Ferox spied Zama with the twins, tending a small fire that had been set. There were markings traced into the sand around all the yurts, each one made of a startling red sand. _Blood. Huh? Blood - it’s her blood. Not just sand. Hrmn, probably._

 _’Zevran?’_ giving a mental nod towards the markings that reminded him a little of the writing on the floor in Zama’s Workroom.

His spouse squinted, head cocked, _’Luck sigils and wardings from bad spirits. Stronger than usual.’_

 _If he knew what risk you might be taking... Shut up, this is a bad time - a real bad time. We fix one thing at a time. First thing, get Nune back in the family and let Zevran get used to the idea of having a father -_ appraising his husband _\- okay, fine. At least the idea of his letting our children have a grandfather. And the Commander said that as a father you disappointed him. Nune didn’t know Bryce, and besides, Father would be proud. We deal with things better together as a family. Frell, you keep that hopeful, trusting crap up and I’ll have to start calling you Zevran. Shut up, he needs me to be strong. You’re just relieved, not shaken like he is._

Ani put it into words, “I had not known you were my Grandfather, Grandfather. It was a thing you knew?” She glanced around, as though checking to be sure she wasn’t the only one who had been kept in the dark so long, and Ferox knew some of how she had been over the fact that everyone denied that Zevran was her father. “Papi? Zama?”

“I only recently found out,” Zevran shrugged, prying Ulfric away so that a baby could be passed over to Nune. “Zama was aware.”

Lime green eyes flashed with irritation for a moment, her mouth pinching down, then Ani sighed, taking Len, “Do not grow up. It is a trap, as adults are very strange, even I have not learned to understand them very well.”

“Buts I wanna be beeg like yooous Sissy Ani, an’ beeg-beeg Brooder Ooolie, an’ Zama, shes bees weely weely beeg, an’s be beeg like evrybodies. An’ no nap-naps, just seeps when I wannas,” a small leg thumped and waved a little against Ani’s hip which got a pinch behind a brown calf.

“That is true, though you will find it is not so fun,” Ani plunked kisses on Len’s face and set him down, giving his rump a light pat. 

Ferox instantly picked him up and put his boy atop his shoulders, while Nune was mobbed in general - _Or at least continues to be mobbed. Semantics_ \- and the customary hands hooked around his forehead for balance. Taking Zevran’s hand once again, while keeping the other on Len’s shin for added security, he hoped that he had not chosen poorly and that no one mentioned the reason for the increased protections Zama laid down on the sand. As it was, he hoped it was just put down to paranoia or being some way that the _pintore_ was comforting herself. Pulling Zevran away from the group, as the preparations were well in hand for lunch and setting up camp, they continued down the beach keeping the boys entertained and out of the ruckus for now as they tended to get into things without actually being helpful.

 _’I overreacted, hmn?’_ Zevran squeezed his hand. _’Truthfully, I still wish to throw up, as though I could purge the fear of something happening to Eleanor. Or Elissa. Or Len. Or Ulfric... Or. Or. Or. Braska.’_

Finding it in himself to give their entwined hands a bit of a swing to match their comfortable gait on the beach, _’We can’t watch them all the time, Love. Things will happen, both good and bad. If we kept them safe from the bad and locked them up, then they would experience very few good things either. If I didn’t become a Warden, I wouldn’t have met you. Without going to Kirkwall and facing what was there, there would be no Len, and just as likely, you would’ve died of thirst in your proverbial desert.’ Hadn’t thought of it like that before. Kinda looks like a bad before good pattern with you though. What can I say, I like to know what to expect next._

 _’Aiesh. Sweet Fortuna, children are a curse I tell you. They are so easily hurt, so easily lost, I think I am going to get old very quickly... Could we have second thoughts on this parent thing? Braska, I have never - no, wait, yes, I have been that frightened. Once.’_

Figuring this had to be the windstorm ‘sear-oh-coh’ thing in the desert with pregnant Fewrlin again, Ferox protested, “No, no, don’t show me that again! I get sand in my teeth for days and I never want to be that intimate with a camel again. Some things should not be repeated five or eight or even ten times.”

 

“Kar-amehl?” Len’s face peeped over his head at him, his brows perked. “Kar-amehl? Stick in da teefies.”

“No, cam-ell. Papi says they are like horses and can carry people but they live in the dry deserts. They have humps that carry water on their backs, so they don’t get thirsty.” Simplified, especially because Ferox had never directly observed one and only had minimum information on them. 

Warm baked sand scrunched beneath his feet as they walked, Zevran moving closer, “The socks that you steal - “

“Bow-woah, bow-woah,” Ulfric corrected with almost plodding primness, which made his husband chuckle.

“Yes, the socks that you both _borrow_ so often, they are made from camel hair, just like a sheep has wool, camels have a coat that can be made into thread as well,” came the short lesson from his assassin, walking so close that they were nearly arm in arm. 

_And cost much in Ferelden and not a lot here. Hrmn. I wonder if yaks have hair that could be soft enough? Or reindeer? Or, what were those big things that the Chasind on the Orlesian side of the Frostbacks hunted...? Bison. Celene’s having some herded our way, so we’ll find out soon enough._ There was a shift and scooty squirm on his shoulders, and out of the corner of his eye, Len reached out to catch Ulfric’s hand, _Going to have to be careful of copycats. Pft, bet you used to hang off of Fergus’ hand all the time. Actually, his leg if I couldn’t get his hand, I suppose if you want to get technical about it. It used to drive him crazy. I didn’t mean that. Len kisses everyone, so it shouldn’t be a problem, and it’s not like they see anything happen between Zevran and I, or with Moira either. You’re just being paranoid. ‘It’s a little late to rethink any parenthood, I’m afraid. As you were a parent long before I met you, if anyone should have discouraged us having more children, it should have been you.’_

His Antivan glanced back at the gaggle of their family, _’I would not call myself a parent before, **querido**. A parent is involved in their child’s life, is there when they are needed, is there for the things that all children require. Death is the only excuse to not be present and still be considered a parent. I was a piss poor father, even if it was the only way to keep Ani safe.’_

More similarities, it was so easy to see from the outside, or on the edges, how much overlap there was. Just as Zama’s personality was something he saw bits and pieces of in Zevran, and supposedly how much of Sa’id was there, blood or no blood relation, how very like Zevran, Ani could be... _Very similar you two are, despite Nune having no hand in your raising._ How would Zevran’s life be different if he were like Len, raised with two fathers and a mother? Would he be a scholar and a rogue who danced across the city’s rooftops, never becoming a Crow? _I’d like to meet that one. Wonder if there’s postings like that at the Kirkwall Chantry’s board? FAC seeking ZA w/happy childhood. Contact Ferelden Embassy. You can’t keep up with the one you have. I was just wondering, I wasn’t going to post anything. Tell me you didn’t think about it._

“I’m gunna be da beeg brudder soon too!” Len popped out randomly. “Nuh jus’ widdle brudder,” the surprise was quite apparent, as though it had really just finally clicked. “Dadi, Dadi - I’m gunna be the nuh smallish brudder no mores?”

He was so constantly working at not looking at how his life should...could have been, Ferox hadn’t seriously considered how Zevran might want to change his own life, if childish dreams of doing things over really came true. Shaking thoughts from his mind, he tried to decide how to answer that question, settling on both. “Big and little, Len. Little to Eleanor and Elissa, big to the babies. Ulfric will be both a big brother and a little brother too. You are lucky boys. I’m just’a little brother.”

Len began squirming, trying to scoot down, an urgency in the plea, “MoiMoi - wan’ MoiMoi, Dadi! Moost-moost tell da bebies!”

Two hands needed, Len was pulled off of his shoulders, tucked under an arm, and Ferox turned ‘round in a circle in an attempt to distract him, “Len, you are Varane and Fymi’s uncle too. Little and big already. Right now we boys are taking a walk.”

“You may tell the babies all about it in ten minutes, _mijo_ ,” Zevran gave a time limit, the velvet to Ferox’s firm stance. 

Sighing, “How long iz it, Papi?” Len stopped struggling while he waited.

“Count to ten, six times, and you do that ten times, _mijo_ ,” the math stated simply, but in all likelihood still too complex. 

Ferox pointed off to the side, near a freshly made pool from the retreating tide, “Well, why don’t we make some sandcastles, and we’ll tell you when it’s been ten minutes.”

Len looked at him uncertainly, “No fogets?”

He reassured, “No forgets.” 

When the boys began to play and forgot about the countdown, there would be complaints when time was called, but it would at least give them the choice then to go and ‘tell the babies’. Damp sand was quickly heaped up and the boys were distracted for a time. Play followed by lunch would mean a deep and well earned rest that afternoon.

The simple lunch meal was of fish, most of it varying between grilled or raw, some fresh caught clams and a huge shelled thing called a conch, leaving Ferox to try and make do. Until of course someone thoughtfully put a few empanadas in his hands, freshly fried in coconut oil, which meant he stuffed himself. Or tried to. But with Zevran squatting beside him in an odd pose, one Nune mirrored, where rumps weren’t on the sand, yet calves were pressed to backs of thighs, the way it had his husband hunched forward like a perching bird kept distracting him each time an oiled bronze limb slid past him to nab some other bite of food. It left him dry mouthed, which resulted in plenty of cool coconut water intake. Someone enterprising had brought a bushel of them down, cracked and opened, adding some strange spiky rinded fruit, that had a top like the palm trees and yellow flesh, to add to everything. 

Ferox only barely tasted it. 

He found himself looking over his shoulder for others he associated with sand, sunshine, salty water, and yurts - they were firmly planted in his mind apparently. The few things that distracted him from it was Zevran who managed a few laughs, showing that he had finally eased somewhat, but Ferox continued to touch the golden skin that stored up the warmth to be used again and again against the cold Ferelden winter held within him. And it reminded him not to overstuff himself, so that later, perhaps they could relive some more sand and sun memories while making new ones.

The faces around him, although different from the ones in his memories, held so many similarities of those ‘round the family table sharing meals in a far away kitchen. Laughter and teasing, babies held so others could eat, then passed to another, it was a family that had just been missing the proud grandfather. Having the Commander there somehow lightened the weight of some of the crushing responsibility Ferox carried as he valiantly struggled to keep above water. Yes, it was a bizarre feeling, Zevran, an older, more experienced man had always been there to help - he might tease and call his love, ‘old man’ but Ferox didn’t consider his husband as the ‘father figure’. He had missed having a male to which others could look up to. For once, he didn’t feel that he had to be in charge. By opening their arms wider, the family grew and became more familiar and easier for him to accept.

Some of the flock had taken to distracting the little ones once again, large sandcastles being made, as all the Crows worked together with the little boys helping, while the girls held the twins. The big hand made him think of a story of the rock giant as it clasped his shoulder. “You make good family and make them happy. This is good.”

Credit was given where it didn’t belong. Tricks and traps, which was this? “Our family was assembled by Zevran. He gathers the lost and drowning into a lifeboat, bringing them together, keeping them safe.” Shrugging under the weight of the contact, “I help where I am able.” 

In many ways it was like how he was able to affect the lives of others given his position on the board. Having the authority, and thus the opportunity, to put others’ ideas forward, moving them from mere thoughts or conversations around the fire into actual action. That was his job, be the one in the front, so others had time to think and plot out the maneuvers.

“It was not clear before, my words, _fen’shem_. They were not meant to cause wounds to you, they were not attacks to your person,” the hand gave him a reassuring squeeze. “It was my failure that they were taken that way by you. I am glad that you are someone who cares for and protects them so.” Ferox found the other hand on his cheek, which received a pat that had the feeling of a hug almost, “You are a nurturer, like a farmer should be. You should not have to take up weapons and be a warrior, but you do. That you do, it is good. Protecting things that are worth it is good - not bad.”

His eyes blinked, closing longer than necessary and Ferox briefly imagined another in the Commander’s place. “It needed to be done, someone had to stand up and say which way we were going. At the crossroads the three with me would not follow each other, there was little choice.”

“Standing up is necessary to start walking,” came the confirmation. 

“Perhaps when Len or the new babe is ready to take these responsibilities, I will take your suggestion and return to the fields. Until then, I must hold my undesired position to prevent chaos and to prepare for what comes. I can’t walk away from the duty and responsibility.” His cheek quirked against the broad palm, it wasn’t just humour that moved it, “Although that might be the fastest way to have my Father or Grandfather return from the grave, if only just to scold me.” 

“ _Hamin_ , it is well. I did not mean my words to wound when disappointment was expressed - it is the disappointment when the rain comes, when sun was hoped for. It is the disappointment over sugar, when sugar with cinnamon was wanted. A small thing, not personal,” another pat, another squeeze. “Peace - when you may lay the burdens down, you will, or risk being fetched and removed to a place where you may settle.”

Little chance of that, time was short and Len had fourteen to seventeen years to ready himself to take on the necessary role, and if Iona was the one who wanted the burden, Ferox had to hold out another nineteen to twenty-two more years. True, Anora could finish the children’s education, but if Faizal wanted her gone, and with the Harpy’s ability to, at the very least, irritate those in her company, if not nearly cause a war, it would be a very bad idea to count on her. Someone, if not Zevran himself, would remove the irritant. Nobility would be quick to attempt to take advantage of a young ruler, so the longer he could hold out, smoothing the transition between Anora and one who wanted the responsibility, the better. 

“As you said, no insults were intended. I am not angry and there is peace between us. I’m glad you are here to meet them, to understand who they are and give them the same opportunity to know you.” It struck him that if Fergus, Alise and the children were here, the gathering would be complete.

“No _wounds_ were intended, _fen’shem_ ,” as the shorter man drew him into a one armed hug. “You are very strange. The frustration and puzzle must have kept _em’len_ occupied until he knew you well enough to remain out of love instead of curiosity.”

Again Ferox blinked and saw another. Closing his eyes for a moment the image was cleared from his eyes. He returned the comment into his character, with another bit of humour, “Heh. I am the strange one? You’re not the first person to give me a name, thinking to describe me instead of using what I was given.”

“Difficult to reach, to communicate intent and depth of different meanings,” Nune explained. Then added, “Not said to insult or harm. It is said as observation from one who has worked with many cultures and types of people. You are - ” 

He interrupted, grunting, “Damaged.” 

Undeterred, “ - difficult to reach in the dark hole you hide in. Putting up barriers and taking each word as something that will hurt. The sky is blue - this is observation. Reaching mutual understanding between us - this is difficult. That is also observation.”

“What is more difficult and often frustrating is that I believe I am being open and forthright, hiding or protecting little.” Another shrug, Ferox was becoming resigned to misunderstandings with Antivans, it must have had something to do with translation. “As I said, damaged.”

“It is no failing of yours, it is a trait of personality,” came the grunt.

“Perhaps. That’s a nice way of putting it.” _If I understood it. It’s not you, but it’s you? That’s just great. Glad we cleared the air on that little misunderstanding._

The look Nune gave was somewhere between amused and unamused. “It is a thing you do not mean to do. Like some men who smell foul when they sweat, or others, snore, or still others, release gouts of flatulence. It is something that is natural to them for whatever reason, even as it can be...difficult to live with.”

 _Please don’t ask, he’s hurting my head. You already snore, or so says your ever patient husband. Sweaty, don’t forget that. Listen, that wasn’t a particular problem until Zama purged me. You have to admit it helped with having to taste darkspawn blood all the time. And Zev doesn’t say that...well, not exactly that and he was polite about it, even said it was better now. Are you gassy? Oh now you’ve gone too far._ A high pitched mabari whine was going to crawl out of his throat if this continued. _So, what’s the answer? I don’t know what the frell you’re talking about. Kiss kiss, hug hug. See you next family reunion. Maker..._

A rumbling laugh came from the elf, "You are doing it once more! No, no, no. The sky is blue. Some men stink when they sweat. Some men do not. Some men smell bad to some people, but not all. ‘Some’ does not mean ‘all’, it is not a statement of absolutes, nor meant to apply to you absolutely.”

A sigh escaped, somehow it got past his guard and announced its freedom. Ferox recognized the same sound from Len earlier that day when asking how long he would have to wait and the arm that wasn’t around Nune, smacked its palm into an eye socket, rubbing an eyelid thoroughly. The frustration was expressed, but hardly dissipated in the action. 

Repeating, “Some, not all. Then which is mine?”

“None,” accompanied by a shrug. “Allegory and analogy, rather than literal states. A way of giving examples that anyone might grasp. Just as easily it could be turned around. Some women have small bosoms, some women are good cooks, some women cannot sew.”

 _Then why say it, unless it applies in some way? It must be important to the topic at hand or why would he frelling say it? Maker. So this is where Zevran gets it? Or was it Sa’id? Zama said Sa’id, but if that isn’t something Zevran would say, then I’ll eat some of Alistair’s cooking - or a raw onion. Ew on both counts. Do you even remember what we’re talking about? Um...hurting your one remaining feeling? You know, the one that didn’t get burned away in the blast. I really don’t like you. Feeling’s mutual, now get over it._

“Then what are you talking about?” Pleased with only the minute victory of avoiding a whine.

“They are examples of things that one can only change a certain amount, but yet are part of the person. Like the difficulty with taking things literally or personally.”

 _He’s really trying to make me sorry for inflicting the family on him, isn’t he? I think that’s about right. Okay, if that’s what’s going on, I suppose I deserve it. I thought he was enjoying it though. Me too, but then you can put on a good front too until you start growling. That kinda ruins the effect, doesn’t it? Effect? I was stealing neck sugar and kisses intended for Papi. Growling and pretend ‘nom nom nom’s were required._

Nune clapped him on the back and hugged him again. “ _Em’len’s_ words - you think too loudly - make sense now. Come, my words are not making sense, they are heard, the singular meaning understood, the context - not. It is well enough, perhaps in time we might find a way to meet the minds and fully comprehend the words’ intent. But that is not this day, when much emotion and deed has run high, and the sun is in its place where no sane man would remain under it. Perhaps I may steal the _da’len’en_ for a time, to let the Bondeds have their _siesta_ untroubled.” Gesturing to the basket filled with the twins, “The littlest ones must have skin so that they grow up right. Zev’na’rane is stunted for being half-breed, his need for skin, it is clear he did not grow correctly. Best not to have such a thing be repeated. Security and development comes from the contact.”

“If Ani agrees, and I can’t see why she wouldn’t... The rest are due for their sleep too.” Offering, “They like stories before bed and I usually tell one that explains the seasons, or planting, ways to tell time, even animal stories...hunting, fishing, even how to build something. A story from Gran’papi would not go unappreciated.” Frankly, “They are quite taken with you, Nune.”

Fingers went to a temple then the hand rasped over the bare scalp as a deep sigh was heaved. “It is not safe for them.”

“Nothing has changed, because it wasn’t safe before either. You know them, others can find them, they’ve never been hidden. They are just as much at risk before as after and foolish accidents can happen to anyone at any time.” tightening his grip around the shoulders of the old elf, “It’s this simple, without you, Eleanor would not be here. Our children need a grandfather and you need them.” It was as straightforward and as plain as he could make it. 

“Mph, I will do as I can,” and the Commander looked over his shoulder, to the far off western mountains. “For now, yes, I will be present for them. Instruction on how the offspring grow, things my people do to aid the growth - I will also make sure these things are known.” Ruefully, “Ani’ca’da may not enjoy feeding from the breast for a decade, but it is best.”

“Moira should hear similar advice then. Zevran’s already explained to her that the pregnancy will go longer, wouldn’t surprise me if there were other differences. The twins she carries were made possible by an elvish healer...the same one who made it possible for me, a Warden, to impregnate Len’s mother, Anora, twice now.

He grunted emphatically, “ _Shem’len_ nurse so short a time. She may not need worry. If she has _el’vehn_ blood, perhaps - there may be a chance of _el’vehn da’len’en_. If not? Then there is no concern, they will be _shem’len_ , even if it takes more time for them to greet the world.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know anything about her when I - “ the memory still made him laugh “ - I found her in the kitchen and hauled her upstairs to the nursery. Still the best executive decision I’ve ever made,” chuckling. “All of our lives were suddenly better by having Moira close by.” Even when jealousy ate at his insides, Ferox didn’t regret that action. Moira and the girls made their lives so much more...more everything...than they were before. 

“Go and enjoy your life then, _em’fen_ , and I will enjoy the time afforded as well,” Nune instructed. “Your eyes have been upon him all day, you have waited more than long enough.”

How many years had it been and his cheeks and ears still flared pink under the tan? Thankfully he wasn’t a Gilmore and wasn’t suddenly red from the tips of his hair to the soles of his feet. His head may have ducked, but his arm tightened before letting go and Ferox muttered, “Longer than that.”

It had been a rough couple of days.

The yurts were scattered with a comfortable distance between them, none overly separate, nor were they cheek and jowl, side by side. The murder of Crows was also scattered amongst and around them. Before resting however, there was one more thing he had to take care of and Ferox spotted Armand close to the yurt that housed the children en masse. If Zevran believed that beatings were appropriate discipline for Crows, Ferox hated to think what Armand was expecting, especially since it was no secret how much the head of Len’s bodyguards adored the children. Unless Armand had been a consummate actor the last few years, he cared for the children as though they were blood, and Ferox couldn’t see Zevran allowing someone to remain on board who didn’t truly care for them. It wasn’t exactly his place to address the matter with Armand, but the man, not the Crow, needed to know that there would be no retribution from him, personally or officially. Even though it made him uncomfortable thinking about it, what Armand might do to punish himself on his own wasn’t Ferox’s business so long as it didn’t interfere with the Crow’s ability to protect the children.

Ferox stood to the side, so that the Crow’s vision of the beach was not impaired, and watched the impassive face. “Accidents happen Armand, and I’m glad you were with Eleanor today. Few would care, foolishly thinking that she has little worth. You know how important she is to each one of us, including yourself. Above all others, I want you with the children.”

“I thought I had her, but she slipped from my hand when I reached back, when the tide hit,” Armand’s voice was dull, numbed, the facade of broken Common fallen away. “It has been a long time since I felt such a tide. The waters of Ferelden’s coast - they are wild, but far too cold for me. Accident or not, it was a terrible thing.”

“No.” Shaking his head, “It _could_ have been terrible. It’s true that what happened was frightening, but even you cannot control the tides. Your reaction to having her torn from you by the waves, would have been my own, had I been in your place. I trust your judgement and depend on your strength.” Ferox made his intentions clearer, so he would not be misunderstood, “No retribution - you and I are good, Armand.”

“That is good to know, and I am thankful for it. But in my place, would you set it aside and feel that all is well so quickly?” Armand gave him a knowing glance, the smile warm, but clearly forced. “For a time my watch will be closer, just as yours would. It is the way of things. Crows of my status, we are not allowed children. But we teach the youngest apprentices, so it is there that we pour our efforts. Maestro Ignacio, he has no little ones for us to teach. A few orphans and beggars, rough thieves kept dishonest, but trained to be useful to him, even so. It is not the same, and I am not among the number who teaches.”

Nodding, “It is so.”

The truth of the matter was that Ferox had been inattentive, listening and putting Zama’s knowledge into focus so he could try to understand it a little. His own vigilance had relaxed and he was not aware of his surroundings, except for the child in his arms and puzzling over the information Zama shared with him. Yes, for a time he too would pay more attention to what was going on around him, especially where the children were concerned...Zevran would too, of that there was no doubt. What happened scared everyone. Even the children would be more careful near the water and Zevran’s plan of teaching what to do if a wave grabbed them would help combat the fear of the ocean.

Armand leaned forward, squinting at the glittering cerulean bay. “We are not so different - no extra attention would have prevented it, even if we like to think so. But the logic and the knowledge, it is little comfort. It is difficult, because it feels as though if I did a series of things different, then it would not have happened. But that is not how it is. It is not true really, no matter what we say to ourselves with the ‘if only’. We are just men, and weak against the Maker’s might in what He made, so we try as we can, and if He sees fit, He will allow us to continue to succeed, or if He is in a mood - He will take it away.”

Ferox bit his tongue so as not to give his honest opinion of the Maker who reminded him like a mix of the Dalish trickster god and a temper tantrum throwing child who took his bride and went home. He might often take the Maker’s name in vain, but it didn’t mean that the creator was trusted to actually _do_ anything. Instead he nodded, agreeing with the cruelty and fickleness of the Maker, if nothing else. Often he wondered if good things only happened in spite of the absent Maker. Either that or the Chantry was an Orlesian invention just so there was some control put over their neighbours. Which he wouldn’t put past Orlais, seeing as Andrastiasm became ‘the thing to be’ after Emperor Kordillus became an Andrastian. Before that, it was just a cult, with no political and temporal weight beyond what a few small holdings granted it. If Orlais couldn’t control directly, then they could always do so indirectly, and not assisting in rebuilding the Chantry buildings would slow it. Perhaps convincing them to loose the mages was a distraction meant to keep the Mothers from their need to restore the Maker’s houses of worship.

“We will all watch closer for a time, until the memory fades,” Armand shrugged.

“And be surprised when it, or something else, occurs after we have forgotten and relaxed.” A minute shake of the head, “Continuing vigilance is a rare trait.” Even amongst Wardens who state their motto at every turn. _Hard to be vigilant when they’re dead...you’re dead._

The Crow looked up at him intently, the customary smile not even present, not even the facsimile of one. “To be over vigilant is the same as not being vigilant at all - life passes by, and something will still win out over the vigilance. Best to find some balance.”

To move forward, but not to be driven...it was often more difficult breaking his feet free...not that it stopped him from moving away, gaining space, but that wasn’t forward, it was around his rock again. Some days it was a large erratic rock deposited by a long forgotten glacier or moved inch by inch by the waves at high tide, and other days a mountain, waiting to be worn away by the streams that trickled down it. Mountains took longer to negotiate than a simple rock in his path.

Balance was a game he played with a sword. Overextended and he was in danger of toppling. Too close to the body and what was the point of wielding it?

“This is true. Perhaps - ” _in a few years...fourteen, but holding out for seventeen_ , a cheek twitched at the joke, “ - I’ll have time for that.” What other change that he didn’t want to make, could be put off that long? Ferox was certain that Zevran could remember what he was resisting, because most things like that he tried not to think about, unless it was something that could be used against himself like a stone golem using the prow of a ship as a weapon.

Did he look like he needed advice today? Or, did he appear to be in such a mood that he would take it without growling and they must strike before the moon went behind a cloud? Who would be next? Ferox didn’t think he’d done anything particularly untoward. Nune seemed to believe he was being friendly, or taking the opportunity to return Ferox’s own provocations...ones only three to four feet tall and perhaps a little over friendly. Here, he intended to give reassurance and instead received a recommendation that he didn’t intend to accept. With a grunt that neither refused or denied the good advice of keeping balanced, Ferox moved away. Bed called to him, the large doses of salt and sun ladened air tiring him on top of the few hours of sleep finally gotten earlier that morning. 

“Aie, Warden - thanks be to you for your forgiveness for my human failings, eh?” Armand tossed a small clump of sand at Ferox’s ankles. “It was not expected. Now, I must find a way to forgive myself, yes?”

There was nothing for Ferox to forgive, but he understood the other side all too well. There was a second and third watch every night and a sleepless space between when the mind was more prone to rant and point out failings. Over his shoulder, loud enough to be heard over the gentle breeze and lapping waves, but not much more, “I’m afraid I have little success in that particular task, and therefore no useful advice.” Guilt became another stone on the path, sometimes inset and barely noticeable, other times with a raised lip that caught his foot, or the worst ones were traps covered in underbrush that snapped shut unexpectedly.

“Ah, do not let _El Jeffe_ hear that, or he may seek to devise some method to assuage your guilt. Auck, while the lass I fancy, she is a bit far away to soothe the quiet hours and their dark thoughts.”

Shaking his head, Ferox left the Crow to his post and the often impossible task of forgiving oneself. Outside their yurt he remembered that he intended to stop to look in on Eleanor, as he’d not yet welcomed her back from the sudden swim in the deeps. It would wait, she had already been smothered by everyone else and Zevran already gave her what Ferox’s heart held. There was no need for more petting. Plenty of time and no time at all.

Sand was brushed off as he stepped into the yurt, leaving what he could outside - both his thoughts and the beach embedded in his short trousers.


	42. Of Oysters And Men

In the shade of the palms, the domed opening above created a breeze somehow within the yurt, a small one albeit, but one nonetheless, and with the large chunks of frostrock in their water filled globes, the yurt was quite cool. Cool enough that a light blanket would be more than comfortable, it would be needed. Faint blue light cascaded from the globes that hung from all over the rafters so it wasn’t dark at least. It was strange, the yurt, even when they used the smallest one that was barely big enough for two, never felt like a tightly enclosed space. Perhaps it was the height from the ceiling, or the constant airflow out the top. Ferox had to admit, he actually kind of liked the strange boil like structures. What a difference they would have made during the Blight -

“Do you think some of these could be set up, like the Dalish are putting out some of their retired aravels?” Ferox asked as he utilized the bucket of water by the door, the frostrock inside it glowing and making the water chilly enough for him to shiver when compared to the heat of the outdoors.

On the pile of cushions and bedding, his sun stretched languidly, rolling over and twisting to prop the aquiline jaw in one hand, the other, stretched before him, plucking at the fabric under it. “Mmn, I had not thought of that. It would keep the local shepherds and such in business... With all the refugees, I was thinking it might be interesting if we brought a _Ga’hals_ clan or two. If that were to happen, then there would be horse-stock, horse trainers, a new influx of sheep and goat types, and the knowledge of how to make things like this... Well, we already discussed bringing some over to the isles north of West Hills, but the span from the Korcari up around the Frostbacks to West Hills...that is fairly good territory for them...” There was a shrug, “Or I could just copy down the process as I know how it is all made and put together. Even the ones for the high wind and deep cold of the northern Dryland winters. Deep snow, winds that could bowl a horse over if it was not in a group of several, but it is a dry cold that tears into your bones. Even if I did not personally experience it, and only know second hand, I still was taught how to adjust the yurt to fit with that experience.”

Shucking the short trousers, the wet washcloth removed the salt and sweat from his face before he rinsed the rest of him in the brisk water. Dumping the bucket over his head would not be a good idea inside, tempting as it was. The _Ga’hals_ were another migrant group which might help balance the thought that only the Dalish couldn’t sit still in one location. Both groups would still run into the difficulty of the Ferelden nobles’ mentality having to ‘own’ land and if they owned it then why allow others to traverse it and enjoy what it had to offer? The smaller banns were more protective than the larger arlings or even the teynirs. Not that all of the land was productive, mapped or even traveled through by more than the wildlife. _And the Dalish, they probably know Ferelden better than anyone else._ Forests and mountains that were ‘claimed’, were not actually used since they were far too remote. However, forcing groups that depended on traveling to settle, would destroy the individual societies. Many Chasind no longer traveled with the herds of reindeer and caribou these days, and instead farmed and acted like most other Fereldens. This caused them to lose track of their gods, stories, and most other ways that made them unique, from their summer animal skinned tents to crafting the unique sinew wrapped bows. Yes, further to the south in the frozen wastes, bands of Chasind kept to the old ways so that they still existed, but it was dying out in too many ways. 

Ferox wanted to go there, to see it for himself, not just hear the stories, or retell the ones he knew. It was too cold for his delicate hothouse flower though and it was unlikely Ferox would have time to travel there anyway. His pile of ‘wants, but can’t haves’ seemed to grow daily as there was little time left for him in the land of the living, and the time that he had was already spoken for. He wasn’t disappointed, or sad, or even angry about the many things he would never accomplish, see, or enjoy, Ferox was more resigned than anything else - he’d given up fighting his fate. It just made him tired, and getting angry, that made him even more tired. Giving up took energy too. Thankfully, regret was something he was intimately familiar with, and didn’t take much energy to feel by that point - it was too much a part of him to ever relinquish its hold.

He didn’t care who came to Ferelden as long as they didn’t cause trouble and helped out somehow, not only in the rebuilding, the improvements, but in watching out for what was coming. They, meaning the crown and the only remaining teyrn - _’Cause counting Anora as more than just the rack it sits on, ‘til Len or Iona are ready, would be funny. Not like she actually does anything. She irritates people. Besides that_ \- thankfully she avoided actually voting - were spread thin. Each new group, such as the traveling healers, were given additional responsibilities to report the status of the places they traveled through, noting particular needs or treatment of the people, state of the roads, or if something felt or smelled wrong - relying on gut instinct - but it wasn’t enough... Ferelden was a rather large place. It may have been more than a decade since the Blight ended, but sometimes the progress made Ferox feel as though the wounds on the country’s population were all still fresh. 

_You’d think in more than ten years that we’d have more to show for it. Yeah, well, you can thank Zevran and Ignacio for the cities, Fergus for the Coastlands and the Bannorn, and Teagan for Redcliffe. Yeah, but that still leaves the rest of Gwaren, the Southern Reaches, and all the forests and hills between - hey, hey, wait. What? You’re forgettin’ that Kinloch, Haven and Honnleath are taken care of. Frell, you’re right. Maker, they keep so quiet, but it’s only been a few years for them... Still, no news is good news._

Not one for simply flopping onto the pile of bedding, no matter how inviting it was, along with Zevran rolling over to show the long line of his golden torso, Ferox did plunk down, the motion putting him in mind of Len coming to a rapid decision that it was time to sit, with legs just going out from under him. A contented purr thrummed from his sun before a cheek was rubbing at his knee, lips pressing to it briefly, before a sigh was released. _Still a kitten. Showing belly? Check. Purring? Check. Face rubbing against things? Check. Next will be the groom-_ A tongue scraped against the grain of the hair atop his thigh, following a thread of ink, then was licked back down. _Grooming? That’s what I was about to say. Just missing the kneading, the random appendage hugging, and a few nips. And the fur, he doesn’t have fur. True...but -_ feeling the mental cat arching against his spine, he played with the curling point of an ear between thumb and forefinger.

When his husband rolled onto his back then rocked to one side supposedly to arch and stretch his back and then to the other side, with his arms twisting to form an arc back above his head along the floor, Ferox was pushed too far, and pounced, hands and knees on either side, containing the cat. Really, Zevran was pushing him just too frelling far, being that way, bleeding off sunshine and relaxation like that, after having run around since that morning with not a stitch on. It wasn’t fair really, all golden and warm, and the way those eyes looked at him, he was so close to hauling him off and not coming back to the beach...not that he could make it to the townhouse in the first place; and falling over and blacking out from the heat was just so...so... _Unromantic? What? I was thinking about falling and hitting my head and you’re worried about romance? Do you even live in this body? True, you’re about as romantic as a yak. Am not, I’m a mabari. As Nune would say, ‘Mabari...play’. He would not. Would too, or something like that. ‘Sides that, he said you’re a dog. Was probably hoping somebody would eat me on the way home like at one of those grill places where you’re not quite certain what the meat is... That’s most of them. Maybe Light would bite the old goat? Not bloody likely, she likes him too._ Brushing the fine scruff of his cheek against the dark inked chest, regardless of the reason, Ferox was glad the line of his self-control had not been crossed. 

Unlike usual, Ferox didn’t have puttering on his mind, didn’t want to pretend to make a decision as to which ear was his favourite – left, _No right!_ , didn’t want to taste every bit of his elf... _Well, I do, but maybe later_ , rather he wanted Zevran right now or to be had. _Now._ No games, not slow, _Look oil! I think he already figured that out._

The purring increased and arms wrapped around him, “You are beautiful, _querido_. Though, later, we should probably give you a good coating of aloe paste so your skin does not overbake and peel.”

“I...what? But...I’m...” Dropping the uninked shoulder he looked to check if he had burned without realizing it. Brown, a little darker, Ferox usually didn’t burn. Not that he usually played on a beach quite like this everyday either. 

“The sun is drying, it does not take a burn to cause peeling,” lips clung and ghosted over his shoulder, tasting him quickly, the gentle scrape of teeth over his collarbone a soft press. “Mmnwhiskey, sun, salt, sand, and seashells instead of saltgrass. Interesting.”

Checking his other shoulder, the inked one, which was no help at all on judging a burn or a tan. Warning bells rang, _Don’t ask..._ “How do seashells taste any different from salt or sand and why would you taste them anyway?” _Maker...I said don’t ask!_

“Have you never put a copper bit in your mouth? Or a silver? Or a sovereign?” Zevran licked his shoulder again, the words clear, even as the air stuttered around from whatever it was with his lover’s throat or chest that allowed him to purr and growl while talking. “I also eat a great deal of shellfish, I have a great love of oysters, hmn? So my tongue has run across shells before. It is a subtle difference, but it is different, there are no actual words I can quite put it into, though, if you like, the memory is well within reach, yes?”

“Yes.” _NO!_ “I mean, yes it is.” _Seriously, stop talking. Better yet, stop him from talking by -_

_...The shell was smooth against his tongue, even though it rippled, and the footing that had attached the meat to it so recently scraped without scraping. Musky, salty, pungent, and fresh, with a hint of citric acid, only a hint of grit as the fresh, raw meat was swallowed and slurped down. It put him in mind of the best taste a man could offer, but cool instead of body warmed from a fresh spill of seed. Greedily another shell received a squeeze of fresh lemon before it was picked up, his tongue sliding around and under the meat, teeth dislodging the footing, and the shell, once again, stroked the underside of his tongue, while the mellow and thick taste slid over the top of it, to be smoothly swallowed again..._

_Not fair. Definitely, not fair. Don’t whine! I didn’t. Good!_

“They are best with a little bit of lemon or lime, though they are also excellent with some fresh horseradish, just a touch, or a bit of cilantro mixed with the lemon juice,” a hearty, happy groan and eyes closed in memory, the wet tongue sliding hungrily over lips in accompaniment. “You know, I would not be surprised if there is a good place for oyster beds near Denerim. Ah, I should definitely put someone on that. Shellfish are very good for you, lots of essences the body needs. Clams, oysters, scallops, prawns, lobsters, crabs - though those are really just sort of fatty, and not so good for you in comparison to the stationary shellfish. The big key is to get them fresh, and if cooked, to cook them alive. Otherwise, in the case of lobsters and oysters, best to kill them no more than a few minutes before consumption, otherwise the blood spoils and spreads, and that can be quite...unpleasant.”

 _Fine. Let him talk. But remember, he’s just trying to distract you._ Leaning down, lips tugged on a hooped piercing firmly and he growled before licking and sucking the not quite abused flesh. _’You are utterly gorgeous and I can’t think because of it. Tell me what you want and I will find it or kill it, and throw it at your feet as due tribute,’_ still growling.

Laughter within and without, _’Well I much rather you alive, nor do I want you at my feet, seeing as you are already in a very pleasant spot...’_ An echoing growl, playful as any, and Ferox found himself flipped, the twining and pouncing feline on him, and found his own nipple lavished. _’You know, the entire reason I had to nap, it was because the urge to yank your pants down was quite strong. Mmmn, it is not that I would wish to share the vision of how delicious you look, but more so that I could better enjoy looking at you, and if others got a look, well, I know who you bed, and it is not them.’_

Snorting even as he inhaled sharply, a breathing technique not for the faint of heart as he nearly choked, “They were all looking at you, Moira, Ani and Zama.” _Frell, and you were looking at Zama - which he warned you against doing, I’ll remind you. I was looking at the peacock, it was very different and very beautiful! You can look at someone and appreciate that they are attractive, or that something they’re wearin’, or something on them is interesting without looking-looking._ “And Sarah caught a few eyes herself, not that I was lookin’, ‘cause I only wanted to look at you, sparkling like chips of mica an’ blinding me.”

Long fingers worked themselves into his hair, and in the soft blue light of the yurt, Zevran’s gold eyes still shone and glimmered, casting back tinted bronze and silver flecks, voice warm and extremely pleased, “You speak like that, and I shall have to keep you with me forever, _mi hermoso corizon_. If you do not take care, I will fall in love with you all over again, and utterly without regret, be flowery to the point you will wish to kick me out on my ear, but I will have attached myself so tightly that you would be unable to.”

Ferox nearly croaked when he tried to speak and had to swallow to clear his throat as he dared to ask, “How tightly attached...exactly?”

There was a sinking sensation, not a bad one, but more like Zevran was melting into him, enveloping him, intertwining with him, like two threads twisted together. Moist kisses at the corner of his jaw where it met his neck, the warm chest pressed to his, fingers running and rubbing against his skull as the hands tipped his head back far enough for those kisses to be there, their minds folding together, messily but perfectly. In between the beats of his heart, his assassin’s filled that brief second of inactivity, just as his own filled the sun’s, leaving one long sound of blood moving in veins. They were one, they were separate, individual, yet completely attached. And warmth, so much warmth, it was always warmth, it was the constant warmth a farmer longs for, days just warm enough for the soil to be tilled, warm enough for the seeds to sprout, to grow, but never so hot that it would damage the precious and vital plant. Peacefulness, warmth, joy, love - words that were as close as Ferox could get to describing it. He wasn’t pulled in like this at West Hills to see from within his handsome Crow, using his eyes and ears to feel and to know, now instead, it was like seeing into the room from a comfortable chair inside it, the halls of Zevran’s mind open, open as wide as anything could be, perhaps as open and far reaching as the visions of the seemingly endless Drylands that had been shared. 

The Maker would have many more believers if he could show his Golden City like this. It was too much and yet at the same time not overwhelming, having distance without being far away, he was still himself as they breathed in the same air, the insides of their lips touching in rolling kisses, inside, but not inside, against, and separated. Certain that he hadn’t moved, he wasn’t where he had been, and his arms held tighter onto the body he remembered was once in his arms. 

Remembering to concentrate on his breathing, even though he hadn’t been holding his breath nor was he lightheaded, Ferox still felt like he was gasping, “Zev, that’s - ” swallowing again between kisses, trying to find the breath to speak, “ - that’s very close.” Zevran resting on him, kept him still, not that Ferox wished to run or needed a walk exactly, but the weight made it easier to actually focus on being separate again, not having to share space and vision. 

Gradually, and the feeling of reluctance present, withdrawing, until his sun was rubbing the tip of his nose against the corner of Ferox’s cheek. Longingly, _’Too close?’_

Faced with the total acceptance of everything and with his own inadequacies again, the question was too complex. It was the first time they had been that close since receiving the ink that lightened him and it was more, much more than before. Zevran was as close as two jugs of water poured into a glass and he was unable to separate the liquid back out. Yes, he wanted to be that close. No, he didn’t because he didn’t bring anything to the table, his jug felt comparatively empty, or the water was dirty...something vital was missing. Ferox kept searching for something he alone held, and there was nothing new to be given that Zevran didn’t already have. 

It wasn’t the right answer, but it was the truth, “I don’t know.” Maybe after forever it wouldn’t be...so much, big, wide, deep...vast, so vast. Not that there was a forever - he couldn’t even pretend that.

“Mmn, so long as you do not attempt to toss me out on my rear or my ear, it will be fine,” a kiss was nipped at the tip of his nose in a playful bite. There was a squirm against him, “Just keep me as close as you can bear, and I shall be content, _querido_. Though I cannot promise to not barge in time to time, since you did tell me to ‘stop by anytime’ before.”

The threatening growl was out before he thought about who was talking and he bit his tongue hard and tasted blood. Ferox didn’t intend to warn off and for a moment was relieved that if it had to be something at least it wasn’t a snarl. Not letting go, when the golden eyes widened briefly, he took a breath. “I’m sorry...for snapping.” Correcting himself, “I did say it and I meant it...I mean, I do...and you don’t invade. I want to be with you.”

The surprise softened quickly and Zevran’s tattooed cheek rubbed against his, “Shh, no apology is needed _querido_.” Slick tongue ran along the earring he wore, _’Besides, who says I do not like your growls? I only do not like when they are directed at me when I have upset you.’_

Why did it always feel tingly whenever his lover, spouse, husband...did that? What was in that earring - stone? - anyway? “I was gonna say that I like your ears and your rear too much to throw you out on them.” 

His hand slid over the rear in question and a possessive thrill shot between them as Zevran caught his tongue in the earring again. Apparently his husband was very aware of how it tingled and made Ferox’s hips jerk and twitch. Had that always been true, or was he just noticing it again...or for the first time? This wasn’t a terribly familiar thought and one of his concerns was that he was already beginning to forget.

A long, slow sinuous roll of Zevran’s hips, and the weight of his sun balanced on the spread hands that pressed on his chest. Toned and tautly smooth skin rubbed between his thighs, the playful and possessive nipping at his throat was paired with soft growls and deep inhales. Head tipping back, Ferox groaned, which was quickly taken advantage of, before his amorous assassin worked his way down, pausing to lick, suck, nip and kiss at him amongst the fact that it seemed like his husband was seeking to indelibly mark him. As though all the Work Zama inlaid wasn’t enough, or the piercing for the earring, or even the signing of his name with a dagger on the inside of Ferox’s thigh, Zevran appeared to need to cover him even more. His love was in luck, because Ferox needed to mark and be marked and claim and be claimed by him. 

Moisture spread along his manhood as it was given long licks, teeth teasing lightly with the loose skin of of his cock, and Ferox’s hands flailed to cradle the blond head. He had nothing to complain about, because it felt good as always, but he had wanted to bask and taste the sunlit skin rather than just be subject to its pleasures. Although he had asked what Zevran wanted and received a strong memory of oysters...the taste still at the back of his throat. _Maker_ , fingers knotting in his husband’s hair. It would take an act of will not to move, not to find his own taste. What heartened him was that Zevran was capable of seconds and thirds, and he would not go without for long. But with a hitched whine and tensing muscles, Ferox sent back the flavour shared with him as well as the thought of catching the ringed piercing in his teeth followed by a slow swipe of tongue over Zevran’s cock, if only to show what he wanted later.

A choked groan tore its way from his throat as his husband purred around his length at the thought, and faster than Ferox expected and without being deprived of his own pleasure, Zevran maneuvered so that he hovered over him, knees on either side on his head and that impressive length tantalizingly close. Lifting his head, really there was no need as his chin was brushed, but Ferox checked his husband, who hummed happily. True to his word...vision, his hands, which had flailed for balance when Zevran moved, instead now rubbed over the toned lower back and buttocks, warm with the sun. Tugging the golden jewelry with just teeth and tongue, he pulled the hoop until it would go no further, stopped by the bead that secured it, then tugged it back the other way. The first pale blue-white droplets had already welled up and frell if his husband’s description of oysters wasn’t dead on, though his assassin’s taste was always thinner with a hint of sweetness that he couldn’t resist. It was difficult to focus on giving while receiving, and he made a valiant effort, stroking his hands over sides, thighs, hips and back before clutching at muscular cheeks. The blaze of the sun brilliant in his mind, the feline alternated between rolling on him and twisting ‘round him, winding and coiling around his torso like a scarf or a long ribbon, just as the tongue on him did the same. Wrapping lips around the raised edge of the glans, he slipped over the edge and back again, tongue swiping the dripping opening. It was so hard to hold his own hips still, to not rock into the warmth that threatened to swallow him and Ferox knew that his muffled pleasure was still heard.

A hungry growl and fingers squeezing around his girth, left Ferox clutching at firm hips and with full mouth moaned his impending release. The threads were pulled from his throbbing tip, leaving him no longer able to resist from rocking against Zevran’s sucking. Helpless under the spreading, tingling heat, sharp cries were released around the the elf’s stiff member, and hips were pulled closer, deeper. With a soft, moist sound his cock was relinquished, drained dry, though his sun continued rubbing and kissing his groin between heartfelt moans of encouragement, until the familiar growling thrum followed the taste of spilled seed. 

Gathering his wits and strength, Ferox rolled Zevran to his back, finally making use of the oil, and guided his lover inside him. On hands and knees, as a supplicant, he hovered over the prone sun, sinking, enveloping, and being marked. First, seconds, and thirds, they were all good. The whole time his sun touched, stroked, petted, and alternately grabbed his head to pull him in for a needy kiss. It was exactly what he wanted. Soon, spent, tangle limbed, and slumped, Ferox stared dizzily at his assassin, who was purring and arching against him, supreme contentment radiating from him like the Antivan sun. 

“Oyster beds. Denerim. You’ll get your oysters, right?”

A quizzical golden eye opened to peer at him lazily, “That statement is perplexing, _querido_. The first part of it, it sounds like you are telling me to get them. The second part, it sounds like you are saying you will get them for me. The third part, it sounds like - “

“Peace, peace, Love!” Rubbing his eye-socket, Ferox struggled to muddle out the demanded logic. “Lay down -” he liked to think it sounded more like an order and less like a whine as he clutched Zevran to him. “We’ll both make sure that there’s enough oysters to satisfy public cravings.”

“I like the way you think, _querido_ ,” sweet amusement buoyed him along with lips over his cheeks, as Zevran gently untangled their limbs so Ferox could lay flat and comfortably, before reattaching himself, one of the blankets dragged up after him. This was good too, not as good as a few minutes ago, but very good - nobody was fighting or asking strange questions, everybody was tired, and all they had to do was give in to sleep. 

Some time later, awakening because there was someone squirmy - squirmier than Zevran, which took some doing - wriggled to tuck against his side, Ferox growled in confusion rather than anger. 

“Papi,” the voice definitely wasn’t from Len, but Ferox was blinking at the blue-brown eyes of his son, who had managed to worm into bed with him anyway, “Fox, can, can I sleep in here?” His eyes rolled around the yurt looking for the voice.

Zevran was replying, sitting up, “Bad dreams, _mija_?”

“Uh-huh,” there was soft scooting as Eleanor entered partially. “Granpapi an’ Mama tried to make them go away, but I can’t sleep, and I’m scared that the water monster’s gonna come up and grab me again.”

Voice thick with sleep, Ferox flung out an arm making room, or maybe it was a pillow, the back of his mind wondered if he was wearing at least a sheet, “Come.” Adding in two parts as the words took their time assembling themselves, “Eat monsters.” Taking a breath, “For lunch.”

Under just about any other circumstance in the last four years, the girls only came to interrupt sleep - except for Saturnalias, those just didn’t count as ‘interruptions’ - less than a handful of times. Eleanor twice, Elissa once, and that was it. Distantly Ferox knew that, knew she wouldn’t be there if it weren’t bad, and he was glad Zevran hadn’t shooed her away, and that he had managed to slur out a somewhat welcoming reply.

Eleanor was bundled up, nearly swaddled - _How can anyone sleep like that?_ \- by Zevran in one of the copious blankets before she was tucked up against Ferox’s side. Zevran lay back down and Ferox was glad that he was able to rest his partially pinned arm on his sun’s side, as it anchored him and kept him from feeling too crowded and gave him air. Len was already settled down, his favourite finger chewed on in his sleep. The scent of boy on one side, a little dusty with a little clean soapy scent, and the scent of a girl on the other arm mixed with tang of ink as Eleanor was never far from her notebook, tallying or taking notes. 

Kissing her cheek, he released some of his own worry in a rumble, “Glad you’re safe too, bunny.”

There was a snuffle, “Thank you, Uncle Fox.”

Another kiss was delivered as if that would make it better, chase away the fears, or even make the water a safe place to play. It was a bandage without salve on a scrape, it made a child feel better for a moment, but did nothing to heal the wound other than what the flesh would do on its own. But it didn’t make the comfort any less important to small ones, _Big ones too._ The nightmares would probably come and go, and so would Eleanor, but Ferox wouldn’t snarl when she would come in to be safe. It wasn’t much, but perhaps, at the same time, it was everything. Just being there for Len when the teething was at its worst, holding him, talking to him, all with Zevran, soothed their son. Even if it couldn’t actually remove the discomfort, even if having Eleanor come in and hide wouldn’t end the nightmares, it still helped. And that was as much as anyone could do. Did he sleep with his parents? Or even Fergus? Thinking back to his own childhood monsters - no, he slept with Horse. After all, the mabari was the one who found him and dug him up, so he was already safer and stronger than anybody else he knew, until Zevran hauled him out of the fort. Shuddering, he still hated that place, forcing himself to go when an inspection was required, trying to prove it had no hold over him. Sometimes he was even successful.

That evening there was another lazy feast, and Ferox wondered how long they would stay at the beach. Not that he minded, he liked it, it just felt very...lazy. _Yeah, and what do you do all day at Zama’s? Catalogue books? Sometimes. And sometimes I play in the dirt. And that’s different how from playing in water and sand? Stop being technical._ Zama had sent Ani to fetch some things from the house, with Tyronne and Alois to buy other items from one of the bazaars, so that while everyone was playing in the water, she was making some of those intricate sigils and circles. Coloured sand and chalk were brought, mixed together, and filled fresh lines in the sand, which Ulfric took an intense interest in, holding the bowls of colour and passing them to her as she Worked. 

_You did this. Quiet. If Zama truly wanted him gone she’s not shy and she would’ve told him right off. Instead Nune comes over to confuse you. I’m beginning to think that’s just required in Antiva. Something to do with the language or cultural reference...everything has to get lost in translation._

Nune had palmleaves in his hands, and was weaving them into mats, Eleanor and Elissa helping him, while Ferox was doing his best to keep Len entertained and away from the sharp edges of the fronds. All in all, it was very peaceful, even with the knowledge that Zama was Working, Working to keep Nune’s curse from reaching out and hurting anyone precious. He wondered what else she would do to ensure that bad luck and harm were averted, but didn’t dare ask when Zevran might hear. As a general rule of thumb, hiding things from Zevran wasn’t what he liked to do - at all - as his husband usually found out eventually and would be irritated that there wasn’t a sharing of burden. In this instance though, he was content to keep mum. Let someone else deal with the initial explosion of worry, what he felt in the amulet would be bad enough, and perhaps that mind who loved puzzles so, would puzzle out a way to get at the ones who laid the curse on Nune, and anyone who he cared for by extension. Actually, Ferox was counting on that, however, he was going to have to weather the world of Zevran’s hurt first, when he found out. _Because you knew and didn’t tell him and you can’t lie about it. Maker, I’m in trouble. Big trouble. Well, whatever you do, don’t ruin this, at least not right now. Let him get settled and work on accepting Nune into the family first, once that’s done, even the threat won’t cause him to toss the Commander out. Good idea._

Of course it would help if Zevran actually _spoke_ or made _some_ kind of gesture to the old Dust Wolf to cement everything into place. But as it stood, his husband was mostly avoiding Nune, and in fact, was out in the waves with Armand, utilizing some strange long plank contraptions to ride the waves. They called them ‘olo’, but the word didn’t really translate well, and Elissa dubbed them ‘surfboards’. Ferox was tempted to go out, but at the same time, it looked like a great deal of work just to paddle out and wait. Especially after he was warned about the amount of sharks in the area. Which was why the two Crows apparently went out with knives strapped to thighs and short spears. He had joked, asking if they were going to go hunting, but the two rogues had stared at him for long moments as though he had grown a second - _Well, third_ \- head before explaining that the sharks were more numerous in the evenings and mornings where they would be catching the waves. Of course it was also pointed out that those were the times for the best waves - and then was firmly admonished that the children shouldn’t go any deeper than their knees, because sharks were known to come extremely close, so close to the sand that it seemed unlikely that they would be able to come in and snatch a tasty morsel. 

It was still one of the most beautiful sights Ferox had seen in a very long time. Zevran with the rainbow sky at his back, the setting sun painting the heavens with glory, crystal clear blue waters rolling up into white-tipped waves, as his handsome elf guided the ten foot long board, his body weaving and guiding it with swaying balance back to the shore, where he would jog onto the sand from the wooden plank. And then he would cart it back off to repeat the whole process.

What was the purpose of this activity? The boards didn’t seem to be large enough to carry someone from place to place, just from out in the water to shore. Impractical for unloading a ship or passengers. Certainly looked to be a tool to build balance and dexterity he supposed while watching one of them tumble off the board into the water. Perhaps a tool to read the wave, to know what it would do, although what use that was, he couldn’t determine. Walking the beach with Len, collecting seashells and interesting rocks in collapsible buckets - or rather Len gathered, he carried and admired - Ferox couldn’t help but look back to the Crows and try to work it out.

Ahead of them Zevran beached and went flying, his body twisting midair like a cat, before he landed with a laugh and thump. “Ah-ha! That was a good one!”

Armand came next, flying as well as his board hit the sand, an unruly wave slamming into the back of the board, and his landing was slightly less graceful. “Bah! Damn your spine and flexibility to the Pit, you flaming elf!”

“Tchk, baby Crow has a bruise-y and no one pretty to kiss it away?”

“On my pride I suppose,” Armand snorted, dusting himself off.

Ferox offered, setting down the load, “My advice, not that it was asked for, is to get used to it and learn to like it, ‘cause it doesn’t go away.”

Len darted up, showing a seashell and grabbed Armand’s hand, forcing the Crow to stoop, “Seashell fo’yoos.” A kiss on each cheek was planted, “All beddurs.”

The Crow laughed, picking up Len, “Ah, my little Prince, many thanks! This is also a most handsome shell, it will be kept with other nice things.” Len’s legs kicked and hooked around the Antivan’s waist, who shot Ferox a look, “You should try riding the olo with _El Jeffe_ , yes? You might like it, and maybe your pride will be less bruised than mine, no?”

“Oh...now that is a fine idea,” gold eyes twinkled at Ferox. _’Mmmn...yes, yes I think that would be most attractive, nice long sweeping pulls in the water - oh yes, get thee to the board, **amora** , and let me teach you!’_

One more thing to be the straight man for. “Zevran, have I asked you to participate in a blanket toss? Wait that’s a bad example because you would be very good at it...not the musk ox push either and forget about wrestling... Maker.” Sighing, “Nevermind. What do I do?”

Armand was snickering and grabbed the bucket of seashells, “My Prince, come, let us see what the lovely ladies are doing...”

Zevran danced in place, which did all sorts of things, seeing as he was still naked as a jaybird. “Yes, yes, alright, out into the water with you!”

His husband had kicked the board a bit farther so it would float while grabbing his own. Ferox followed, heaving a sigh, and straddled the board once they were deep enough for him to do so. The paddling took more effort, and by the time they were out where Zevran said was ‘good enough’, his back was sore. _He better have some oil ready for a massage when we’re done with this. Hey, that’s not a bad idea - I knew I kept you around for some reason. Uh, probably because we hate each other and can’t get rid of each other? Shut up, I’m ignoring you now. Unless you come up with another decent idea._

“Now, we wait,” Zevran sat, bobbing in the water. “Of course, standing, it is something that takes a great deal of practice, so, for now, do not worry over that. Just stay on the board. When a good wave comes -” he pointed off into the distance, gesturing vaguely, “you turn the board around. Then you paddle with the wave, then just hang onto the board and let the wave carry you to shore, yes? It is fun, _querido_. And if you are able to stand after some practice, you will find that it is almost like flying, no? Great fun, great fun. Though you might like windsurfing better, that is even more like flying, though it is also much more dangerous - especially if you learn to flip the board and sail...hmn...”

Now the wind moved thing and had purpose, perhaps it was also useful, unlike this strange activity. True, there wasn’t any purpose in skipping rocks across the water or flying kites along the beach, but they were activities for children. Although he never understood the fascination with old men and games of horseshoes either...the metal ‘U’s weren’t even made for horses’ feet anyway. _How did you get talked out here again? I couldn’t come up with any Chasind games Zevran wouldn’t be good at. You could have said no. Seriously? He’s having a hard time staying on that board because he’s got ants in his pants. What pants? He’s doing that Look at me, you know, the glowy one. It’s really hard to say no to that. You try it sometime._

Trying to keep him talking so the light wouldn’t dim, “So why don’t we turn the board around now so when the wave comes we’ll already be pointed the right direction?”

“Ah, that is why we are parallel to the shore,” arms stretched out in opposite directions, one out into the bay, the other towards the shore. “We must watch for a good wave, then we turn, otherwise, the little waves, they will try to send us in, and we would have wasted all the effort of getting out here.” 

“And what determines if it is a good wave or not?” That seemed to be essential to the rules of what was appearing to be a game.

His husband took a moment to think about it, “You want one that is strong enough to carry you to shore obviously, so you want one that is rolling in, and appears as though it is continuing to gain height. However, you want to be on its peak as you ride it. Think of...of an avalanche, yes? If you were trapped on an avalanche, where would the ‘best’ spot for survival be? The top of the wave. So you use your balance to rock back and forth a little -” a hand made a swooping gesturing, wiggling side to side, “so that you stay at the highest point if possible. Unless it is a very big wave, but it is not the time of year for that, and storms would have to be on the horizon. The bay is a bit too protected otherwise for the big ones to come frequently.”

No wonder Crows played this game while sensible people stayed on the beach. _How does that explain - ? Shut up._ “A wave to ride is one that is getting bigger and it’s good to stay on top.” _Is he aware that you usually use your balance more as a counter weight? Are you calling me fat? Well, you weigh more than he does. Taller too, what’s your point? Well, you’re not exactly...graceful. Am too. Alright, I’ll grant you’ve got a certain...ponderous grace I suppose. Oh now that’s just too far._

Zevran leaned over, the board obeying him easily with a few leg paddles, to kiss his cheek, _’Do not worry, **mi hermoso corizon** , just follow my lead. And I will stay laying down also, yes? Or perhaps if you wish to take another go, I will ride on the same board as you. Just try and urge the board by leaning a little back towards our tiny camp.’_

Unfortunately, telling him not to worry was very similar to telling him not to be angry or maybe a little more difficult and saying not to breathe air. Ferox still snorted, a small bit of humour, “I’ll try, but there are absolutely no promises that can be made towards not worrying.

“Hmn, I have an idea, if I may?” He felt Zevran slowly deepening the link, gentle prodding and examinations made in the process, information on what to look for, feel for imparted, but it wasn’t invasive - not yet. _’I could guide you? Perhaps then you will also be able to stand.’_

Suddenly he had more awareness of just how the water moved under him, the way the board’s unfamiliar weight and shifting changed to something he could almost, just almost, understand. It wasn’t complete, he was still the one fully in control, but he could feel Zevran almost...lighting up muscles and reflexes, as though shining a path to what was needed. It put him in mind instantly of the little healer’s trick, directing the pitched melee training battles from the center. Taking a deep breath, Ferox shivered at the almost thrill, almost exhilaration of being on the verge of grasping something just out of reach. 

Blinking, steadying himself, his body instantly recognized the same moment Zevran did, that a wave was approaching, and he turned the board around. He wasn’t as swift as Zevran, he didn’t have the practice, the muscle memory hadn’t been formed yet, but he managed. As the board raised up, he began paddling with his arms, hands making cups to channel more water, aid in propulsion, as his legs went back onto the board, and then they were rushing forward, the wave building up height, and speed. The urge to push up with his palms came, and without thought, he followed it, thrusting up quickly, feet slapping down on the flat surface as he crouched. Practiced mental fingers kept him from ‘thinking about it too much’, leading his body to rock and sway, as the wind whipped his wet braid about, caressing him, the surge beneath his feet unlike anything he had ever felt before. 

Near the shoreline he kicked off of the board, landing in a splutter in the water, the board shooting into the sand. At least he hadn’t gone flying, but then he realized as Zevran _did_ go flying, that that was why the direction had struck. To spare him that spinning leap that required twisting midair in all sorts of crazy contortions, even how he had kicked the board away had sent it far from him so he wouldn’t get struck on the head. 

A training exercise, there was no other reason for it, but it was fun. He was very aware of the grin on his face, not from squinting at the sun, but from enjoyment and surprise. Splashing to the shore as Zevran yanked the massive boards further up and began burying them tails first - which was apparently taking a great deal of work, so he lent his strength to it - Ferox had to admit that this ‘surfing’ was something he could see the draw to.

Eying the board, _Board? It’s an entire tree. Well not a tree here. Are you still trying to figure out how a palm tree can be more like a grass than a tree? Why call it a tree if it’s not a tree? ‘Cause it’s tall and people are stupid. Anyway I haven’t seen a real tree here that’s big enough to make a board like this out of. So there._ “Why do they stand up like old grave markers?” Nothing good ever came out of those graves, except a set of armour. “Wouldn’t the boards dry more completely first on one side then turned to the other?” 

“Tradition, it is a salute to the waves and the places where those who are not fish do not belong,” Zevran shrugged. “It is a way of showing respect, a ceremonial marker, but not of a grave, like totems standing sentinel. Though it is also practical - picking something up that weighs nearly as much as I do, but is twice my height in length, and a bit under a third of my height in width - it is not something easily done, nor done quickly.” A hand patted the erected board, “This way, if I see a nice tide coming in, I can grab it more easily and dash into the waves, yes? And another reason for it being practical is if a tide starts to come in, or a particularly high wave, it is much less likely to float off. Like beaching a skiff or a rowboat, you want it easily taken back into the water, but hard for the water to take it away without you. Mostly though, tradition, honouring the sea, so that perhaps she will be kind to us during our next visit.”

Damn him and his always ready, far too plausible answers. _But you asked... Shut up, I can complain if I want to._ He did like the totem pole analogy, although they told stories and family names, were warnings and showed who roamed that portion of the land...these boards, although not light, were easily removed. Honouring the sea seemed that it could be a daily thing rather than seasonal like the land, but since the ocean was always changing, perhaps it required more frequent recognition, if one believed it needed that sort of thing. The explanation for the ease of use, however, was the most probable. 

An arm hooked around one of the long boards, and Zevran looked out to the waves, expression serene, “Those of us who have had the privilege to ride the waves, it grants a certain respect, the more it is done. A peace, and an idea of our place and value in the world is born, and a sort of...we are very small, bobbing along, able to catch a crest, and take it to the finish. It is quite symbolic. Rinna used to surf each day. Sometimes twice. We were always worried a shark might take her, as she would ride the midnight tides if those were the only ones she could catch. Llomerynn has some of the best waves, though Bastion, Hercenia and Wycombe are just as good. But she was born in Llomerynn, to a fisher family, and would go out with her father, each of them on a board, with a net between them, to catch eels and whatever bounty came to them.” He shrugged, “It becomes a way of life, a way to ground oneself, to let the mind slip away, and live and breathe with the world. A place where only the real world can touch you, not worldly matters, for they recede and become unimportant.”

Yes, if there was more than physical training to be found in riding the water in this manner, fishing was a very good use for the boards, one he wouldn’t have considered...perhaps the fish were smaller? Catching a large salmon or some of the bottom fish would be unfeasible on such little boards, and where would you put the catch? In a backpack? A shifting load of fish could throw off the balance on the board. 

“Grounding while not on the ground.” Was that even possible? “I can think of few things as changeable and without footing as the sea, perhaps in the air, but I cannot stay there for long. Except that you enjoy the water, I can think of no other good reason to be on it or in it.” 

Aboard ship was disorientating, the constant movement under his feet rolling, Ferox felt that when they sailed he lost the worn pathways of his mind more quickly than he did on land. Worse, the unspoken urges calling him to find the sandy bottom were much, much louder. This experience was different in that he felt Zevran’s bolstering joy, however, he was certain that his husband could feel his sinking, sharing it without intending to do so. Ruining this experience was not something Ferox wanted to do. 

Laughter rang out and arms went around him, squeezing, the open display, where any could see - though the beach was surprisingly empty when in the morning it had been rather crowded - was paired with a kiss. “ _Querido_ , how I love you, but _mierda_ \- you can be such a stick in the mud sometimes!”

Twitching and he felt a small smile tug at his face, “Stick with what’cha know. ‘Sides that, didn’t you say that you liked it when I ‘played in the dirt’ weeding Zama-mama’s garden? Something about smelling like outside?”

“Careful or I will take you right here, right now, on my knees, _amora_ ,” the threat purred along his jaw. “You are despicably handsome and tasty sometimes, even as a stick in the mud.”

“Oh I’m certain you really mean something else entirely - and I’m not holding still for punishments of any kind, across your knees or not,” purposely misunderstanding. 

More laughter and he found that Zevran had scrambled up, limbs all wound around him, like an overgrown child, so they were nose to nose, fingers in his hair, the gold eyes nearly crossed as they danced with mirth. “Tchk, so difficult.”

Rubbing noses, “Love, if I wasn’t, how would you know I was me, unpossessed and unadulterated?” It was tempting to just walk off down the beach with him, leaving everyone else behind. _If you escape a burning keep, what do you grab and take with you? La la la la la la la. I am not thinking about this. You grab your armour, stupid. He’s your armour...yes, yes grab the others too, I’m not saying leave them behind. Still not thinking about this!_ “If difficult started with an ‘A’ it would be my middle name.” As soon as he said it the right word popped into his head. Winking, “Something like Ferox Arduous Cousland.”

His husband snorted before licking drying salt water off of his neck, “Mmn, I prefer ‘Ardent’. Oh, I like that one, ‘Ardent’. Yes, yes, Ferox Ardent Cousland. That does have a very good ring to it, no?”

Laughing, head tipped back, arms around Zevran hips, Ferox spun in a circle much like he had done with Len to distract him. “Avid. Annoying. Aggravating. There are so many to choose from.”

“Ardent!” his assassin insisted, his arms throwing out wide, as Ferox continued spinning, turning faster, legs tightened, which left Zevran’s back arched as he gave a whoop.

“And here I thought it was _amora_ or _amante_ , after all, it’s what you’ve been saying since...since...” Warning himself to let go of exactly when that change occurred and figure it out later, before he lost the path and tumbled down a tangent, “Since forever.”

With a rocking forward, Zevran’s back straightened, his arms returning to his shoulders. “Ah, but that is my pet and affectionate reference of _title_. No, something to represent the ‘A’...Ardent is best, yes, yes. One can be quite Ardent about many things. Which you are.” 

“Ah, so I don’t get to be Arainai after all then?”

His sun stilled, head cocked, blinking at several times. “I did not think of that, _querido_. Nobles do not tend to mix their names with the common rabble, even if they will mix their seed and sweat.”

The past’s persistent growl returned without purposely summoning it, “Who says you are common rabble? And who else was that ‘A’ waiting for? Alistair? Anders? Maker, not Anora or Andraste.”

“Ah, no, I should hope not,” a derisive snort. “No, it did not occur, because I thought you were content with whatever it was as well as my various...legal status. Besides, what would your parents say? Nothing, in all likelihood, as good noble boys do not marry men, but would want you happy, so would probably, if I understand anything about your family, keep quiet so that they would not have to actually voice disapproval - because there would be no way for them to actually approve. That is just how life goes, _querido_. Eccentricities can be ignored, so long as they are not given formal title out in the world.”

It was his turn to snort, “More likely my parents wouldn’t say anything because they are dead, Zevran.” _Have been for some time._ “You are the one with living parents, adoptive and otherwise.”

“Who do not stand by marriage, as it is meaningless to them. Bonding perhaps, in Nune’s case - yet it is likely that all it was meant to do was ensure breeding. But in Zama’s? Marriage is an artifice of a world that has nothing to do with the plains,” shrugged. “Unions require no formal standing beyond what the people involved say.”

“But you know how much I like paperwork.” How did taking a name have anything to do with legal status? He knew how Zevran felt about ‘I am yours, you are mine’ and leaving it at that, and yes, he acknowledged how much harder a formal acknowledgement would make their lives, especially at the moment. The Chantry would be all over him, not to mention Anora, likely setting him aside ‘for reals this time’. “However, that has nothing to do with filling in the missing letters of a place holder of a name I have carried all my life.” Ferox had not thought that Zevran wouldn’t like the idea, but he hadn’t considered that perhaps his husband didn’t like the name, or more likely didn’t want to share. “If you do not approve or do not wish to lend it to me, in which case tell me ‘no’ straight out and I will not broach the subject again.”

“It is not that, it is that...the...overall reticence in most things, gave me the impression that it was not something that you would wish for,” brows beetling. “You appeared as though you did not require, let alone desire, such a thing. There has been a...distinct lack of ‘approval’ for many things, _amora_ , so why would I have pressed to mark you further? If you want it, take it, for all I have is yours and always will be.”

Taking was not what Ferox wanted, as a name was not something he ‘required’, as Zama said, he was ‘Algere’ and there was little doubt that he would continue to be cold. Looking over Zevran’s shoulder back towards the camp, it was time to change the subject and move away from dangerous ground. Putting thought to action, he moved towards the others, his husband still wrapped around him. “I am surprised that Eleanor sought us out yesterday. Would’ve thought she’d’ve slept with Moira before us.”

“There was a great deal of rustling from the other tents, I believe she tried,” Zevran rested his tattooed cheek on Ferox’s shoulder. “But there are times when only a father figure can keep the monsters away. And I suspect Len accompanied her to ensure her welcome, crafty little boy.”

 _It would have been less crowded if he hadn’t. Complaining? No, just frustrated. Disappointed you mean. Shut up. I’ve asked too much._ “He takes after his father in that clever manipulation. She doesn’t need Len to find her place with us.” Eleanor already had her place with them and didn’t need anyone to clear a path for her.

“That may be a fact that you and I know, but the children may not be aware of it, _querido_. The girls are cautious, even if it may not appear so, they have lost much, even though they gained in equal measure. In many ways, they have a life far, far better than they could have ever had otherwise. On the other, the cost was high. If you have not noticed, they are very careful in what they ask for, almost always, it is simple things. A hug, some time, a question seeking information, perhaps some more arrows or another journal or some ink if it is ‘things-things’.” His assassin squirmed to be on his back instead of his front, which had been doing all sorts of things to Ferox’s state, including rousing the burgeoning erection from something so simple as being near. “They pick and choose their battles, fearing that they will lose us - not the security of station, pretty things and the like, but of us. Len, Ulfric, Sarah, Nana, yourself, myself. Unlike Len, who has had only a very few instances of insecurity, which he does not even remember, they step lightly. Even when it seems like they are ‘all up’ in our ‘business’, they try not to intrude and grant us a privacy that most children do not give to their elders.” He sighed, “Sometimes I think it is almost better to be spoiled rotten. Because what spoilt child ever doubts their welcome or importance and their security of family?”

Grunting, he recognized the truth of it, not something entirely pleasant to look at either. Vigil’s Keep was forced to stand on its own while he defended Amaranthine from the darkspawn. At the time, he couldn’t see what more could be done. Anora wasn’t sending the troops requested, in the moment he had thought it was an attempt to be rid of him. The other reason was that she questioned where his loyalties lay, with the Wardens or with the Crown, meaning her. She really had no idea. More Deep Roads, Mothers, and worst of all the Architect and his talking darkspawn - _Leave that alone too. Don’t pick at it._ Back at their yurts it appeared that yet another meal was being prepared, children, Wardens, and their masters always being hungry. _You won’t let that one go, will you? Nope._ If he was to be a dog - _And here we go again..._ \- he was at least going to belong to someone. _Mabari choose their masters. Well you aren’t one of those. So he musta picked you. ‘Course he did, are you daft?_

A kiss was pressed to the back of his neck, at the nape, where hair met skin. _’We hobble along together, **amora** , covering where the other is weak, defending when the other is down, healing when the hurts are too much, raising each other up however we may, as we stumble through life. That is what it is to be alive, and find joy where we can.’_

“Yes,” agreeing to what he could. That is, what little bits of happiness were available between the narrow spaces of duty and responsibility would be enjoyed. Joy itself was something to look at askance, checking to see what trap it led to, identifying what it would cause him to ignore, and, worst of all, what he would have to give up if he gave in to that joy for a time. 

Skin pressed against him and he wore Zevran like a cloak, arms around his shoulders, legs around his waist, he couldn’t get much closer without Ferox stripping down too, and that was not going to happen in polite company. What was it about being at the beach that brought out his love’s not so inner nudist? It wouldn’t have mattered if the rest of them wore winter clothing, even if it was needed, Ferox was certain that Zevran would have still peeled down to as little as possible, removing what confined him. It was strange, because like the baths Len would often taken with them, it was a demonstration of how someone so sensual could take what Ferox considered sexual, and make it...normal. He still dreaded going to the public baths, though if they were anything like the large bath that had been taken at Alcazaba, he might be able to manage. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable with himself, per se, on the contrary his tasks usually involved putting attention onto himself. But exposing oneself to the elements, not to mention unprotected, to harm, in public seemed naked - _Ha ha_ \- stupidity. And why go to a community bath when there was a perfectly good tub at home?

Zevran on his back felt normal. He didn’t recall the elf riding around on his shoulders on their ‘Great Towers of Ferelden Tour’. _You called him your armour._ No, that wasn’t it, perhaps Zevran was replacing the weight of the armour, he hadn’t worn the heavy stuff in some time. The leather and flexible chain mesh, although wonderful to move in, just didn’t feel the same, and he wouldn’t go up against a dragon in the leather or the chain or any combination thereof...perhaps added to the heavier inflexible materials. Yet for all its advantages, the heavy volcanic or dragon scale armours didn’t kiss his neck or shoulder, or press their noses behind his ear and purr, which were all actions that caused him to rumble peaceably.

“Mmn, you know, I think, after Iona and the twins are a few years old, we will have to find some way to return,” the smooth jaw hooked over his shoulder, a happy sigh issuing. “So they can ‘wim in da warm waddur’.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult. Not everything requires you or I to be hands on. It’s why we have so many to delegate to.” Five years old was Warden age twenty-two. Still time. “It would be convenient to reestablish connections,” mulling the complications, much like they did when planning this trip, or at least he assumed Zevran had done it prior to the trip and worked around any issues. As for Ferox, he spent the time aboard ship doing the same deep examination of possible problems that could arise from absence. 

“And of course Faizal would wish the children to meet all his children, playdates for all interested, hmn? Oh, now that is an idea...” The rambling was back and it was Ferox’s favourite music. “We could see if there might be some merit to hosting families time to time, for political and trade agreements, and to see if the children might be interested in ‘sealing the deal’ when they are older. It would mean that if such a political marriage did result, that at least they would not be married off to someone they did not know.”

 _Bad enough you knew what you were getting with Anora. That wasn’t arranged, you chose. Remind me not to ask you about marital advice, or at least about picking ‘em out._ “Their choice, always. I don’t care whom they choose, as long as they’re happy - all of them.” 

“Of course, _querido_ , however, the guise does enable increased trade, passing of important information, closer ties, even if marriage is not chosen,” a foot kicked out, bronze toes scrunching in the air. “Also, it will not look strange to those here, there, or outside. They will see what they expect to see - kissing up and trying to jockey for a better set of trade deals, rather than bringing the countries, their resources, their defenses, and their intelligence closer together in preparation. Also, it will make the Guild stay on their toes - the back and forth would require Crows for bodyguards, and they in turn will bring back news that is unvarnished of the progress and our dedication to defense. That will mean some of the pressure for me to impart ‘intelligence’ will become far more relaxed, and I will be seen as doing something practical for the House, while at the same time, being free to do it.”

“I have said that I love how you think, yes?” mimicking his spouse playfully. _You and Faizel, who appear to be agreed on the whole political dance, are going to be hurting my brain._ He’d be nodding, signing, and keepin’ his mouth shut in no time a’tall. _You’re not fooling anyone._ “And hopefully give our ‘Isolde fashions’ a new outlet and following,” sighing.

He could veritably see Zevran making a sour expression. “Those clothes are hideous and impractical for the terrain here, _querido_. Even if they were made entirely of silk. No...no perhaps we should focus on something different for exporting of that. I suppose we could simply bring Sa’id’s wardrobe with us like I said.”

“Impractical for the terrain? They’re impractical for wearing, walking, or even standing still. Seriously, what’s with these ‘wigs’? And walking sticks for everyone? Can’t even touch the ground with ‘um cause the damn skirts are too big. And if I wore buckles at my knees I’d be feeding them to the tailor - that simple.” 

There was a chuckle, “There could be a ‘merchant’ or ‘artisan’ line. One that combines certain elements of Antivan and Orlesian fashion. Orlesian corsetry with a few petticoats, tails for jackets and plenty of buttons on the breast of said jackets, and Antivan skirts and leggings.” 

Another sigh after his ‘rant’, “Could just make up our own with the linen, fur, wool and leather which are all things we’ve already got, warm and practical. No, I’m not saying that I’m giving up a silk shirt or four, but I think that a split skirt, soft wool leggings would be warmer and more easily accepted by everyday Fereldens than the _merde_ Isolde’s wearing and shipping back. Not saying that the patterns aren’t interesting...when not all combined with each other, but that doesn’t mean we can’t copy individual ones.” The nobles would wear whatever caught their eye, whatever was new and interesting, but it was not clothing them that interested him.

“You and I need to go shopping, _amora_. Leggings and split kneelength skirts are everywhere,” an effervescent kiss was pressed to his cheek.

“Zev...” certain it was a whine as Ferox hated shopping. “I don’t need to go shopping to know that they are everywhere. I meant, made out of things we make or grow at home. Practical, warm, materials that aren’t imported. The only thing I want to bring back is the ideas, nothing we have to pay for. We’re gonna be importing enough and not have the coin to pay for it without some exports as is.”

A tongue slid over the shell of his ear, purring little licks. “So that they can be deconstructed and reverse engineered, _amora_ , not for the fabrics.”

His head rolled back to give better access and as his eyes shuttered, Lightning looked at him from across the camp where she appeared to be having a deep conversation with Nune. Must have whimpered without meaning to. “Shopping. You just talked me into it.”

“It will not be as unpleasant as you think, _amante_ ,” lips moved as they pressed to his ear, the voice pouring straight in, making the tiny hairs in the canal tingle and twitch, causing Ferox to be undecided if it tickled horribly or tickled wonderfully. “But first, you will get to play in dirt. Lots of it, a few hundred acres of it, hmn?”

“You know that eventually we’ll have to go home and I’ll be so spoiled that I’ll throw a temper tantrum when I have to get back on the frelling boat an’ you’ll have to pick me up over your shoulder just to get me on it an’ lock the door of the cabin so I don’t sneak off.” 

Oh it was most definitely whining. If there were truly acres and acres of dirt, worse if it was productive dirt, he was doomed. It was always hard to leave Amaranthine and he never touched a plow or a hoe, let alone milked anything, or helped with shearing, or calving, or for love of the Maker, lambing, because if he did, he wouldn’t ever go back to Denerim.

“Hah! All the more reason for us to get Brandel’s Reach well-behaved, then you can grow some things that need open space - coffee, cocoa, sugar cane, tea, some of the more delicate rice varieties that will not grow on the mainland, definitely fruits and nuts, because we cannot cover Ferelden in greenhouses,” the items ticked off. “Do not worry, we will manage.”

Manage? Zevran was going to put a great big plate of sweets or fruit bread or...or...empanadas in front of him, encourage him to eat all he could...trouble was they were addictive and one bite would lead to another until he couldn’t stop. It was better to go without any, than try to only have one or two. 

“Well, if the business was not so pressing, and if the little bun was not growing in Anora’s frigid oven, I would suggest becoming dandy wastrels.” A shrug that shifted and rubbed against Ferox’s back, “But we will find our fun and comfort there anyway, and only pretend to be dandy wastrels when we _make_ time, yes? And we will make time, _querido_ , none of this working thirty-eight days in twenty nonsense that you occasionally seek to pull. If we are exhausted, we do no good for anyone, ourselves, or our family, hmn?”

Like he could ever relax enough to become a wastrel. And to look like a dandy, all he had to do was let the girls dress him from Sa’id’s not-closet. “I’m not exhausted,” he felt like Len, denying that he was tired all the while fretfully rubbing his eyes and yawning. “I’m plenty relaxed, I haven’t done anything useful for two days - “ except for take a walk that morning before it got too hot. Light kept him company instead of the flock, but he wouldn’t put it past one to have shadowed close to the line of big palm and coconut trees that were everywhere.

“You are purposefully misunderstanding me, I mean when we return to Ferelden,” a finger tapped him in the center of his chest as the arms tightened into a squished hug. “No more saying ‘but I just want to read one more missive, then I will go to the library and read’. No, no, it will be one day of full rest every eight. And I do not care if that means the week is odd. If I thought I could convince you to devote one day a _week_ to resting, relaxing, and such, then I would. Eight days is the compromise. If I have to take a day off, so do you, that is that.”

“Says who?” Growling, Ferox wondered what title Zevran would pull out of the air. “Wait a minute, who said we were compromising, anyway? I wasn’t even negotiating yet.” If the elf wasn’t careful he was going to get thrown out into the ocean by an arm and a leg and then everybody’d want a turn.

“Says your loving husband,” the tip of a nose rubbed at his temple. “No negotiations, they are moot. If you try to work on the eighth day, small ones will be sent in with demands for attention, big eyes, and far too many kisses for you to deny without roaring, and that will only make them all start crying, best to just give in - you have been outmaneuvered.”

“Moot? Outmaneuvered?!” Now it wasn’t just the hound looking at him as he stalked to the shoreline, Zevran still perched on his back, “Last I checked, it was my personal secretary who was in charge of the frelling schedule, not a man who won’t make an honest man of me.” Wading out into the surf, up to his knees. Somehow, Ferox grabbed the rogue’s wrist and ankle, pulled him from his back and with a spin not quite unlike heaving a flattened four and a half pound stone at the harvest games, and with a grunt, threw his husband into an incoming wave.

If Zevran wasn’t one to avoid squealing, then Ferox would have called the sound something akin to it. The sharp intake of breath from the onlookers behind him was almost as interesting. Splashing, flailing, laughing and sputtering, his assassin burst up from the water, nearly running on the water to attempt to tackle him to the sand. Waiting long enough to see that Zevran was safe, Ferox didn’t stand around, but instead, grinning broadly, he took off down the beach. He wasn’t faster than the Crow, but a few steps ahead would buy him a moment or two before he would have to dodge to evade ‘capture’. Laughter hot on his trail, when he went to begin dodging, his lover went the other way around him, forcing Ferox to turn around as fast as he could. It was like a game between a cat and a mouse - _Overgrown cat and a dog. Hound. Mabari. Dog, whatever_ \- where Ferox had to try and dash as fast as he could in opposite directions, while Zevran skidded around him each time. Changing direction again, he went from trying to keep away to chasing the glowing golden blur, until finally snagging him around the waist, they were rolling around in the sand. The sun had long since set by then, and both of them were winded while they laughed, and afterwards, they were in desperate need of a quick rinse. Remembering Zevran’s warning about the children and sharks, Ferox copied his husband’s motions, not going very deep in the water, and squatted to splash the worst of the sand off.

Hip to hip, arm about the other, they returned to camp and family, another day successfully frittered away.


	43. The Desert in the Oasis

[Zevran] 

Ferox had been so relaxed by the beach, that Zevran had had a few quiet words with Armand, Nune and Zama, which had them extend their little camp out trip for several days instead of just the one. He tried to send a little ‘extra love’ each time he saw his broad shouldered _shemlen_ do something ‘fun’, or special. Like when he took the girls for a jog, just them, for ‘Uncle Fox’ time, likely in hopes of helping the girls’ deep seated wounds heal a bit further. His Warden wasn’t what anyone would consider a jovial or extremely affectionate person, so each little gesture meant the world, each little step without prodding or request, was priceless. 

It was like the first trip to Amaranthine, with Eleanor drawn into Ferox’s saddle, a decision to be tolerant made along with the potential of further involvement. So to encourage it, Zevran did all he could, not just for the children’s benefit, but for Ferox’s as well. Nune had hung around much to his chagrin, and helped out in that department as well, even if Zevran did his best to not be alone with the scarred elf. He had no actual interest in knowing the man. Hypocritical as it was, he just didn’t want to know, care, or experience the man who admitted that he was Zevran’s father. The children adored him of course, ruined face and all, yet there was something about him that made the Crow very uneasy, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. 

And Zama’s insistence that the entire family, with or without Nune, had to remain together, along with her sudden gathering of supplies for Work, had his teeth gnashing. At first he had believed it to just be something to help impart comfort - her own, and for others - over what had nearly happened to Eleanor, but drawing out needles, that wasn’t something she did unless she fully intended on doing Work. Real Work, not just little charms, but actual inking. Varane and Fymie’s irritable growls and hoots had shown just how serious the _pintore_ was about it, as lines were tapped into their tiny bodies as she put them down into a trance. _That_ was _not_ Zamitie’s usual reaction to _anything_. The very idea of her placing Work on infants was foreign and alarming, no matter that it was clear and made of oils rather than visible inks. When asked, she had only said it was for luck and protection and that he should let her concentrate. 

He wasn’t going to get answers right away, but she would tell him eventually - and he wouldn’t like it in all probability.

So he set it aside, and the whole gaggle of them traveled to _La Villa Bonita_. Excluding Nune which was a minor relief, no matter how the children both big and small pouted and even Ferox seemed disappointed, clapping the elf on the back. Lightning even whined, making faces at them, almost like Horsie begging for something. As appreciative as he was of what Ferox, and even his own daughter were trying to do, Zevran wasn’t going to try and lend his weight to the rest of the family’s desire in that. If Nune wished to return to work, he wouldn’t stop him. 

They stopped by the townhouse long enough to drop off the wagonload of things the flock had wound up carting out, and the large amphorae that had been borrowed from Ignacio’s were left there as well. They would keep just fine at Zamitie’s for however long. Ponies were rented for the women, as well as a small chariot, while the rest of them rode. The yurts were unnecessary baggage, and while Ferox had raised a brow at the fact no camping supplies were brought, Zevran had just smiled. He would see soon enough how a proper road was built and how little camping waystations could be utilized. 

After a proper bath, they set out at the end of _siesta_ so to be able to get through the city to the first stop, which was a large inn, but after that, it would be yurt hostels the rest of the way. Not that it would take long. A spyglass was in hand, and the first morning out, right after leaving the inn, he had tossed it to Ferox so he could look out at the wide, rolling valley.

As the land was taken in, easily a hundred questions piled up in the amulet, and all unasked, they were swallowed down. Then the glass closed and extended towards him. Words carefully chosen, curiosity seemed to be tightly leashed, “This land is large and productive.”

“Productive, large, yes, but it is also beautiful,” Zevran pushed the glass back at him. “Look your fill, _querido_ , I will answer any questions you have that I can. Those that I cannot, well, Vela should be able to answer more, and some of the section heads can answer more, yes?”

Almost dutifully, the valley was scanned again. Their link picked up on Ferox’s mental stumbling, oddly it was scramble backwards as if the man was putting distance between the scene and himself.

Reaching out, letting his concern and support fill Ferox, _’ **Querido** , what is wrong?’_

His husband repeated, the elaboration stilted, “The land is large and productive. It can feed the entire city. This is a good thing.” As he would not take it, the spyglass was tucked away, instead, Ferox relied on closer sight, clearly overcome with the vast lushness.

Hazarding a guess, _’You are comparing Ferelden to Antiva, yes?’_ He felt the affirmation before it was squashed, and Zevran managed to not sigh. _’Antiva has had a few centuries since the last major strife. Ferelden has had only a few years. Before that, there was Orlais. Before that there was civil war. And before that, likely other issues. It has never been a place where a large enough quantity of people congregated to settle it, unlike Antiva. Antiva is easy to farm, at least in some places. The heat may be deadly and there may be many animals that are out to kill us, ones that do not shun populated areas, but in many ways, it is a hospitable place, where our ancestors could multiply and be unworried over short grow cycles.’_ He squinted up at the sky for a moment, thinking of how to put it into words, all too aware that Ferox would take it as bragging or judgement, even if that was not how it was meant. _’If you wish to compare and contrast, then you will have to compare the roots. The roots of this plant that is Antiva, are secure in soil that is rich in the things it needs for it to grow quickly and easily. It does not have to struggle for success, success is handed to it. The plant that is Ferelden, it must be tended. Paid attention to, it must work harder, because the resources are fewer. This does not make one plant better than the other, it does not lessen the successes of the Ferelden plant. In fact, the Ferelden plant, it is stronger, it is not delicate and will not bow and break if a bad storm comes, or some other natural thing. True, it will not grow well, but it will grow. Just because Ferelden has a harder time, that does not mean it is lessor, so please, do not compare and say one is better than the other. They are different, nothing more, nothing less.’_ Seeking out another analogy, _’What is better? Men or women? In general, not in terms of your physical preference. Are men superior to women? Or are women superior to men? No, they are equal, yet different, separate, yet together.’_

With a curt nod, Ferox worked it over for several miles, much like he did when they rode across Ferelden. His eyes were not lowered and did not look away from the fields and plantations they passed, but there was still a backwards mental step and an odd recurring emotion, one Zevran was not used to feeling from his Warden. It was a base longing, not for him, or for food, sleep, comfort, or even sex - this was something entirely different. If he could give Ferox whatever he wanted, Zevran would in a heartbeat. His beautiful warrior had done so much for others, why should the world begrudge him whatever he wanted? But the world wasn’t the problem...

If he thought Ferox would listen, Zevran would explain why the basin valley was so fecund. Because of its bowl shape with the great slash through it of the Seleny River, the valley was able to pick up a great deal of sediment. Outside of the basin, were the Weyrs to the south and the more hospitable Green Dales further south of that, the Drylands to the north, and directly to the west, the Seleny. Its yearly rise and fall was left uncontrolled outside the basin, but inside the valley the floods were tightly controlled with a series of locks and dams, where some enterprising and inquisitive scholar had done a great deal of research at some point. His findings had been intriguing - there was evidence of similar dams going back in layers, with some of the architecture having dwarven ingenuity, but elven organic aesthetics. Once or twice Zamitie had hinted that the basin had always been settled since people had been in Thedas, first by elves, then humans. So it had had thousands upon thousands of years to collect sediment dredged from the dams’ mouths to be spread over the small hills, along with the ash from the periodic eruptions of Whitespire. All of it was trapped within the valley, the country’s most arable land. If drought struck, it would take out nearly every other settlement long before it was even _felt_ in the Antivan basin. 

That was why the countryside they were riding through looked as it did. It was the best Antiva had to offer, and likely all Ferox would ever see. There were places that would be wasted and ugly to Ferox’s farmer’s eyes, because they weren’t the sort of places he could conceive of living and planting things in. Yet people lived there and lived there well enough. Not so extravagantly as those in Antiva City, but they lived. They ate, they raised families.

Ferox was trying to compare apples and oranges, gooseberries and guava. All they had in common was that they were fruit, and some of them grew on trees. But his lover’s longing wasn’t for apples, or even oranges, but guava, sapote, and papadilla, with saffron tea or a cold cardamom laced lassi. The only thing he could think to do in the moment was keep threads of his mind and emotions intertwined and stroking along Ferox’s, the mental feline purring and winding up beneath fingers so its warmth could be felt. For the long term...

_Faugh, I may just have to swallow my dislike, and ask if Nune would consider putting a mercenary outpost on Brandel’s Reach. We do not have the soldiers to patrol it, enforce and bring Ferelden law and order to it,_ grumbling to himself. But with a good-sized Dust Wolf outpost, a few plantations could be planted, and rapidly. It would be an economic venture, which the Free Blades were welcome in Antiva to do, and had done in the Weyrs and Green Dales, where one of the offshoots of the Minanter River promoted growth. There were great marshes as well, but the land was arable. Several years, instead of a decade, could see at least the smaller island with its two sub-islands settled quickly. And since Brandel’s Reach was technically Ferelden, and technically part of the Highever teyrnir, and by extension, the bann of Brandel’s Reach was beholden to Amaranthine... Ferox had the authority to give the mercenary band dispensation to build there. The cost of the contract to patrol would be covered by the cost of the land, and profits could be split from what grew. That would get Ferox some taste of the things he liked, but it wouldn’t be Antiva. 

It would just have to do. 

The joy of the previous days had emptied, drained away, as if the bottom of a jug was unexpectedly broken. Swings of mood were not unusual for his Warden, there was always a reason, even if it was only waking poorly. While it was true that Ferox didn’t like traveling, he was less disgruntled if the destination was known. Today however, the travel seemed barely to register, it was a disturbance related to the valley that overfilled the cracked vessel, almost shaking him. Later, after _siesta_ , when the sun began to set over the mountains, the light bright in their eyes before finally winking out, Ferox’s shoulders relaxed, his _shemlen’s_ vision blotting out what he appeared to not want to see. Seeming relieved, he rode closer and spoke with the children, letting their chatter flow around him.

Not so many hours later, inside their rented yurt, Zevran stared at the rise and fall of his husband’s chest, as Ferox was slowly unwinding even more after entering and going about his routine. _’Perhaps we should turn back, I find my urge to see the plantation has waned, **querido**.’_

_’You wanted to see...hrm, it started with a ‘V’...’_ The heel of a palm rubbing an eye socket as if that would help him remember, which it didn’t. _’Anyway, Zama seems eager to arrive there as well.’_

_’Then she, the twins, Ani and Uailil can go on,’_ he pressed. _’It is not worth it to go.’_

Sighing, _’How much further is it?’_ A thought flickered out where the Chasind eye coverings were, even though Ferox hadn’t used them at the beach, where they were most likely to have been helpful. _‘Varel? No...’_

_’A day and a half, two stops, we will reach it by **siesta** of the day after today,’_ he shrugged. _’It is an unnecessary visit, frivolous and unwanted.’_

_’And something you wanted to show me. It didn’t sound frivolous then.’_

_’You do not want to see it, you do not want to see any of this, so we will not see it, and we will return to the beach.’_ Warning, _’Do not pretend you want to see it when you do not, **querido**. This is doing you harm, and I am sick of that. Enough hurts are lashed out at you, that I, and anything I possess, refuse to be the source of more of it. And that trumps my desire to show it to you. Why would I want to show you anything that made you feel sick? Feel pain? Why? I am no sadist, **querido** , which you should know well enough. Each time I have done you harm, it was never the intent, and I will not start doing so now.’_

Rolling on his side, Ferox tugged him closer, an arm under his head, the other around him, and sliding a leg over his, hooking his hip with the crook of a knee. It was like one of the girls would sleep with a favourite stuffed toy, completely wrapped around it. _’You have said that the children would enjoy it. They want to run and play where they can feel safe. Eleanor doesn’t have that on the beach and there is no room to run wild at the townhouse. You are not causing me harm and I will not disappoint them.’_ His husband rumbled against his ear, the sound that always accompanied an endearment, and kissed his forehead. _’For their happiness, let it be, Love.’_

Releasing a frustrated growl, _’ **Como desees**.’_

_’What I desire has little to do with anything.’_ A mental clearing of throat, probably having said more than he wanted, _’Zevran, I’m with you. This is what I want,’_ arms and leg tightened around him, affirming that. _’There is no injury or bruising and I am only disgruntled and disorientated - it’s just another day. For our children’s sakes I can put up with that much. If we returned now, think of how that would be adding disappointment and guilt to what is already there. I could not enjoy it.’_

And in that statement, Ferox, with his usual ability, swept anything Zevran felt had merit, aside. He should really be used to the constant cacophony of ‘Woe, I do not matter’ and ‘Woe, I Am Duty’, even when it was couched so prettily. Sometimes he just wanted to smack his husband around a little and tell him to grow up and learn that all duty and no play, no joy, no sense of anything _but_ duty, really, really got old. And was downright stupid. Frankly, it was a bit...juvenile. Something in keeping with a fourteen year old trying to mimic a ‘responsible’ forty year old, where cracking a smile, and any ‘rest’ had to be justified and tallied down into cost-result equations. Ferox didn’t have an excuse to always be that way, there were items in life to enjoy, things to not feel guilt over enjoying, but no. No, it always had to be ‘Duty First, Self Does Not Exist Until It Breaks Down, Then Kick It A Few Times To Get It Back Up Again’. Zevran may live for duty as well, but that didn’t bloody well stop him from taking time for himself, doing things for himself, finding happiness - and if he couldn’t _find_ any, he’d damn well _make_ some - for himself.

Perhaps that was why he didn’t like Nune - because he was married to a man just like his sire. One he had to live with, and one he could kick out of his life for such things. Not that he wanted Ferox to change, but would it kill him to try and be happy and relaxed without someone dragging him kicking and screaming to it? Zevran had enough issues with having to constantly be the buoyant one, and it was becoming difficult to find the bright side of things when Ferox was always feeding him gloom. His life after Ferox’s death would be dark enough without something bright to gird himself.

_’As you say then, **amora** ,’_ pressing a kiss to his chin, relenting, because there really wasn’t anything else he could do. 

_’Good, ‘cause I wasn’t looking forward to explainin’ to - how many sets of big eyes? Four? Five if we count Light - that we weren’t going.’_ Ferox didn’t roll to his back, stretching out to align his spine, instead with a nose breathing in his scent, his husband seemed content where they were. Another squeeze, _’Thank you.’_ The amulet indicated the gratefulness was for offering an escape and letting him choose differently. 

In the morning, Zevran didn’t point things out to Ferox. He didn’t point out how the road was paved, or explain how old it was, he didn’t talk about the economics of the plantations. Of how many plantations had small garden plots set specifically for the slaves, so that if there was something the plantation didn’t generate for them, they could do it themselves. Or how the waystations were often run by the younglings from the dairy farms, or plantations that had a bit too much in the way of adolescent slaves, but not enough work for them to be apprenticed to. How slaves often had small barter businesses amongst themselves and the plantations that touched theirs. He didn’t point out how coin could be made, selling more of the water purifying runestones, or even renting them out, which would be even better for generating coin, to the plantations. Granted, they mostly tapped into the aquifers, wells, and the Seleny, but there were also, off in the distance, the thin, humped ridges of the aqueducts that brought in water to be deposited in the massive underground wells. 

No mention of how, at some point in the last few thousand years, someone had inlaid great pipes, big enough for two carts to sit, side by side, and ride through, that were buried many yards beneath the ground, tunneled into the bedrock. When he had read about that, and asked Sa’id why put pipes where there were tunnels, the mage had said it was because water ate stone eventually. The pipes enabled a buffer, terracotta baked, and then framed in wood, which was then framed in concrete, before they were wormed into the tunnels that were the original routes the water was brought in. 

Sa’id’s books hadn’t said, but it was definitely not the Tevinter who had made the tunnels and the original footings of the aqueducts, as it predated their claim on Antiva City. But the pipes, the bigger aquifers that were manmade, were expanded upon almost as soon as the Tevinter turned their focus on Blights and the Anderfels succession from the Imperium. All of these were things he knew Ferox would find interesting, but he didn’t bring them up. He could feel how much Ferox didn’t want to know anything, not when it was in front of him, and he was doing his best to not see it. Instead of discussing the points of history, asking questions and possibly coming up for reasons why such and such thing were done, how to apply that knowledge to Ferelden and the like as they usually would, they barely spoke. The children filled in the silence at least, and sometimes Zevran would dismount and hold Len or Ulfric on his saddle, so that they could get a feel for riding a ‘big boy horse’.

The packed gravel over tightly packed dirt road came, and they turned down its lane. On either side, nut trees were mixed with fruit bearing ones, a concession that most plantations made close to the road for travelers. Better to keep travelers moving at the loss of some fruits and nuts, than to have them wandering into fields and orchards to steal. He veritably itched to point that out, to show that bounty, and how they could do that to their own roads. Apple, walnut, and oak trees could be planted at intervals, with berry bushes, loose plots of elfroot, and potatoes, onions, and the like - plants that required very little attention - along the roads. It would ease the passage and travel of scouts, militias, and patrols, and would keep farmholds from being accosted. 

Ferox hadn’t growled, or snarled, or snapped, rather he seemed distracted and was careful when answering questions. Their connection indicated that he was straining like a hound on a leash, eager to race ahead and smell everything new all at once. His husband practically vibrated with the effort to not do exactly that. For some reason it was in his mind that this couldn’t be enjoyed, like the beach plainly was. This was something similar, well several generations, past what Ferox told stories about, read day in and day out about, and put that knowledge into practice in the fields of Amaranthine, the Crown’s fields around Denerim, and even in the small forest plots below Soldier’s Peak. Not that the Warden or the Prince, depending on the location, actually _did_ any of the work... Actually, in fact Ferox never did, unless there was no other choice...such as when the _saar qamek_ was to be used against them. Oxen were driven to pull the fallen trees to build a pyre...but touch a plow? Ferox allowed Alistair to have his enjoyment there and never went near it. The man spoke of sheep and shepherding, yet other than to inspect the barns or suggest a remedy, didn’t handle them.

What baffled Zevran the most, was that Ferox could touch those things, there was always the greenhouse, there were the small _jardines_ that had been made in Denerim, ones that needed work all the time. There was nothing to stop him. There was no reason to deny himself these things that most people would consider drudgery. Zevran would go and muck the stables, and brush down the horses when he felt the need to be near animals. He would go to Ignacio’s indoor terrarium that wasn’t quite a greenhouse, but housed delicate herbs and poisons that needed careful tending, when he missed that. Denying himself those things would be silly, downright foolish really, but that didn’t stop Ferox from doing so. It was as if his love allowed himself one small bit of happiness he couldn’t stop, if something was enjoyed it was automatically suspect and distrusted, set aside as soon as possible.

It frightened him sometimes, that denial. How easily that mind had set aside friends, family, those who had been there for him, those who wanted to share time with him. For Ferox, it had been so very simple to ignore Len, even if he did go by to see if there were people there, or come to Zevran’s old room, but for what? To simply satisfy curiosity? Yet those who went before weren’t forgotten, their memories triggered nightmares, made visiting Highever difficult, and caused their current family to become something that must be cared for and kept happy...thereby reducing them to a duty and obligation. 

As they moved inwards, the size of the trees grew, the space between them greater, their rows orderly. When the plantation’s deed had first been purloined, it had been fairly modest, cared for by an absentee owner who really only owned it so that she could say she owned it. The production had only been sufficient to keep itself afloat, and that was all. After her convenient - convenient for him at least - demise, the coffers of the plantation ‘mysteriously’ remained full enough to continue to stay on track, neither growing, nor falling into disrepair, while the old head slaves continued to maintain it at the same rate. Under Zevran’s guidance after the seven year waiting period to see if anyone would come and claim it that was related to the former owner, more slaves had been rented at first. Cash crops were put in place, trees that would take time to grow were the very first additions, no matter that it would take anywhere from five to twenty years for them to yield cash flow. As soon as those had been planted, faster crops were put in, always mixing high and fast yields, with fields of the slower growing items that would need time and tending to establish. He, Rinna and Taliesin took out a massive loan - for them it was massive at the time, young Crows, only in their twenties, barely cutting their teeth on the trade - of several thousand sovereigns backed up by false names and accounts, to fund its expansion. Rinna’s sticky fingers always brought in pricey baubles that paid for half their loan’s payment each month, the rest, Taliesin and himself would come up with. Armour and weapons had been skimped on, frequently a purse was cut to be sure that there was enough, Guild rewards for jobs well done, always sold off unless it was desperately needed. 

In the forty some odd years that the plantation had been under Zevran’s name, the rented slaves had been bought off, their titles belonging to Taliesin and Rinna, and then upon their deaths, to him. Vela’s last request for a tract of land of a further hundred acres was something he had been intending on approving, but nearly all of the revenue the plantation generated that wasn’t necessary for taxes, bribes, and care for the plantation’s needs, went straight to Ferelden, with only a small percentage put into an account for savings. But nevertheless, the last decade, everything had been paid off, all loans, all major purchases - done. And the profits had...perhaps not ‘soared’, but they definitely were nothing to scoff at. Personally, he saw very little of the money, only enough for some small things, incense, tea, and the like, occasionally sent to Denerim through Ignacio. At the time, the exorbitant cost of sending things like coffee and preserves had prohibited him from having those shipped to him as well, but with the advent of increased trade brought in by Ignacio, then by Delilah’s husband, it had finally allowed him those precious tastes of home. Or, more like, he had allowed himself those comforts.

The track widened and suddenly there were bushes of fruits, then beyond that, flowers. What they had just passed through was merely the protective hedge of growth that gave _La Villa Bonita_ privacy from the road. Mostly houseslaves and the children big enough to walk around tended those, picked the fruits and nuts for the slaves’ use in general. As they neared the beautiful squared ‘U’ of the hacienda with its deep sienna and royal blue tadelakt walls, the large decorative fountain in seafoam coloured buffed mortar came into view, the lower basin where small ones could frequently be seen splashing and playing, was being used for just that at the moment, women beside it, tubs in hand that were filled with vinegar and soda water scrubbing the wash. 

While true, many owners who resided in their plantation homes most of the time would never have stood for such a thing, Zevran hadn’t minded. Why make the slaves go out farther to do such chores if it was closer? So long as they didn’t foul the fountain, what did it bother him? He was never there anyway, the plantation was really the slaves’ home, not his, and likely to never be his ever again. 

Like waves rippling out from the house, the fields sprawled, at first, closest to the hacienda, food for the slaves and household, and large coops for chicken, ducks, pheasants, and quail, as well as a few rotated in milk sheep, goats, and probably at least several cows. He knew that tucked behind that, would be the slaves’ quarters, two story halls, with loft rooms, much like apartments, dotted here and there. Last count, there had been seven of those buildings, housing between thirty to fifty people, each with a communal garden plot. For the most part, he didn’t really care what was done, so long as things were peaceful and productive. No news was good news and the like. 

Seeing the fountain the boys squealed, not having found water they didn’t want to play in, “Papi! Dadi! Can-nah we play tooos? Wif dem?” 

While Ulfric chimed, “Papi, Fox, tankoo?”

Ferox was looking out over the fields and his gaze was slow to turn away, to see what they were pointing at. 

Covering for his warrior’s distraction Zevran grabbed the giddy and excited boys from their spots in the chariot, where Nana was struggling to keep them still, heeling his mount to go faster. Dashing in, his steed stopped at a tightening of his knees, and he hopped free, giving both boys a little pat on their rumps to encourage them to introduce themselves. The women glanced up, but beyond that, and the cultural welcoming smile, they didn’t react. As for the children, they all oohed and made games of gabbling and pointing, before everyone jumped and began splashing again, the lack of a fully operative grasp of Antivan not absolutely necessary, even if Len could speak it, and did, when alone with Zevran. 

The girls were next, wiggling on their saddles, “Wait until the boys come to hold your horses, _mijas_!”

As he spoke, several long and browned limbed youths came to do just that, but he waved them to the girls first. Everyone was dismounting quickly, and taken care of by the time Ferox had finally gotten off his horse, his movements measured and strained. Vela, hobbling up and looking rather well for just over the age of thirty, considering how the deformations of his birth pained him, busily greeted everyone, saving him for last after a subtle gesture. 

“ _El Jeffe_! It is good to see you after so much time,” Vela made to bow, but Zevran embraced him instead, the young man had taken care of the plantation so long and so well, there was no reason to ever stand on such ceremonies of station to his way of thinking.

_Even if everyone seems to call me the boss, **mierda** ,_ quietly snorting to himself as he gave _dos besos_. “Far too long my friend, far too long. Ferox Cousland, this is Vela, the caretaker and steward of my holdings, and without him, the place would not be half so well run.”

“Vela,” repeating the name that could not be remembered earlier. “I am pleased to meet you.” Mental joints creaked as Ferox stepped away from examining the landscape and into a different state, one of polite conversation, “I believe that all Seneschals are compared to yourself, as Zevran speaks well of your abilities. Tell me, Vela, I see no river or stream or even a cistern close by, where does the fountain obtain its water? Is it refilled by hand each day?”

“Underground, there are wells that are dug in several places, _Senor_ Cousland,” a knobbed finger pointed. “From them, pipes are put in, and the pressures and shapes make it so that the water comes out of the pipes in little drips along the furrows. The pipes can be turned on and off through a crank. _El Jeffe_ had the pipes put in, thin ones, yes? From the wells, big ones, that start off small, then get big, and make -” a horizontal ‘S’ was sketched in the air, “- the shape so the pressure builds, and pushes it through. Then to smaller and smaller pipes. I have been thinking that maybe leather tubes lined with the sap from the rubber trees might be good for some places, makes it easier to move the water to where the plants may need it. It is only during the hot months that we turn the cranks, to save the water. The rest of the time, rain is enough - in the morning, before the sun rises. A nice misting rain most nights. Lots of dew for the plants.” Vela pointed back to the fountain, “That comes from the underground wells. No need to refill it. The house is plumbed, even the slaves’ quarters are plumbed now. Someone wanted a flushing toilet as it is in the main house, but the compost is better. Smells more, but is better.”

“Better fertilizer, as it’s easier to separate for different purposes.” Ferox nodded, releasing the reins of the horse to one of the boys returned from the stables. The idea was just a concept, not something that was physically in front of him, but Zevran would be more than willing to have him shown, if his husband was even slightly amenable. Balance, or perhaps it was rising from where the Ferelden sank, became more centered or lightened depending on how it was looked at. “If the pipes work by funneling water downhill, eventually there is no more practical downhill to be had. If it is then stored in an underground cavern...cistern, it could be brought up by windmill...” Thinking aloud, “But with the pipes into the house an artesian well would work better. Pumps in the house would be laborious unless there was a storage tank on the roof. Ours fill with rainwater.” A shrug, “But then, there is plenty of that particular resource.” 

“No, it is the shape of the pipes and tunnels, and the great cranks. Ah...” making a shape in the air, searching for the word... “ _El Jeffe_?”

“Dwarven screws, they are used in ships to channel away and pump the bilge water out, but the same premise is used. Windmills are out on the other side of the mountains, but here, for the most part, there is a backup system of using a great crank that can be powered by animals, or throwing some shoulders into it,” Zevran supplied. “Though, as Vela said, the pipes and how they are laid out - they create a great deal of pressure. Where the wastewater flows out, that goes to the a retention pond that was manmade. It looks like a great pool, a disgusting one, but that is why it is covered. It is lined with sand, limestone, and other similar porous rocks. The sun’s heat on the covers, creates pressure and evaporation, which forces the liquid water to move through the filters, to where special pipes exist as well and...it is all very, very complex. It makes the water usable for the plants. Not all of the irrigation water comes from that though, just some of it.”

Vela nodded, then his dusky bronzed face lit up with a crooked toothed smile. “ _El Jeffe_ said books on plants were things you liked, and to find some that were in Common. None were any good, so some of the better lettered slaves wrote and translated them. One of them is being illustrated by Iluia, leaves, roots, bark, all that.”

The dark head ducked, more used to hiding shining eyes from those taller than himself, and pleasure radiated, “Thank you, my Antivan is rather limited and I read Orlesian only slightly better - it is a stepping stone to Antivan...usually. They are languages to spend long voyages on, puzzling out meanings or shadings of the words, but do little to convey information to me quickly.” Zevran knew it wasn’t the entire truth, Orlesian was better read than that, but the information was not completely understood. A year ‘overseas’ was not enough to instill the layered meanings every culture inlaid into their words. “I apologize for taking up their time this way and am certain I to appreciate their efforts.”

His housecarl’s expression was confused, but Zevran headed off the protest. “Apologies are unnecessary for such things, _querido_. It is likely a task assigned to show how far they have progressed, a test, so that it can be decided if their abilities are such that they are worth sending to further schooling.”

“Ah. Self taught with local scholars brought in or is there a community school here, similar to what you established in Denerim?” Ferox gave credit to him rather than to Anora who claimed it. “Or is travel to the city’s university necessary?” Face scrunching, his husband attempted to work out the logistics, “And how does that work, anyway?”

Zevran linked his arm through Ferox’s, while Vela turned to lead them to the house, “The older groups educate the younger ones, much like with the Crows, hmn? Vela learned to read, write, and numbers from me. Since he had the aptitude, whenever we could, at least one of us would teach him in the subjects we were best at. Math, logic, reading, and history was from me. Taliesin was writing, languages and law, while Rinna taught him everything she could find about plants, animals, and how to deal with people.”

“It was a great privilege to be sent to the _Universidad_ for several years, on _Maestro_ Sa’id ibn-Rashid’s recommendation.” A bobbing of head and a touch to his forehead, then his heart, then his lips, the sign of great respect and praise swift. “My assistants have also gone, though only for a year. They now teach the more advanced of those with the aptitudes, and they in turn have assistants taken from the slaves, who teach part of the day, twice a week, to those at the levels below them. Clay tablets for writing, they are made by Yisar al-Walida’s slaves in their personal time. We trade for them when we get their old amphorae for olives and the other fruits that go in those sorts of things. Those are what we use to practice and teach with. And scrap cloth paper, we make our own, the children do. They think it is fun, tearing fabrics apart, stomping on them in big vats of water.”

When the great door closed behind them, they paused allowing for eyes to adjust and Zevran did not miss Ferox’s appreciative sigh at the comparative coolness in the dim foyer as opposed to outside’s bright heat. Deeper in, it would be cooler still and in their room, frostrock braziers were already hanging, to make his thick-blooded Ferelden comfortable. Now that the plantation was outside, the lines around Ferox’s eyes and forehead eased, just as his shoulders dropped, no longer attempting to block up those rounded ears. 

Marbled tadelakt was a different colour on each wall practically, but the thickness of the polished and soaped limestone mortar kept the house cool. Sarah was examining it with Nana, both of them trying to figure out what it was. Removing his boots, Zevran made use of the basins for rinsing some of the trail’s dust off, and switched to the thin house slippers more to set a good example than because he liked wearing them. He was a barefoot or boots man, even if it was just low ankle-boots. The water was cool and laced with rose and orange water, instantly draining away the heat in his soles and palms, and as soon as he was done one of his slaves offered him iced wine which he accepted gratefully.

“Since I am never here, Vela takes care of everything, and all the children gain a rudimentary education, and they are all free to make use of the house’s library.” Taking a sip while Ferox finished up washing, Zevran probed, “ _Amigo_ , what is the work week these days? Three days or six?”

There was a laugh, it was only slightly nervous, as Vela probably wanted to say he worked everyone harder than he did, but Zevran had left it to his discretion - if the work was done, why make busy work? “Four days, but when it is time for planting, or there is bad weather that makes it so we must bring it in faster, or plant faster - sometimes we all are out in the fields.” The cane tapped at a misshapen shin, “Even myself. But four days on, three off, in rotations so that half the slaves are working each day.” 

“What are you growing at the moment?” Ferox’s cautious interest continued to be blended with polite conversation. “Not trees and shrubs, although I am curious about that as well, there seems to be too many to recount.” 

“Fruit grows all the time, vegetables, but the latter is for the plantation,” Vela had switched to a sturdier version of the house slippers, ones that Taliesin had designed with Rinna’s help to make walking easier for Vela. “There are no times when something is not growing. There is always a grain sprouting, grapes to pick, wine to make, fruits to dry or make into preserves, cotton to harvest, but that is only once a year thankfully. Peanuts, beans, walnuts, pistachios, roses, jasmine, bergamot - the gardens are not decorative even as they are lovely. We are diverse, and yearly we rotate what fast plants we grow. One year we had fields of flowers instead of sorghum, wheat, and cotton. When it is time to rotate out some of the longer growing plants, like the roses, the plants are sold after potting them carefully to villas and there is a hybrid that _Maestra_ Rinna created that grows pale lavender tips on a white body that is housed in the Palace of Fountains.” 

Growing flowers just for the sake of growing them probably sounded too much like Anora’s planting around the park at the center of Denerim, the one which had Ferox directing that the fragile hothouse flowers were to be dug up and sold, and useful native plants put in their place, ones that provided food or herbal benefit. However, Ferox was obviously unaware of roses’ medicinal values, the water that they had just rinsed off with wasn’t scented to merely smell nice, but because the hydrosol of roses - the water processed when making rose oil - helped soothe sore or tight areas of the skin. It was also good for bruises and headache relief, even if one couldn’t smell the perfume. During the Blight, Zevran had picked any roses he could find, to save their hips, just as he ate their petals, to help ward off rabbit fever. The hips could be made into tea that settled a sour stomach, eased sleep, it was good for the balance and humours of the heart, liver and kidneys. Those ‘ornamental’ plants were hardly ornamental at all, pretty as they were. 

“Saplings and dwarf varieties of fruit trees and bushes are also grown, and when they reach a certain maturity, are sold off,” Zevran added. “Everything that grows here has a use, though the plantation is far more diversified than most. While it means our profits are not as steep as those who are dedicated to only one or two things, it does mean that if various plant blights come through - and they do - some of the fields and such manage to escape. It means that there is _always_ something salable, no matter how bad the rot or aphids get. But garlic, onions, and neem ward off most things, Zama gives attention to others, and a bit of luck and the diversity for the things that do get through.”

Passing by Sarah and Nana, Zevran stroked a smooth aubergine wall, the sound of his hand moving over the tadelakt was a soft rasp. As always it felt like silk, cool and welcoming, unlike the rough stone that bumping up against would leave scrapes or bruises, or at the least, worn spots in clothing. _La Villa Bonita_ had originally be red and beige, but that had felt drab, far too conservative, and not homey at all, not when compared to the muraled apartment so long ago. 

Explaining to Sarah and Nana, “Tadelakt is a limestone mortar that is applied in several layers, with pigment mixed in. Then the final layer is smoothed out, but the etchings from the first few layers can be seen, then it is buffed with smooth stones. After that, a soap is rubbed into it, which is what gives it this sheen.” He gave the wall a pat, “All of the buildings here are covered in this - inside and outside. But in some places, there are mosaics as well. It helps keep the house a stable temperature, yes?”

Discussion ensued as to different building techniques and the differences in climate between Ferelden and Antiva. Bare stone, stone covered in thick tapestries and carpets, wooden structures, tile and thatching, limestone, marble, tiles made of glass versus those made of clay - glazed or unglazed. What discouraged mildew, flames, and what took less time to make. Tapestries were all well and good, but they tended to have issues with fire, mold, and being eaten by moths. Ferox had asked him why he hadn’t had any of the mortar shipped to back to do his own room, which was a bit of a silly question - he had no ties to that industry. Masonry and quarries weren’t trades he had invested in, almost everything he had his fingers in were luxury products and foodstuffs. Fabrics, perfumes - he had a small stake in a local perfumer who also made cosmetics and salves, an apothecary or three, vinters and breweries, the Silk-Weavers Guild, and a quarter of a percent of in a moneylender’s business. Zevran had to be careful with his business expansions, mostly because he was spending so much on the transplanting of refugees Ferox had arranged. Yes, Ferox’s personal coffers were where most of that coin came from, but his husband had started off with a very small seed fund of less than a thousand sovereigns. _Someone_ had to make up the difference from somewhere.

Paying for lumber, peat for heating, seed stocks, those things that well... Manpower and food were difficult to supply at ‘home’, in the last four years, more had been done overtly than had been done covertly in the five before that. It still required investor coin from elsewhere - and where would it come from? The nobles? Not hardly. He had been propping things up for years however he could. Now that some of the strain was slackening, he would be able to expand into shipping possibly, beyond the stakes he had in a few ships. Isabella may turn from privateering if he could just corner her, see if he could hire out her ship, and a few others, to patrol the waters around Ferelden, and make cargo runs. It would be too much to ask for Antivan made vessels, but his schematics were getting better, and the first ship that was based off of Dassan’s drawings was almost finished. If they were lucky, the other three he had commissioned would be done by the time they returned. If they could build three solid ships a year, get them filled with cargo, and a merchant’s guild set up, perhaps in the next five to ten years, Ferelden could be considered a modest contender on the seas instead of depending upon foreign traders, with foreign ships, foreign ports of call for their shipping needs. Tying it to the recovery of Brandel’s Reach may give them a jumping off point.

Sarah unwittingly gave him an idea, “The Alienage would be nice if it had this, wouldn’t it? An’ the wood wouldn’t need repairing as often.”

“It would be nice, yes,” Zevran poked at the problem. “Ferox, Redcliffe, it has limestone? Or is that a bit farther west?”

“The whole region has limestone, though Redcliffe itself is granite, like most of Ferelden,” behind an ear was scratched thoughtfully. “But there’s limestone quarries there a little farther north. And Gwaren on the coast has limestone. The former Ban Loren’s lands was more limestone than granite - there’s a few places.”

Zevran grabbed Sarah’s face to plunk a kiss on her forehead and her cheeks, even as she squeaked in surprise. “Congratulations, my dear woman! You have come up with a very fine export for Ferelden. Orlesians are unbearably fond of frescoes in their palaces. Nevarra uses them in their Chantries and government buildings. Tevinter uses plaster for _everything_. And Antiva would be happy to buy plaster as well. The Free Marches whitewash their homes. Sarah, my dear, you are a gem! Limestone and trees Ferelden has in abundance! We will be bloody rich!” Jabbing a finger at Vela, “ _Amigo_! That is the task to see to, I want anything that can be found on making the plaster, concrete - water and air setting types, safety, and quarrying. I expect to have the information within the next three months, so that I have time to formulate a pitch to shop around for investors!”

Sarah was staring at him as though he had grown another head while he scooped her into a twirling little jig. Faizal would be generous as it was, probably thinking that all Ferelden would have to offer was hideous Orlesian fashion, fabrics that Antiva could make on its own, wood - well, Ferelden lumber was quite nice, he would give them that, excellent for ship building, and a few things similar to that. Mostly ores and lyrium. But limestone was used for everything. From gravel pathways in gardens, to water filtering tanks, to the tadelakt, to stuccos, and everything! Flooring, walls, everything except the bloody roofs, was touched by limestone in Antiva. And the quarries were being mined out in his country, having to slowly encroach further and further into the Drylands. And they supplied much of Thedas’ plaster needs, at least the base materials, Orlesian, Nevarran and Tevinter styles of plaster didn’t last as long, and the Free Marches required homes be re-whitewashed almost yearly, because they did it over lumber and hay, without tightly packing the plaster onto the building’s sides. It made it all crumble so quickly, while Sa’id’s townhouse had been plastered only once in his memory - and that was only on the expanded areas, to make the incorporation more seamless. 

_’Lumber, limestone, granite, metals - we have exports!’_ crowing happily. _’Something the Orlesians will snap up, ‘oh the counter was made in Ferelden, dear. I had to pay such and such to have it shipped, is it not lovely?’ as they titter about, waving their fans! And ‘oh my, did you see the fresco put up with all the gilt in my boudoir? Tsh, it is so very fine, with the little cherub bottoms!’ ‘Oh my, yes, it is very tasteful!’’_

_’Zevran, I thought you didn’t want to ship out raw material?’_

_’No, no, not raw. We will process it ourselves, and a head artisan will accompany the shipments, for say, things like the frescoes. But the plaster, it will be consumed by the world at large at such rates that selling it in great sacks will be good enough. Granite countertops, tiles for flooring, shingles made of shale, things like that - we can do that. Ohhhh, we will need some sculptors - ones who make fat bottomed babies with little wings, with evil faces. We should use Len and Ulfric as models for the sketches, for I know of no cuter tushed, pot bellied babies than them. Orlesians eat that sort of **mierda del toro** up like you eat mango empanadas.’_ Laughing over one of the Orlesian ‘houses’ that was owned by a merchant in the city he had seen once, _’Fountains with little peepees where the water comes out from their nethers! Hideous and silly and utterly useless! Oh Maker, the Orlesians will love it. Especially since we should gift some to Val Royeaux and the Divine. Hahaha - ah yes...’_

“Wait...what?” The heel of a palm audibly smacked an eyelid, “Tell me you’re kidding.” _’I’m not saying I wouldn’t like their coin but...we’ll be backwards and a joke. I mean, we’re trying to come out of the backwoods here...why don’t we just offer them some lutefisk and be done with it?_ ”Gaudy we are not.”

“Backwards? Hah! Did you not pay attention to anything when you lived there for a time?” laughing at him as he switched to Ferox, dancing around. “But you must know your customers, _querido_. They enjoy things that are bulky, overpriced, and utterly useless. We can provide them with that. As for the common people, I do not know what we could provide them with, food perhaps. Either way, we take their coin. Which was the point I believe.”

“One of them, yes.” Conflicting emotions warred in his husband, one to hug him, the other to growl. Knowing Ferox, he may end up doing both. _’The other was to enter Thedas’ stage and be taken seriously.’_

_’Coin talks, **querido** , and that is something that can be taken seriously,’_ Zevran pointed out rather needlessly in his opinion.

Sure enough, he received both a grab for a hug - or was it so he stopped circling? - as well as the expected growl. _’You are so damned reasonable when you want me to do that which I do not wish.’_ “It would be nice to have a leg up on Celene for a change, however, and I hear her coffers runneth over. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that particular problem to deal with.” 

_’I am always reasonable, and you are always delectable,’_ head tipped back to sneak a kiss at the corner of Ferox’s jaw. “Well, we should be in the black within the next decade, _amora_. I may even have a solution for Brandel’s Reach, and a temporary fix for our shipping costs as well as our naval needs until we have the manpower and ships to do it ourselves.”

“As you say. Perhaps rural fluff will become the next thing everyone who is anyone must have.” Unconvinced, Ferox was not fighting the idea however, which was something at least. 

But their link indicated that it was only because his Warden believed that there were too many unknowns between it and actual production of goods.

The cons piled onto Ferox’s mental scales with only coin weighing on the other side. The initial sales pitch to a noble who would talk about how splendid Ferelden goods were - nevermind that Zevran had already handed him the solution of gifting the White Divine and Celine with various items. The illness of miners, nevermind that the dwarves had masks that their miner caste used, things that were easily reproduced and changed to fit the needs of _shemlen_ and elven miners alike. And the fact that healers wouldn’t be on hand for every bloody little thing, as they and the masons - who weren’t flaming miners in the _first place_ \- were busy with the cities.

Biting his tongue, Zevran made himself give Ferox an easy smile, “Horriblizing, _querido_. You are doing it. There are solutions to make everything feasible. The dwarves have masks to protect against the dust. Masons have never been, nor ever will be, confused for miners. Mages are not needed for everything in life, _amora_ , people manage just fine without them for the most part. Celine and Justina will be gifted with items of friendship, which will be tailored to the current fashions, so that they are likely to be put on prominent display. It will cause - as these things usually do - orders and commissions. Find me a problem, and I will find you a solution, so there is no need to focus on shooting it all down.” He tightened his arms around Ferox’s waist. “Neither of us are miners, but the ‘good dirt, bad dirt, and my, is that rock?’ discounts the fact that these professions have been around as long as they have, and are as successful as they are.”

“I have said nothing,” The grouching appeared to be for show for those around them. _’When was the last time I prevented you from having your way with Ferelden? I do not have a lock on the only proper path to the top of the mountain and have always needed my scout.’_

Carting Ferox off to the massive master bedroom, _’ Only_ path? Pft. There is a saying that most of those who design buildings and inventions have - that they would much rather hire a lazy person to find a solution, because they will find the fastest way to get it done. And I am a very lazy person, **amora**. Yet that does not mean my lazy solutions and routes are the only way. There is always another way. And if there is not, it is because something is lacking - resources, brainpower, technology - which would limit the range of options.’ “Just like Len, there is a particular set of chin, position of feet, and barely there crinkle of nose, that displays disapproval, disbelief, and a few other ‘dis’es.”

“ _Dis’es_? Disappointment, discontent, dismantle, disorientation, dislocate, dismember, dissimulate...”

“Dislike, distrust, disturbance, disgruntled,” Zevran bumped his hip against Ferox as they walked. “See, you are focusing on that, rather than seeing this beautiful house.”

“I see the beautiful house, I see the beautiful grounds, and I see that you fit here, perfectly. The children will run wild in your orchards and never wish to leave.”

_’You fit here also,’_ he insisted. “Well, they will have to, and there are orchards in Highever, so that will be good enough, _amora_.”

“And we do not reside at Highever. Even our visits to Amaranthine, where similar experience for them can be gained, are relatively short. It’s best not to become attached to what can’t be kept for very long.” Which was said while not addressing whether or not there was a place for him. 

The urge to throttle Ferox came again, but it was set aside easily as he fought to bring Ferox into the world. “ _Amora_ , there is no reason to not enjoy it. If we all live in such a way that says ‘oh no, do not become attached, because it may not be there for a long time’, it means we wind up living in a box, without light, without air, without experience. It is a building experience, all of these things, each step, each breath, each change, loss and gain. Life is to live, not to confine, counting the little beans of moments that may cause loss. Denying yourself when whatever you want is at hand, is foolish - because you give up the chance to have a beautiful experience. So what if it does not happen again? Does it make the beauty of the moments shared with that experience any less awe inspiring? No.”

Sighing, “Experience says that letting go of it is unpleasant - “

“No, that is having it ripped away that is unpleasant,” correcting. “But think on this then - at the end of the day, if all you have are a pile of missed moments, missed beauty, beauty and moments you were more than aware of passing you by and willfully denying - all you will have is a mountain of regrets to heap upon yourself. And who actually _wants_ that at the end of the day? Would they not rather be able to say ‘I lived as much as I could’? Yes, there are regrets in everyone’s life, there are missed moments all over the world. There is no such thing as a person who has not missed _something_ precious. But to just...” waving a hand, “ _ignore_ it because it may not be with you always is just... I do not understand it, and I do not understand why you would want to be that way. You can go over all the details for why such and such is a reason, but I will still say that you are wasting what time you have to take joys great and small, no matter what you are given. It is as though someone put a lock in front of you, gave you a key, and you sit there and instead just stare at the flaming lock, ignoring the key, ignoring what is around you, and simply...stare at a damn lock. And if anyone who reaches around to take the key and open the lock, so that perhaps you will pay attention to the living, breathing world around you, you become angry or inconsolable, _while still staring at the bloody lock_.”

Again two different and opposite reactions both at the same time flared in their connection. Rage and despair vied for dominance attempting to pull Ferox in their wake. The anger was slightly stronger, and the tone was carefully measured even as it crackled with frost, “And what exactly would you have me do?”

“ _Live_. Look around you? What do you see? What do you feel? What do you want to do? What urges do you have, and why not do them? When you see a plant, why not touch it, why not examine it? Why not experience? Because you would not wish to leave? Is that all?” Pausing in the hall before the bedroom’s door, Zevran rubbed his temples. “If that is all it damn well is, then I will have a villa fucking _built_ in Denerim for you, or just outside of it. Just for you, with transplanted saplings so you can have an orchard, rose bushes everywhere, and a veritable spewing of tadelakt colours interior and exterior. It will not be hot like Antiva, but it will be _good enough_. There will be a great garden that will need plowing occasionally and you can bloody plant whatever the blazes you want, and you can muck around in it every available rest day.”

Saying sharply as Ferox almost pulled away from him, “No. No garden, no trees, no house, no colourful limestone walls - I don’t want another home. It wouldn’t be a gift, it would be an invitation to destruction. Nothing would be done and I would lose my place, repair and preparations would not happen.” 

“Then do not waste the time you have here, take it with both hands, embrace it, and then, when it is time, let it go. When the days are long and too hard back in Ferelden, take out the memory, and do not think of having left it behind, but think only of the joy it had brought you.” Taking a deep breath, Zevran’s self control had slipped away as he desperately argued for his beautiful _shem_ to live the life they were granted, “What do you think I have to tell myself to do when I am with you? When I think of how close it is to time? How much time was wasted? When I count the seconds, the minutes, the hours, days, weeks, months, and years, trying to make the number feel big enough. And then I forget to live with you _now_. But that is not what I want, and that is not what you want, what we need. Just because you will abandon me, does not mean I will abandon you and what time we do have together. And if it hurts when you are gone, then it only shows how important you are. The sweetness and fulfillment of those moments will make the pain tolerable. But it only works if you meet me part way. It only works if you _live_ too. I cannot do it for both of us.”

Like it was lit up by a lighthouse mirror, recognition struck hard, a blow that was either unexpected or unable to be defended against. Unless something went terribly wrong, by his husband’s own definition and experience, Ferox was going to leave him behind - abandon him. 

Ferox crossed his arms, withdrawing from touch. “Tell me exactly what you want,” was growled, nearly snarled. “Withhold nothing, but be specific.”

“I want you to do things you enjoy, I want you to share doing things you enjoy, with me,” struggling to put it into words while Ferox was listening, even though there was anger, frustration, and guilt all over the link, as well as washes of many other emotions including the sharp tang of inadequacy. “I need you, and that will never change, your presence, your love, your friendship - but it need not be from solely my whims that decide what we do together, as a pair, and as a family. And then, often enough, when something is presented that touches too close to what you would choose, it is ignored. Denied because you want it too much. Because there is no middle ground. Are we just obligations and duty to you? Am I? How easily you set aside the living for nothing but work. Even if your reason for working is for our benefit. But your presence, your actions _with_ us speak just as loudly and are just as important and necessary as carrying out laws and plans.” Waving his hands to encompass the plantation, “Here we are, on a trip of a lifetime, for you, perhaps the only chance to see and experience this. And what do you do? You do not look at it unless it is shoved under your nose. And then you do not want it, because you want it too much.” Scrubbing his face with both hands, Zevran found calm, made himself find it. “I want you to live, not just breathe, move around, and do as directed by duty. Live, that means to seek out good and satisfy your own needs as well as the needs of others. It is not that you should change, or that I wish you to change, it is...I see you hurting, curled around old pain, and want only to soothe it. Not to poke at it, not to prod you, so then I try to show you good things, give you good things, share good things with you. Often enough that it becomes distressing, these good things...they instead only cause you pain. Trying to examine the old wounds, that causes pain. It gives the impression that nearly everything causes pain, unless somehow, something just...slips through. But it is a constant battle to find those things.”

Gesturing to the fields they both knew were outside the villa, “The longing to connect with who and what you are is there, to see and examine, understand and learn, not just through words and books, but with your own eyes, your own hands, your own senses - and out there, there is what you want. You want to take Len up on your shoulders so he can reach fruit just ripened, and explain it to him with words he can understand. To show him how roots dig into the ground. To take he and Ulfric to the coops, and teach them how to pick eggs, still warm, without distressing the hens. To find a sheep or a goat or a cow to milk, one of them between your legs while you sit on a stool, pulling milk from the udders and guiding their little hands to do that.” He swallowed, “You want the things your father and grandfather showed you, bonded with you over. There is nothing wrong with that. It will not stop you from returning to work with papers and nobles and tradesmen. But days like that, they can be the carrot that entices faster, more sure-footed work, rather than the beating of self.” Ignoring how Ferox had curled in, Zevran reached out with both hands, laying one over a thick wrist, the other brushing over a dark temple. The brown eyes hooded, looked down at his hand, not at his face. “Allow yourself joy that is not foisted upon you. We have come so far, to be tripped over something so small. Can we not find our way together back up and to continue our journey?”

“You want me to throw myself at the plantation, to forget about duty and responsibility then when it’s time to go, leave it behind.” ‘Just like that’ wasn’t added, but Zevran didn’t need to hear it to know it was added anyway. “I would invest myself in it, wanting to leave behind what must be done and not return to the task, all the while dreaming that it will all be taken away again.” Ferox’s breathing and outward demeanor was calm, if frosty. Internally was a different story as he gasped for air between swamping waves of fear. Anger, stemmed from the fear of being left or of loving something and having it taken away, which was why his husband was extremely careful in what he chose to extend that feeling towards. “This is what you want of me?”

“Is there no middle ground, _querido_? Can you not enjoy it, find peace in the day to day, then return? What can I do to help you be free enough to take what you want, even for a little while?”

“Zevran, when have you known me to do anything by half measures? If I do this thing, can you put up with the miserable creature I’ll be afterwards?” Was Ferox not miserable now, seeing the feast around him, the joy of others he would not allow himself to participate in, and if he did, it would only be on the periphery? His husband enjoyed the beach, wasn’t wary of the environment, there was no treating it as a dangerous animal that might bite and infect him. “I cannot deny that I want to be here, to do as you wish and make myself believe that I was never leaving so that I could enjoy every minute. I want this as much, nay, _much more_ than what duty requires - demands - that I do in its place.”

Sighing, he gave up, his longing and the stuttering hope he clung to constantly, crushed once again. “I will love you no matter what, and we would find our way to balance afterwards. But, you are right, I apologize. Forgive me, _querido_. We should not have come here and I should not have asked.” 

At that, his husband nearly jerked as if struck, “I insisted. And being here isn’t for my benefit.” As if something were realized, his internal snapping and snarling spiked suddenly to a level that was indicative of needing physical activity. As Zevran opened the bedroom door, Ferox turned back the way they came, intent on a walk. Sharing the layout of the house and grounds, he gave the necessary tools so Ferox could find what was needed without becoming lost and thus more frustrated.

The room that had been appointed in a diverse set of tastes that combined what Rinna, Taliesin and himself liked wasn’t even looked at. Even though he hadn’t loved them as much as he did Ferox, sometimes he longed for that simplicity, where they would kick the other’s ass if it was beginning to drag, and they would listen. It had been a teeter-totter and a mad ride sometimes, but not as often as others would think. A relationship didn’t last for nearly fifty years and be comprised of constant ups and downs. In fact, it was rarely intense, even though they did each lash out at the others occasionally during the growing pains of post-barracks life. For the most part, they had worked as a unit, just as he, Ferox and Moira did on a day to day basis. He had grown up with Rinna and Taliesin, experienced the same agonizing training, taken the same kinds of contracts, been constrained by the exact same rules. They had known each other inside and out, or as close to it as any Crow could become. Zevran had always been careful to be very aware of their secrets, but they weren’t truly sure of his, and he had taken painstaking precautions to ensure that - there was more to protect than just himself and them. 

He missed the cohesiveness, and for all that he and Ferox were linked, it was just a tenuous thread, an extra bit of insurance to be certain Ferox wouldn’t shove he and the others aside. Nothing more, and he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking otherwise. It was a tool for limited conversation, a slightly greater mental proximity, and, occasionally, for actually sharing in full. Ferox had long since made it clear that sharing had to be taken very carefully, one shuffling step forward, two leaps back. Yet there was improvement in Ferox’s mental and emotional health, so Zevran fought to bite his tongue as often as possible. But years of empty desert and reaching an oasis, only to find that its water was bitter and fouled, had landed its blows on him so often that he found himself acting out, making requests he knew would never be fulfilled. Reaching out for touches other than just the body, that would be flinched away from. Boxed in, trapped, any move one way or the other carried the constant threat of divisiveness, separation, pain and frustration. 

The entire trip was an egregious mistake, he should have seen that weeks ago. A waste of time beyond the gaining of Faizal’s favour and Ferox’s Work. As soon as those things were done, they should have packed up and left. Leaving the bedroom, Zevran headed for his private office, the one that Vela never had had a desk at, rather than the main office, to draft up orders for a ship to take them elsewhere. Anywhere. Preferably Soldier’s Peak or Amaranthine, places where Ferox felt in control and sufficiently burdened with work. Setting his seal to it, Zevran put it aside with a numb look, giving the ink time to dry. Doing it while still sufficiently vacant, missives and letters were penned for Nune, to see if the Commander would be amenable to assisting with Brandel’s Reach.

When Zamitie had sought him out, he told her that in a week, perhaps two, they would be leaving for Ferelden. For a moment, her grey-green slate eyes flashed, before settling down. Patience was counseled and the look he had given her had actually sent her packing from his office with a great deal more speed than he expected. He had been ‘patient’ for more than long enough and was sick of being ‘patient’. He was fresh out of patience, there was no more to give. 

In the meantime, he would pick up the slack and bide his time until they left. He would try to store up the sun of his motherland, re-familiarize himself with the qualities of a home he hadn’t seen in far too long, and likely wouldn’t see again for another twenty years. Perhaps when the Taint had finally shortened his life enough, he might return to die out in the desert, or float on the crystal blue waters of the bay. Antiva was just a place to visit whenever he could, it no longer belonged to him, and he was no longer its son. 

Ferox didn’t return within a reasonable time, given the day’s heat, not that he expected his warrior to do so. When he finally sent out a tentative thread, Zevran was...perplexed. His husband was attempting to do what was asked of him. The communication was tense on Ferox’s end and it was clear he was holding himself tight again. Ferox explained that Elissa heard a hen cackling and they were tracking it as it was believed that the bird hid a nest of eggs nearby. In addition, the boys were helping in the kitchen, the slaves gently making room for their helpfulness, gathering leftovers and fruit and vegetable peelings, as they were going to slop the pigs next. And would he be so kind as to come use his ears to find the chicken, so that he could go handle the messy matter of boys and hogs? 

When it was finally time to take the evening’s rest, Zevran held off on informing him of the request for a ship. Then again, he hadn’t planned on telling Ferox anyway until the day before leaving, just to make it easier on his Warden, who, even after another walk, was not entirely himself. And when the bed made his skin crawl, he didn’t bother complaining or asking for connection that wasn’t wanted by his mate. It was small consolation that he was held and slept with like a favourite stuffed animal again, yet, as it was, it was impossible to take the gesture as meaningful or positive, when the amulet bespoke nothing save controlled frustration and hidden snarls.

Come morning, neither having slept well, Ferox still stopped him for a tight hug before they went down for breakfast. The boys were already hooting and playing in the hall, and he was glad most of the wall niches with vases and such were too high for them to reach. Not that he had all that much in the way of artwork, but Taliesin had seen fit to make plenty of delicate pottery and glaze it. The pieces were irreplaceable, pretty, but mostly sentimental. Which reminded him that he needed to stop by the old apartment, have it cleared out, and sell it. Even if the thought of losing all the years of work that had gone into the apartment, actual hands-on hours, made him cringe and flinch, Zevran squashed the reaction. It was useless baggage, a museum no one lived in, and while there was a small stipend he had set up for its upkeep, it was coin better spent elsewhere. 

He smiled and took babies handed to him, the dining room of _La Villa Bonita_ far more formal than the open floor plan of the townhouse, which had been a shock for Elissa who had exclaimed that there were ‘real chairs’. No matter that they were low stools that were nearly long enough to lounge upon - which was their purpose really - they were used like benches, everyone packed on to the scattered seats. Ulfric and Len stood instead of sat for the most part, butt wiggling and knees folding to plunk themselves on the ground, before popping back up. Plates of fresh fruits were everywhere, pineapple, melons - with thin sliced ham as per his preference, sapote, papadilla, guava, figs, dates, a few nectarines, peaches, and several quince just for him. Churros were popular, including the thick _chocolate a la taza_ , hot milk for the children with flavoured syrup of hazelnuts and pistachios swirled in it, bowls of yogurt that was freshly made, and toasted, rolled oats to sprinkle on it. It was a much heavier morning meal than most Antivans would eat, but it was hearty because of Ferelden sensibilities. Ani, Uailil and Zama would eat yogurt and some fruit in the mornings, a bowl of nuts, perhaps a boiled egg or two, and that would be it. 

A slice of thick fresh bread received wedges of avocado that were sitting in a lime juice and cilantro dressing, the creamy green butteriness spread and smashed over it. “A tour of the house’s plumbing, and the outlying fields water sources would be educational, _querido_.”

A spoonful of yogurt was given first to Len, then another to his redheaded shadow and a bowl of it was set between them. Ferox attempted to settle the boys who already were making plans about what ‘am-in-alls’ they would feed, pet, and pester that morning before playing in the fountain. 

“Yes, I would like to see that and compare it to what you have already completed in Denerim. I doubt we could interest the children in the house, but they shouldn’t miss a romp outside.” Ferox looked pointedly at Elissa who was trying to pretend to be, as Eleanor said, ‘all grow-ed up’, “Everyone will run.”

Ani reached out to play with a fluffy ebony curl, “Target practice is an agreeable pastime, best for outdoors, _ketchara_. You run while the targets may be set up.”

Snagging more pineapple, even though there was still a slice on his plate, Ferox sat, but didn’t quite sprawl next to him, “Where shall we start? Inside or out?”

“Outside, I suppose.” Zevran swept the children with a critical eye, “However, I believe some various rambunctious types could be seen to by the slaves, as that is part of their tasks. They know well how to take care of children, and they could join the games of counting in Antivan, Common, and Rivainian that are usually the lessons for the age group. Counting sheep, potatoes, and the like, as well as learning the words for all the fruits.”

Dark eyebrows rose, the idea of others outside of the family caring for Len and Ulfric had not been considered. But in this case, what good were slaves and Crow bodyguards if they weren’t taken advantage of occasionally? “They would enjoy playing with other children and everyone else would enjoy a few minutes of peace.” 

He grunted his agreement as he let the boys steal a piece of his cantaloupe with the thin serrano. “Another growth spurt soon.”

“Is that what taking from you means? Seems there’s a plate closer to them than yours. Perhaps it’s a way of counting coup?”

“You _shemlen_ grow so quick, _querido_ ,” Zevran passed them a piece of brined quince snapped in half for them to satisfy their curiosity as they stood before him, abandoning their yogurt. “Increased appetites fluxing usually herald more growth I have found.”

Bitterly, “It does mean ‘quick’ for some reason or ‘nother.” Ferox got up to see what else he wanted to eat or to avoid explaining. Since he didn’t rub Len’s head as he passed, it likely had nothing to do with the boys growing up too fast.

“Fox?” Ulfric looked up at him, his hazel eyes concerned, checking in.

Kissing the ginger haired boy between the brows, “Has a headache, _mijo_.” 

Len’s lips pursed as he chewed - messily - his chocolate dipped churro. “Dadi hab headache, ouchies. Kissies make beddur.”

“I will be sure to give him plenty, _pequino_ ,” tugging him in close to smooch his cheek. “But you can help a lot by taking care of the animals and later, we will play in the dirt, hmn?”

“Piggies bite, Papi. An’ Dadi says, ‘Don’t touch’ums mouf’.”

“Yes, mouths can be a very dangerous thing, _mi nino_ ,” but it wasn’t a pig’s mouth he meant. 

....

It wasn’t like the sewers - even in miniature - for what Denerim would hold. Then again, neither item were to have much in common beyond flowing water. Vela had one of his assistants deliver a series of large sketches that were bisections of the walls where the pipes ran through, and guesses of where the various wells originated. Unlike Highever, the water was deeper, much deeper, covered in many stories deep soil, sediment and ash. And that was for the places where pipes did not exist, that routed water from the river and the aqueducts. Vela’s research suggested _La Villa Bonita_ was about three hundred years old, and that the four plantations around it were once unified. Planting seasons occasionally turned up the odd tool or discarded item, and there was a highly pitted and corroded dagger that had been found during the first few years Zevran had owned the plantation in name as well as deed. That wasn’t the important part per se, it was the fact that those findings implied that the whole of the basin had such deep pathways in place. 

Zevran had the assistant, Cenida, that was her name, jot down a note for Faizal, that someone should map the known pipes and wells if the Guild hadn’t done it already. For a moment he considered using something to colour the water, but quickly had Cenida put down that he thought such a method unwise. Knowing what he did of the pipes and waterways, for the colourant to be strong enough to show up over the course of several plantations, or even more, would require something very strong. And strong colourants might put too much at risk. Crops, livestock, slaves, livelihoods - the city itself even. An overland, through book and deeds, would have to be the sorts of searches open to them. 

Ferox, for his part seemed on the outside to be light and spontaneous with his questions, listening carefully to the information and filing it away. Beneath was a continuation of yesterday’s disturbance. Which, much like the very first day out from the city, Zevran chose not to ask over, as asking would only receive snarls and increased distance. If they didn’t have the connection, perhaps the story of the headache would have been believed. Possibly, but Zevran doubted it. A headache ridden Ferox was a very distinct Ferox from what was going on, which looked rather like his Ferelden was recreating an old mask. Which left Zevran vacillating between the urge to scream, to cry, to withdraw, to rip off the amulet and throw it in his face - because what good was it if all that was on the other end was a mask? - throttle, cling, and just...sleep. He did none of those things, remaining steady, because there really wasn’t much else to be done, as he counted the hours until they could leave the plantation. Besides, one of them had to be a decent role model, and having a fake one that might appear great, wasn’t the same as actually having a real one. Oh, he knew, he knew very well that getting his husband to try new things, to find things he liked - or reclaim - usually entailed a lengthy trial period where Ferox had to fight and force himself, so that just maybe some small part of him would like the new thing or reclaimed thing, enough to keep it around.

It was _exhausting_ to be a parent of four children, take care of a ‘nana’, a ‘sister’, a ‘wife’ _and_ a husband, along with all the duties of Spymaster, Intelligence Officer, Head of Security, personal secretary, rogue of all trades, politician, merchant, accountant, Treasurer, and the slew of other things he had to take care of - while dealing with that sort of mentality. How wonderful it would be if Ferox actually didn’t have to force something, and could just... _do_ it. Without anyone asking. Without anyone prodding. Without someone putting it right before him. Without having to poke at it, examine it, weigh cost-loss-reward, and the slew of other damnable things Ferox did before taking an action and claiming it for his own. They weren’t in a partnership, they weren’t partners. Partners carried each other, did the tasks, and sometimes did them without asking, without direction, simply because it was something the partners would enjoy. 

Ferox wondered why Zevran ‘picked’ fights. No moderately sane or even modestly adjusted person could be kept under pressure without venting. Ferox walked, growled, snarled, and did those things that any Crow would deem as cowardice and running away, and not so they could fight another day either. Zevran tried to meet the issues in varying manners, until the only option was head on. Of course he was cracking - repeatedly. For a bleak moment he questioned why he even bothered, but set it aside as the dark corners and bleed off from Ferox, as well as a decade of old scars. Yet maybe it was the challenge, or Ferox’s perceived ‘need’, which made him snort - Zevran was projecting his own needs on his spouse, his own wants, his own desires. Maybe Ferox didn’t need anything beyond work and duty, the obligations of being tied to others only gave him better reasons - _Stronger chains_ \- to whip himself to death, which was why they had been allowed at all.

_No one_ had ever made Zevran want to dissolve into tantrums, throw things, irreplaceable things of vast sentimental value, against walls, just to see them shatter. Just to have some effect he could control. Not the way Ferox did. When he had been angry at Taliesin or Rinna, he could just smack them, yell at them, and receive the same, and it would all be out of their systems. With Ferox, he had to wear kidskin gloves, had to walk on eggshells, pick and choose his words constantly, and _still_ deal with brooding withdrawal and snarling guilt emanating from the Warden. 

He would kill for a month long bender. To just let it all go, all of it. Everything. But just like he was constrained by Ferox’s disgust with Crow methods of relinquishing control, he was also bound against finding relief. And there were the children to think of. But it was tempting, very tempting to just take off the amulet, perhaps even cut off his tattooed finger with its slave brand of the Cousland name, and just walk away. For a day, for a week, a month. To forget, to just be a Crow and nothing more. At least the Guild was honest when it used him and put him away wet. Pain in moderation, alcohol in moderation, drugs in moderation, _fun_ in moderation. That was to say nothing of love, affection, connection and proximity. All of it in moderation and stuck within the rules and regulations of Ferox’s approval, or not at all. 

Oh Ferox might come around pertaining to relaxing at the plantation. And Zevran would be expected to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’, provide praise to reinforce what a good job he had done... Just like when they were potty training the boys and they would say they had used the chamberpot for a ‘doodeee’, expecting hugs, kisses, cookies and praise of ‘good boy, good job, I am so proud of you’, like it was some neat trick. The difference between the boys and Ferox was that Ferox was a man, and the boys had been babies. One does not expect babies to figure out how to use the chamberpot properly and when to not soil their drawers on their own. An adult should be able to figure some basic skills out on their own, without constant prodding unless they had some sort of mental deficiency that retarded their mind’s growth to that of a toddler. An adult would know that soiled drawers felt terrible and smelled worse, to say nothing of disease, and so would devise some method of dealing with the issue. Ignoring it or tossing some perfume on the problem didn’t solve it, which was basically what Ferox did with life.

Gnashing his teeth at his desk, the door closed, Zevran’s hand lashed out, grabbing a glass paperweight, and threw it. In a tinkling crash it shattered, irreparably broken, Sa’id’s old weight, with its gold quill stand embedded in it, a mess on the floor. Gone and wasted over a momentary lapse, a type of lapse that was happening far too frequently. What did he do in the decade he waited? Smashed bricks. Beat his hands against stone walls until the knuckles were shattered and bloody, as damaged as could be, before finding an apostate to heal the worst of it. Futility assailed him, which he kept contained, his fingers itching to wrap around the desk’s edge and flip it. Air was pulled deeply into his lungs, his eyes shutting tightly as he blocked out the world, finding some semblance of order, seeking the inner peace of his center. Even that exercise was futile, but that was a thought he shoved away before it was fully born. 

It was going to be another long day. Ferox didn’t come inside for the afternoon rest period, instead, keeping to the shade, he tired himself out. The exercise did help stop what he was picking up from the amulet as the mind on the other side gradually quieted, settling into the familiar patterns of beating himself into a particular shape. Afternoon contained instruction with the children and a mild mannered nanny goat submitted to having her udders relieved for the second time that day. Eleanor interviewed Vela, showing him her journal and account book, which lead directly to his housecarl to begin teaching her about _banking_. Interest rates, investments, money-lending, general loans, mortgages, property taxes, tariffs, import and export tax rates, shipping routes... Maps and books had been opened, and the two had set to with gusto. Ani and Uailil took Elissa, honing her archery, praising freely, and her riding, while beginning to show her the rudiments of horseback archery. The boys made friends running off to play, Ferox dozed with Varane on his chest and and Fymie curled in an arm, and the women were pampered with the spa style treatments that Rinna had once enjoyed, the trio of slaves trained in those skills putting them to use outside of the residents of the plantation for the first time in years. Zamitie checked over each slave, ensuring their health, and strengthening the wards around the great expanse of fields. Meanwhile, Zevran ransacked the closets, picking and choosing what would be sold off, what would be brought, and what would stay. Very little of it was worth keeping, and much of it he wanted to rip to shreds, _Sentiment be damned_. 

Sitting at Rinna’s vanity, Zevran rolled a crystal perfume bottle that had been corked and sealed with wax, silver gilt inlaid in clear blackberry tinted glass. She had always been obsessive about protecting her favourite scents from dissipation. Whenever they hadn’t been in residence, she would take out the decorative stoppers and wedge cork into the delicate necks, dripping a small amount of sealing wax around it to be certain nothing would be lost. The ebony vanity itself had come with _La Villa Bonita_ , along with much of the furniture, though not all, and had once been housed in a different room before it replaced the larger vanity that had held that spot prior. The old one had become he and Taliesin’s, the legs taken off and new ones carved for it to raise it up higher for them and was in the adjacent room. Strewn across the top were bottles, pots, and wooden pallets that protected cosmetics and creams, tools of artifice and application, still in perfect condition, as though she would return from business, and it was awaiting her use. Setting the jasmine, neroli and petitgrain perfume down, he slid one of the palettes open, the hard cake rounds having dips at the center from the moist tip of a brush to pick up the pigment, still smelling amazingly fresh. Then again, Taliesin had made it, from micas, clay, beeswax and high quality minerals. While Zevran was the chemist, Taliesin had been the real artist, working with his large hands to craft something so simple and domestic. A cup, a bowl, carved wood, brushes and things that could be worked and held. The blown glass amphora of perfume that was perched in its stand was glanced at, and he sighed. He didn’t really want to cannibalize those items or give them away if not sold. But sitting as they were, they were nothing more than clutter and of no use to anyone. 

Forcing himself away from the vanity, he went to the overgrown armoire that he had yet to search through. It held their favourite ‘genteel’ clothes, and whenever he passed it, he could still catch traces of Taliesin’s bergamot and musky patchouli, Rinna’s habu venom and snake skin beneath whatever perfume she had chosen, mixed in with his own. There were several outfits in there that would be breathtaking on Ferox, more than a handful that would fit Moira and make her into a living goddess. It wasn’t that Zevran was unwilling to give those things to his _shemlen_ , it was that even if he did, they would never be used. A common born nursery servant couldn’t very well wear such finery at work, or anywhere really, as she would be dressed far above the queen’s station. And like Ferox would wear any of it outside of Antiva anyway. 

Resting his forehead against the ornately carved armoire, Zevran sighed, eyes clenched tightly shut. Nearly half a century’s work...wasted, not even his present paramours would be able to make use of the finery, because, why bother? It was pointless. A hand smacked against one of the doors, and like the vanity, he pushed himself away, giving up and acknowledging the futility that existed in this too. He would leave a list of things to keep for Vela, the rest could be rid of however he saw fit. And with that, Zevran rinsed his hands of it. 

That evening after children were put to bed, Ferox snagged his and Moira’s hands and pulled them along after him up to their room. Zevran heard no snarling, instead it was a rumble of approval, both within and without. Apparently his husband finally decided on something that he wanted that didn’t make him angry, but Zevran wasn’t sure he cared anymore. If it made his Warden some semblance of content, then he would manage. However, it didn’t seem that Moira had been invited up for anything other than an adults only snuggle and to talk about the children and the doings of the day. It was pleasant, and it made them happy while his insides and skin crawled, screams of his own frustration clawing at his throat.

“Zevran? What were you doing while Moira lay about indolently?” Ferox caught the pillow thrown at his face and snickered, “Well, ya were.” Confiscating the ‘weapon’, it was tucked behind his head.

Moira sniffed, “Lay about? You, good ser, were napping. I heard the snores all the way down the hall.”

Zevran shrugged, answering Ferox’s question, “Taking care of some chores that needed doing, nothing more. Plenty of dusty things to be rid of, hmn?”

“Hardly dusty at all, but you have been away for a long time. More paperwork needing your attention?”

Away? He had not been ‘away’. He let the family do whatever they pleased. Since his presence wasn’t required and they wanted to do their own things, he just tended to the old business that needed doing anyway. More than a decade was a very long time for possessions to languish without weeding out what was unnecessary.

“No, but it has been well over a decade since I last was in residence, and I have received plenty of paperwork from Vela while in Ferelden. No, I have been taking care of the trash,” he flicked his fingers dismissively.

Both sets of eyes focused on him trying to puzzle out what he meant and Ferox pointed out that there was very little trash and that even the compost heaps seemed organized. Which it was, because that was how things were done on an over glorified farm that had to produce to survive and make a profit. A plantation was first and foremost a business, disorder only bred loss of profit.

Repressing a twitching sneer and a heavy sigh, Zevran smiled instead. “Making lists of things for removal. Consignment and scrap heaps. Nothing of vast importance, but still in need of doing.”

Ferox’s gaze swung back to Moira as if to say ‘I told you so’, and she asked, “Do you need any help?”

“I have it well in hand, once we leave, everything will be gotten rid of that needs to be,” Zevran draped his arm over his brow, nose tucked into the crook of his elbow. “As I said, it is unimportant.” Changing the subject, “There have been invites and greetings sent from the neighbouring plantations. They could be invited here for a small gathering, or we could go to theirs.”

“And what do you recommend?” His husband’s voice maintained its relaxed tone.

Rotating his wrist to show an open palm for a moment, “As a general rule it would be rude to go to theirs since it has been so long since I last played host. However, seeing as I have been out of the country for so many years, it would be permissible to beg off playing host, as the villa has not been properly prepared and stocked for a large gathering.” He listed off the pros and cons succinctly, “Having them come here would be a mess, and require planning, as well as exposing the children to outsiders, not that it is likely they are any threat. But it would mean more work for the flock. Going to a party would mean going to several, so as to not slight the neighbours, and we could leave the children here safely, and those who do not wish to attend, can stay.”

“I vote that we send Moira, everyone will promptly forget about the rest of us and then we can laze about having whatever a pedicure is...which I have to say sounds like somethin’ awful if you’re gettin’ cured of it.” Moira wiggled her painted toes and stuck out her tongue at Ferox in wordless reply. “I would think though that following us around at parties and having some of them left here isn’t the flock’s favourite choice either.”

Drolly, “And I am chopped liver that I cannot be counted as your personal guard? Besides, the parties are not hardly the sort that we would _want_ the flock at anyway. Half of them were shipped off to Ferelden for...indiscretions and intractable natures. Which is why they have managed so well in Ferelden.”

Smacking a palm in an eye socket, “You’re telling me I don’t want to know. Maker, I hate it when I don’t want to know. It always makes me want to ask and when I do, I’m really sorry I did. Although it would be good to know, so I don’t do it...or do it when we grow tired of bein’ here and wanta find a fast exit.”

“Well, ripping off a man’s member after he catches you sleeping with his wife and his brother is frowned upon. At least have the decency to kill the poor man,” Zevran snorted. “Then again, Alois is known for his vile sense of irony.”

“See, I didn’t want to know,” heel of the palm rubbing harder, as Ferox groaned. “And I especially don’t want to know how come that makes him great for Ferelden and bad for here. I would have thought that particular behaviour would be bad all over, even in Orlais.”

“Because brawling is considered a faux pas here, and is perfectly acceptable in Ferelden,” shrugging. “Crows are supposed to kill cleanly and deal with those issues quickly, unless contractually obligated to use some other method. The real coup was that he was also sleeping with the man’s parents regularly, and claimed his progeny’s virginity to boot. I believe the story was that he was originally hired to deal with the mistress’ bodily needs and the man thought the pleasured cries from the next room were her, rather than his daughter. Alois _is_ rather thorough.”

“We’ve been here how long and already he’s a _regular?_ No, I really don’t want to know this. If I have to hear about this - no really, don’t tell me, you never know when I might be listening, ‘cause that’s not brawling.”

Moira laughed. “Edric always called it bedroom brawling. Tussling if it was sweet.”

The hand on his stomach rose and his wrist bent so he could level a finger at her. “See? Brawling.”

“Maker. I mean the slicing and dicing...although knowing Alois he used his hands, not a knife.” Ferox stuck his fingers in his ears, “La la la la, see I’m not listening.”

Lips twitching, “So I see, _querido_.” He offered, “If Uailil, Ani or Zama come along, we will not need any of the flock to feel ‘envious’ that they are not going. Which it is likely they would not feel anyway, as such gatherings are the staple of very young Crows and one becomes inured to them quickly. Provincial gatherings are as boring and dry to their tastes and experiences, that it would be like taking high tea with Anora in comparison.”

“Which means a) it’ll be difficult to find someone to hire to take my place, b) bring my own tea, or c) take the antidote before going out to ‘see and be seen’.” Blinking innocently, Ferox borrowed Len’s wheedling voice, “Moi-moi, you can go an’ pretend to be me, can’t you? You always look good on Zev’s arm, I’m sure nobody would notice the skirt or the higher pitched voice or even your breasts - although they’re quite lovely. Please don’t hit me, I don’t need another pillow, I’ll just get a crick in my neck and then have to charge you interest when I loan them all back to you.”

Snickering, “ _Amora_ , what I mean to say, is that they are accustomed to _orgies_. And I do not mean ‘plain’ orgies - I mean the sort where usually at least one person gets pleasured to death, often literally. This will be bland fare to them. A meal, some wine, a bit of talking, perhaps some singing from some talented slaves. Trysts are not uncommon, but not out in the open at the dinner table. No wine served from the basin of a woman’s clenched thighs or chocolate dipped cock to suck and the like, which is usually considered an afternoon tea party in the adventurous circles. During the Festival of the Sun is another matter entirely, but that is quite some time away, so no worry there, and even those are rather tame in comparison to the city parties.”

“Okay, I didn’t think I wanted to know about any of that and then I didn’t hear anything after ‘chocolate dipped’. And then all I could think about was creme filling...and well - ” palm smacking his other eye.

“Caramel and toffee,” Moira nodded safely as she scooted around getting comfortable. “And chocolate. Salty chocolate. Pudding!”

Closing his eyes, “So you see, nothing to worry over. A little wine, a few stories, a meal, perhaps some good _ron miel_ afterwards... It is only horribly boring when compared to the forcefully cultivated tastes of Crows, hmn? There is a reason most Crows prefer to party with other Crows. Though I have found the manners and understanding of provincial minor aristocracy has been a good set of lessons to bring to Ferelden.”

“I think I’ll pass on Crow parties then,” returning two of the pillows thrown at him earlier, Ferox tucked them around Moira following instructions of ‘there, no there, ahh yes, right there.’ “I’m a little par-tick-you-lar about my Crows and the assassins that I happen to stumble across ‘long side the road and cart off.” Rolling off the side, Ferox began to putter and put out the lights.

Tugging him closer, Zevran ended up next to Moira with Ferox on his other side, which wasn’t unexpected. Hibiscus tea, melon, cucumber and honey scented skin from whatever treatments she had received greeted him, while rose and orange blossom was in her hair that had been straightened with hot irons. It would stay like that for days so long as she kept it up. Her hair was much longer that way, nearly to the bottom of her shoulder blades. She tucked in close against him, her skin buffed and oiled, rubbed down to porcelain softness. Ferox rumbled, brushing her cheek and kissing Zevran’s shoulder as he also settled in.

If he didn’t know better, he would think they were trying to comfort him. But they didn’t know and didn’t care what he had done that day, didn’t know the useless ghosts he ran up against. He wasn’t going to complain, because Moira should at least enjoy their time there, and Ferox...well...Ferox didn’t have the willingness to understand or capacity to even enjoy things it seemed. His _shemlen_ warrior wasn’t stupid by any estimation, but he could be so willfully obtuse that it may as well have been idiocy when it came to actual interpersonal relationships. Give him a world or national task, he was fine, he would grasp it, and take it apart. But people...people were burdens and chains and emotions, reasons to _do_ things for duty and honour, but not of true, personal worth to him unless it was a tool to beat himself with. They were in the stage where his husband was seeking to reroute the flow of his mind to conform to what someone else thought was best, while reaching out to say that he was being a good boy and look, see, he had gone potty and washed his hands too. A few demonstrations of the new trick learned would follow, and then, back to the old rut and darkness. 

Next time, next time - Zevran wasn’t even sure he would try and pull Ferox out of it, because it was clearly something he didn’t want. The farce and arguments would be done, and they would just...exist within whatever constraints Ferox decided were best. Perhaps then some sort of balance might be found, in the darkness, but he didn’t think so. It was Zevran’s turn to adjust and give in, and he would do a damn better job of reaching Ferox’s side than the forced effort his Warden would generate.

**Author's Note:**

> After this, no more copious notes, we promise. 
> 
> The 'duplicate' mentioned is from Thedas Dressing Room, which was an old LiveJournal/Dreamwidth group set in Kirkwall. Basically an RP group with multiples of such and so characters coming from different versions each person got out of the game. The duplicate is a Zevran (Rhion's from A Murder of Crows) but how he got to Kirkwall isn't important or anything like that to this metaverse or to Fiercely Cold. He's not a major player, just a mirror to hold up and disturb others. The little healer is Briala's favourite toon, Dulsanaya from her Disquiet series. Again, while they do play little parts here and there, the story isn't about them, nor are they major fixtures.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [DA042: Dream a Little Dream of Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594849) by [Briala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Briala/pseuds/Briala), [Rhion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion)




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